Evil Unearthed

A Tale of Maljardin

By S. M. Hillis

Foreword

            This novel is based on Strange Paradise, a gothic soap opera which aired in Canada and parts of the United States from 1969 to 1970. It was created by Jerry Layton and Ian Martin, and I, in writing this new tale of the secluded island of Maljardin, have only endeavored to build upon its foundation. I owe a great debt to the writing of Ian Martin and hope that I have done him justice. I hope you will enjoy reading this novel as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

SMH

Chapter One

            "Mr. Dawson? Sir?" The voice did not seem familiar, but when Stephen Dawson finally opened his eyes, he recognized the face which belonged to it as that of the cheery flight attendant who had served him dinner some hours before.

            "Oh," he said sleepily. "Are we landing soon?"

            "Yes sir," said Julie or Jinni or whatever her name was. "Please return your seat to its upright position and fasten your seatbelt." Dawson did so, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, and indeed as he looked out the window, he saw the lights of the runway coming closer. He was not looking forward to the next few hours which would involve a probably sleepless night in an airport lounge while waiting for a smaller plane to take him to his actual destination. Still, it would be worth it to see Dr. B. again.

As the plane descended and the landing-gear came down, Stephen thought about what had started him on this journey, and he reflected as he often did that it had all begun with a single word: Maljardin. That word had echoed in his mind and heart ever since he was a small boy, and for him it represented the mystery of mysteries, for it was that name which was forever associated with the strange disappearance of his favourite uncle Matt. In truth, he had never met this long-lost uncle, but his father had given him the middle name of Matthew when he was born, and later, at his request, a photograph of him, and all through his childhood, he had often looked at the young brown-haired man in the clergyman's collar with curiosity and even fear. The story of Uncle Matt's disappearance was not often told around the family dinner table, but it was the kind of thing which could not be kept secret.

            According to all who had known him, Matt Dawson had been a devoted minister in the turbulent sixties, especially concerned with helping the younger generation to make it through the turmoil of growing up. He had been affiliated with a home for troubled young girls in New York called Westley House, and it was there that he had met a young heiress named Holly Marshall. Some believed that he had fallen in love with her, and this was all-but confirmed when, shortly after she ran away from Westley House, he suddenly left the church at which he was serving and took off to the Caribbean after her. He had ended up at an island called Port French Leave, and from there, so the story went, he had found his way to the mysterious island chateau of Maljardin, home of the reclusive and eccentric Desmond family. As the investigating detective later told his next-of-kin, the trail went cold after this, with nothing heard of young Miss Marshall or the good reverend after he left Port French Leave in the Desmond supply-boat. Everyone assumed that he was dead, but Stephen had always had a secret hope that one day he would find him, perhaps living some idyllic life with his beloved Holly in a sun-soaked paradise of swaying palms and crashing waves; and now, after years of not knowing, he would finally have the chance to find out what had happened for certain.

            Once the plane had taxied to a stop and he had exited the cabin, Stephen walked stiffly through the crowded airport to find his luggage. Having done so with the usual annoyance, he went to the airline counters and found the one for Island Sky, the line with whom his ticket was registered, and the friendly woman standing behind it informed him that his plane for Port French Leave would be taking off, weather permitting of course, at six o'clock A.M. Looking at his watch, his face fell as he realized that it was now six o'clock P.M., and he had nothing to do now but wait.

            "The bar's that way," said the woman, pointing a colourfully-nailed hand vaguely in the direction from which could be heard the rattle of dishes and cutlery.

            "Thank you," he said, walking off in that direction and dragging his suitcase slowly after him.

            The bar was crowded and noisy but Stephen managed to find a corner booth which was unoccupied, and placing his suitcase on the bench across from him, he sat down and opened his carry-on bag. Taking out his Blackberry, he scrolled through the emails waiting for him. Most of them were boring university memoranda, but it wasn't the new mail which interested him. Once his inbox had been cleared, he scrolled to the folder simply labeled 'Barrett,' and looked at the most recent message listed.

            "My Dear Dawson," it stated. "It has been a long time, I know, and I do apologize for my procrastination in writing to you, but I felt that I should not disturb your quiet life of lecturing and research unless there was a very good reason for doing so. You told me long ago about the disappearance of your uncle, and it intrigued me so much that I decided to continue the private research I had begun some years ago into the region where he was last seen. I am now on an island in the vicinity of Maljardin, and I have met someone who knew your uncle. This person is a devotee of the unique form of Voodoo practiced in these islands, and I can only tell you that I promise that it will be worth your while to come here. The island is Port French Leave. I've had a foundation on whose board I serve wire you some money. Make up a story that will satisfy the university if you can, and get down here as soon as possible! Till we meet under the Caribbean sun, I remain: Dr. Robert Barrett."

            This was the note that had started it all. This was the message that had awoken the obsession which had lain sleeping for so many years, and for three months, Stephen had worked in a fever of activity, booking flights and hotels and making sure that the powers that be at the university would not miss him and would be assured of the research money from Barrett's foundation. Once they had been satisfied, there had been only one other thing to take care of, for as well as being a scholar, Stephen Dawson was a serving Jesuit priest. True, his priestly duties had become less important to him over the years than his duties at the university, but he felt that he could not give them up since his conversion to Catholicism had been such a sore point with his family. He felt that if he were to leave the priesthood, he would not be worthy of all the struggles he had overcome to get there; so he stayed, day after day, serving a mass in which he only half-believed and absolving people of confessed sins which seemed pale in comparison to his own, until, of course, the message from Dr. B. had come to awaken him out of the half-dream which his life had become. Fortunately, it was this very state of ambivalence which allowed him to convince his Bishop that he needed to take some time off, and Bishop O'Hara, who was a genuinely sympathetic man, agreed that some time away from all the stresses of his current life would renew his spiritual vigour; therefore, he had willingly granted the requested personal leave without question or comment.

            Now, Stephen thought, as he switched off his Blackberry and sipped his rapidly-cooling coffee, he was taking a journey into mysterious places, and not all of them were to be found on a map. No; for him this would not simply be a fishing expedition for news of his uncle. If Dr. B. was involved, it was sure to be something much deeper: a journey along the unknown paths of the mind and the spirit. When he had learned that his PH.D. dissertation advisor was going to be Dr. Robert Barrett, Stephen had been overjoyed. Barrett had a reputation as an adventurer. It was always said of him that he did not read books for his research but rather wrote them as a result of it. His field research was some of the most dangerous kind, for he had a knack of insinuating himself into any culture he came across and penetrating very deeply into the mysteries of their rituals and practices. When Stephen had first met him, he had expected him to be Indiana Jones complete with bullwhip and fedora, so when he had seen a balding man in his fifties dressed in a rather sedate brown suit, he had felt a strange kind of disappointment. However, as they had worked more closely together on his own research, Barrett had told stories and had shown him some of his field notes, and then once the dissertation was finished, he had taken Stephen to his house and shown him his private and secret files. It was then that Stephen realized that this man was no mere scholar, and that underneath his brown suits and horn-rimmed spectacles there beat the heart of a true spiritual athlete. He had been initiated into several shamanic and magical belief-systems, had taken drugs which had never been classified in any pharmacopoeia, and had learned more than any other of his colleagues about the religions he had studied. Yet, though his books were perhaps a little more interesting than those of his contemporaries, they were never disrespectful to the cultures portrayed in them. In fact, Stephen had been the first to see the private records of his sojourns among the populations he had written so sedately about in his public work. These private notes had taken the form of a spiritual journal of sorts, but even in those pages, Stephen had the suspicion that not all which could have been written had been. What they had told him was that Barrett was a man of honour and a true spiritual seeker, and though he was a priest and perhaps should have decried Barrett's spiritual choices as idolatrous and false, he respected him for going the distance, for refusing to let his academic mind deter him from penetrating to the heart of things.

            In fact, it had been in Barrett's private notes that he had discovered a connection to Maljardin. If not for that, he would never have told the professor about the Dawson family mystery at all, but Barrett had intended to study the Voodoo on the islands in the vicinity of Maljardin, and though he had not yet done so firsthand, he had collected research on the region dating back several hundred years. After hearing Stephen's story, he had allowed him to photocopy the Maljardin notes, which was a thing unprecedented for him, and had sworn to him that he would share anything pertaining to his uncle's disappearance with him if ever he had the chance to visit the area. Now at last Barrett had been able to keep his vow, and after this interminable night, passed in inevitable discomfort on a chair in the Island Sky lounge, Stephen would be seeing his old friend again for the first time in fifteen years. More than this, however, he would finally be joining him on one of his amazing adventures, and it was this which had caused the fever to burn in him for the past three months, for somehow he knew that he was going to find truth on this journey, and nothing would stop him from doing as his mentor had always done and going the distance required of him.

Chapter Two

                        "Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" If there was one thing that Kathleen O'Dell hated, it was an unreliable internet connection. Her livelihood depended on speedy interaction with that vast web of bits and bytes, and when it was spotty, she found herself dropping her cool business persona and becoming again the bad-tempered girl she had been all through childhood. What was worse, she found herself using expressions which did not become the power suits and the professional demeanour she usually wore, but which rather belonged in the kitchen of her grandmother as that mistress of many expletives burned her finger on the steam coming from the kettle on a misty Belfast morning.

            Restarting her laptop for what seemed like the hundredth time, Kathleen looked around the wicker-infested and umbrella-dotted patio of The French Leaf cafe: the only eating and drinking establishment available in the single hotel which served the transient tourist population of the island of Port French Leave. It had never come under the auspices of any of the major resort corporations, and perhaps rightly so, for it seemed that Port French Leave was where tourists vacationed when they could not afford to travel to the more well-known havens of sun and fun in the tropics. Given its out-of-the-way nature therefore, Kathleen reflected that she should be grateful for small favours; the fact that this cafe even had wireless internet for its customers was something of a miracle.

            "Alright," she said to the blinking cursor on her computer screen. "Let's try this again, shall we?"

            "Computer troubles, Miss O'Dell?" Chris, the young waiter she had come to know during her stay here was beside her.

            "Oh," she said, "just the usual."

            "Well," he said, a mischievous smile playing across his tanned and well-honed features, "you'd better get ready. Her Ladyship's winged chariot is descending as we speak!"

            "No! She told me she wouldn't be arriving for another week!"

            "Well, you know Miss Desmond. She's nothing if not surprising!"

            Kathleen knew this better than Chris, who, if truth be told, only saw Miss Desmond on her occasional visits here when she was transacting business to do with the land she owned across the channel on the Desmonds' ancestral island of Maljardin. Kathleen, on the other hand, was aware of Julia Desmond's oddities in a far more personal way, for she was both her old school friend and her executive assistant. Julia had taken her under her wing at university, introducing her to eligible young men and making sure that her bookish tendencies did not allow her to lead too solitary an existence. They had met in a Business Administration class at Cambridge, and though Kathleen had been a scholarship student and would typically not have been included in Julia's social circle of heirs and heiresses to vast fortunes, Julia had seen something in her that she liked and wished to cultivate, and soon they were fast friends, Julia taking refuge from the business world in Kathleen's book-filled study, and Kathleen learning all she could from Julia about how to be a successful woman in the corporate world while still maintaining one's sanity.

            She recalled those years now as she sipped her drink and clicked her way through her work. She had arrived at Cambridge a studious and serious girl with eyes only for art and literature, and had only signed up for the Business Administration course to please her father. He had shown a grudging pride when she had won the scholarship to study English Literature, but he had made sure to impress upon her the vital importance of having knowledge of what he called "real life" as well.

            "I know you love your books, Kat," he had said, "but most of those writers were starving paupers, and I'll not see my girl end up that way if any words of mine can stop it."

            Thus, she had lived a strange sort of double life: Business student one minute, English student the next. By the time she had finished her undergraduate studies, she was looking forward to a blissfully business-free Master's program where she would do her thesis on Chaucer's dream-vision poetry. However, that was when opportunity had come knocking in the form of Julia Desmond. She had stated that she  was in need of an assistant now that she was taking over the management of her family's considerable business holdings, and though the bells of Cambridge were ringing in her ears, her father's admonitory words drowned them out, for Kathleen knew that the sum of money that Julia was offering was something which she would be an utter fool to pass up. So here she was, ten years later, using her knowledge of art and literature to link images and words with the Desmond name around the world, and wearing her businesswoman's persona more often than that of the bookish young girl she once had been.

            "I'll let you know when she's coming. Okay?" Chris had played lookout for her in the past, and Kathleen now exchanged a conspiratorial glance with him, letting him know that he was again on duty.

            While she waited, she sat back and surveyed the latest plans that the architect had sent her. She knew something of architecture having once had a fiancé in the business, and she thought that these plans were the best she had seen yet. Of course, they wouldn't pass muster until Julia herself had looked at them, but Kathleen resolved to pitch them for all she was worth. The Chateau Xanadu was going to be the most modern, convenient and pleasurable hotel in the whole of the Caribbean if she had anything to say about it. It was to be built on the ruins of the Desmond ancestral home on Maljardin, that home having been made largely uninhabitable when a mysterious fire engulfed it sometime in 1970. When she had first glimpsed those picturesque walls with their mullioned windows and massive, vine-covered stones still standing, Kathleen had been loath to destroy their rugged grandeur; therefore, she had convinced Julia to retain at least something of the outer shell of the castellated structure while blending it with a sleek modern look.

            However, the plans were the least of her worries. Ever since she had been here, she had worked as closely as she could with those in charge of excavating the inner portions of the chateau, and in the last few weeks, strange finds had been made. A month ago, they had rescued a beautifully-carved wooden box filled with nothing but sand for which no one could find a purpose. Then three weeks ago, they had found a blood-stained locket and some Tarot cards. For some unaccountable reason, Kathleen had asked to keep the cards. She had felt that they were lucky somehow. In fact, they now went everywhere with her, nestled protectively in her briefcase next to her cell phone. As for the locket, no one could make a decision as to what should be done with it, so it had remained with Bill Temple, the head foreman on the job. Kathleen had instructed him to keep it until Miss Desmond should inspect it herself.

            Then, last week, had come the strangest find of all. In the depths of the charred and twisted rubble, some tubing and gauges blackened with smoke but still largely intact had been seen. Digging deeper, the men had found a coffin-like structure made of heavy metal and baring a small insignia on its side. It could hardly be seen for its size, but Kathleen had researched it with the Desmond lawyers and had learned that it was the logo for a long since bankrupted organization which specialized in cryonics: the technique of deep-freezing dead bodies in order to bring their owners back to life once cures for their causes of death had been found. It was these mysteries which had prompted her finally to request Julia's presence on a project which Julia had left, save for her power of final approval as the reigning queen of all things Desmond-related, entirely to her discretion.

            "It'll require a lot of digging," she had said that day six months ago in her New York office, "and not only of the physical variety. You're going to have to comb through the history of that island and take out all the little dirty bits, leaving the Desmonds with an unsullied reputation. I myself know nothing about it, except of course that it was one of my forefathers who insisted on giving the island its current and most unfortunate name. I assume you know what it means?"

            "Maljardin," Kathleen had replied. "Evil garden or garden of evil. Yes. I always wondered why it should have such a name."

            "Well, by the time you're done with it, Kat my friend, I want you to turn the garden of evil into the garden of Eden. Understand?"

            "Your wish is my command." She had said this with excitement in her voice, but as she had spent more and more time down here, she had come to realize that cleaning up the Desmond reputation was going to be more difficult than Julia had anticipated.

            At first, it had been almost impossible to find out anything at all about the Desmond history in these parts, for by all accounts, and there were few enough of these, the Desmonds used Maljardin as a private paradise away from prying eyes, and it had been made clear long ago to all who had any dealings with the family that what happened on Maljardin stayed on Maljardin. Still, no Desmonds at all had been in continuous residence here since the fire, so it was possible with a little perseverance for her to glean a few scraps of history and legend from some of the last people around here to do business with them.

            It was Jean Paul Desmond, Julia's father, who had last occupied the cliff-top chateau. He had spent much time there as a boy, for it had been a holding belonging to his own father Armand. Then, inevitably, he had gone away and traveled the world, living the life of a roving businessman and play-boy, and then suddenly it had all changed; suddenly, he had returned home, but this time, he was not alone. Almost poetic accounts were given by those who had known him then of the beautiful wife whom he had brought with him, parading her around Port French Leave as though she were a pirate-captured princess. She had been an up-and-coming stage actress with a grand career ahead of her, but when Erica Carr had met Jean Paul, she had fallen hard for him and they had begun a whirlwind courtship which had culminated in a lavish wedding and, when she became pregnant, their complete and total retirement from the world's fascinated gaze to Jean Paul's private island.

            For six months, they had lived in romantic bliss, and then Erica had mysteriously disappeared from Port French Leave society. Then, other disappearances had occurred; Jean Paul's lawyer, Erica's younger sister, a young artist who had been commissioned to paint a portrait of Erica, a young runaway and her mother, a minister and a fortune-telling waitress at this very cafe were among those who had, or were presumed to have, crossed the channel in Jean Paul's supply-boat never to return.

            Then the fire had broken out. Some said that they had seen it light up the sky as though it were some baleful star of ill omen, but the strangest thing about it was that with all the people then presumed to be residing in the house, no human remains were discovered, and Jean Paul was rumoured to have been seen some days later leaving in an ambulance-plane and flying north. Some said that a young girl had been with him, but Kathleen had not been able to determine her identity or the certainty of her existence. One thing that all who had seen the plane taking off were sure of was that Jean Paul's mysterious servants Raxl and Quito were with him. Kathleen was intrigued with these two and wanted to learn more about them, but all she had been able to learn was that Raxl had acted as Jean Paul's housekeeper and was a dour and hard-featured woman who dressed in black all the time, and that Quito drove the boat and was the only one with the exception of Jean Paul who could navigate the treacherous channel between here and Maljardin. He was described as a big man who was mute and used a kind of sign language to communicate, but he, along with Raxl, disappeared from the memories of everyone after the ambulance-plane had spirited them away.

            Before Jean Paul's time there was little or no history to be found. Apart from the island's having been conquered sometime in the sixteen-hundreds by Jacques Eloi des Mondes, a cavalier and free-looter, there were only whispers and veiled hints of sinister import to be gotten from those who knew something of the history of the garden of evil. Tales of murder and magic, malice and mischief abounded, but no clear chronology of events could she peace together, no matter how deeply she probed.

            "The crow flies at midnight!" Chris mouthed the words to her from across the patio, and it was all she could do to keep from laughing.

            "The owl hoots at dawn," she mouthed back. "Message received! Thanks!"

            Closing the lid of her laptop, she sat back and waited for the spectacle which always attended Julia's arrival in this place so rich with Desmond heritage. The waiters snapped to a special kind of attention, and a path was quickly cleared from the patio gate to the table where she sat. Every time Kathleen saw this, she half-expected rose petals to come raining down upon the flag-stones and envelop tall, blonde-haired and blue-eyed Julia in their cloying scent as though she were a goddess in a Shakespearian play. However, what greeted her instead was her smartly-dressed employer looking tired and plane-rumpled and trying very hard to maintain her composure in the face of the ingratiating attitudes of the cafe staff. This evening was no exception, and when Julia finally arrived at the table, Kathleen could see that she had no politeness left to spare.

            "Well," she said brusquely, "this had better be worth the trip!"

Chapter Three

            "Well, Mr. Dawson? Do you have any pages for me to look at?"

            Stephen smiled as he heard the familiar voice of his mentor asking the familiar question that had opened many a dissertation meeting for five years of both their lives, and he made his way across the small airport lobby to where Barrett stood wearing one of his trademark brown suits and leaning on what he at first took to be a support cane. However, as he got closer, he realized that the cane's top was carved in the shape of a serpent's head and that a serpent's body coiled its way down the length of the shaft.

            "Well, Dr. B., I think you're the one who has something for me this time."

            "Indeed so. Come. I'll drive you to the hotel so you can check in, and then you and I will talk."

            Stephen followed Barrett to his beat-up old pickup truck and soon, they were weaving in and out of a curious assortment of morning traffic on their way into town. There were donkey-carts, mopeds, bicycles and other pickups, as well as the ubiquitous sight of kerchief-sporting women walking to market with baskets of fruits and vegetables on their heads. Soon, however, these colourful curiosities decreased and the town proper came into view with its post-office, court house and marina, and overlooking the frothing waves of the great channel stood the Port French Leave Hotel.

            After checking in for an indefinite stay, Stephen stowed his suitcase in his room, had a quick shower, and joined Barrett on the patio of the cafe.

            "You look tired, Dawson. I've ordered you some coffee."

            "Thanks, and thanks for the lift."

            "The cabs in this town are death-machines and their drivers pride themselves on the stunts they perform." Barrett smiled broadly and it was then that Stephen noticed how thin his face had become. He had always had very angular features, but there was now a hollowing of the cheeks and a brightness in the black eyes that he didn't like.

            "Still, it was good of you to make the trip, but what's with the cane? It's no mere drug-store purchase, that's for sure!"

            "You'll learn about it in time I have no doubt," Barrett said, "but for now, all you need to know is that it's a prop for me. I'm getting old, Stephen, and all my years of sleeping in tents and strenuous hiking are catching up to me. But cheer up and stop staring! I'm not dead yet!"

            "Alright then. You went to a lot of trouble to get me here, so now you need to tell me why!"

            "I can't say much here, and indeed, there's not much for me to tell you anyway. In fact, I don't know anything specific at all."

            Stephen wanted to get up and walk away right then, but he decided to give Barrett a piece of his mind before he left.

            "I don't believe you! I spent several hours on planes and in uncomfortable airports, not to mention leaving my classes and my research on your insistence, and now you tell me that you have nothing to tell me? What kind of game are you playing?"

            "Wait a minute," said Barrett calmly. "You were always too quick to jump to conclusions. I thought I had cured you of that habit. What I mean is that the person I want you to meet feels very strongly that the information you need to hear is for your ears only."

            "Well, when do I meet this person?"

            "I can't give you a specific time, but it'll be at night. I'll come to your hotel room and take you where we need to go."

            "It's all a little bit cloak-and-daggerish, isn't it? Why all the secrecy?"

            "Because that's the way this person wishes it. When you know more, you'll understand why."

            "Well, what do I do in the meantime?"

            "Enjoy yourself! Look around! Get some colour into that pale face of yours!"

            "You're one to talk! You were always so tanned and sun-beaten. Now, well--"

            "Well nothing. I just spend too much time at my desk pouring over notes for the new book I'm writing."

            "You're still writing books? What's the topic?"

            "Maljardin." Stephen dropped the fork he had been using to eat his eggs.

            "What? You're really going to write about the garden of evil?"

            "Well, it's a curious place. Did you know that up until three-hundred years ago there was a thriving native population on that island?"

            "So? What of it? Wasn't it conquered three-hundred years ago by Europeans?"

            "Yes, but so were other islands and the natives never left them. No, this island's different. It was conquered by an ancestor of the Desmonds as you know, and for some time the natives continued plying their trades and crafts. Then, all at once, they stopped fishing and weaving and began to die of mysterious illnesses, and soon there were none left, and none have ever lived there since. Now, strange plants grow where the huts once stood and strange legends have come down through the centuries. I intend to find out what happened."

            "I think you intend to do more than that," said Stephen. "Why else did you ask me to bring my priest stuff with me?"

            "You never know when it might be needed. You would have brought it anyway, wouldn't you?"

            "Well, I'm not so sure about that. Sometimes I think that it's all useless. I could be married by now if I weren't a priest, you know."

            "Well, marriage isn't all that it's cracked up to be. I should know. I tried it three times and failed each time."

            "The call of the jungle was just too strong?"

            "Something like that, I suppose. At any rate, you should be privileged to hold the rank you do."

            "It seems to mean less and less over time, but I know what you mean."

            "Well, perhaps you'll find refreshment in this land of golden sunsets and moonlit nights."

            "Right now, it seems to be a land of suddenly-occurring storms!"

            "Yes. The trade winds do bring the storms upon us." As Barrett spoke, the clouds that had rolled in during their conversation spawned a loud clap of thunder, and the two of them managed to move to an indoor table just as the rain began to fall.

            "Well, Dr. Barrett! Fancy meeting you here!" Stephen watched as a smartly-dressed woman with long red hair neatly-combed came purposefully across the room toward their table.

            "Miss O'Dell! Are you here to ask me more about our mutual obsession?"

            "No, I think you made it clear the last time we met that you weren't going to tell me anything more."

            "Ah, so he's secretive with you too?" Stephen hadn't meant to interrupt, but the woman's lilting Ulster accent and piercing green eyes had captivated him.

            "And you would be?"

            "Ah. Where are my manners? Miss Kathleen O'Dell, allow me to present Stephen Dawson, a former student of mine and a good friend."

            "Pleased to meet you, Miss O'Dell."

            "Please! Only Dr. Barrett calls me that. I'm Kathleen, or just plain Kat if you prefer."

            "So you're interested in Maljardin then?"

            "I don't know if interested is the right word," said Kathleen, "but I'm researching it for my boss."

            "What could anyone in the business world want with that island?"

            "It depends who you're talking about," said Barrett, exchanging a conspiratorial smile with Kathleen. "Her boss is--"

            "looking for her prodigal assistant." Stephen turned to see who had just spoken, and for a moment, it was as though he were looking at the cover of one of those who's-who magazines at the supermarket checkout counter, for there, in all her glory, was none other than Miss Julia Desmond, wealthy business-woman and land-owner.

            "We really should be leaving if we want to catch that plane!"

            "Of course, Miss Desmond. I'm sorry."

            "You're leaving us then, Miss O'Dell?" Barrett looked genuinely saddened by the idea.

            "No no," said Miss Desmond. "We're catching a sea-plane which Kathleen says will get us to Maljardin. In this storm, I don't know if it will take off."

            "Oh, it'll blow itself out in ten minutes," said Barrett. "Never fear."

            As it turned out, Barrett was absolutely right about the storm, and Stephen soon watched the two women as they fairly sprinted for the marina and their waiting sea-plane.

            "How do you know Miss O'Dell?" Stephen gave Barrett a sly smile. "Don't tell me that you've found an Irish lassie to love away down here in the land of rum and romance!"

            "Don't be absurd! She was directed to me by some of the locals as a source of information on her employer's family and their relationship to Maljardin. That, my friend, is all. She's very intelligent and has a slightly poetic turn of mind which intrigues me. Still, I don't envy her the task in which she's currently engaged."

            "And what is that?"

            "She is playing, if truth be told, garbage collector. La Julia is going to build a hotel on Maljardin, and it's Miss O'Dell's job to make sure that no skeletons which may be lurking secretly in the Desmond family closet come to light and ruin the hotel's reputation."

            "Are there such skeletons? I mean, I know that the conquering ancestor was a pirate, but nowadays a fact like that would only add to the romance of the place."

            "Well, leaving aside the mysterious fire which took place shortly after your uncle and others ended up at the Desmond chateau, there are other stories."

            "So Miss O'Dell is supposed to find these unsanitary little tidbits and then conveniently cover them up?"

            "That is her job as I understand it. Still, some legends just refuse to die." Barrett's voice suddenly trailed off and Stephen watched in fascination as he stared fixedly out the window to where a cliff-crowned island could be seen in the thinning shreds of cloud which were rapidly blowing away in a fresh south wind.

            "Is that the island there?"

            "Yes indeed," said Barrett, coming back to himself as though waking from an impromptu doze, "and after years of being completely uninhabited, a Desmond has again come back to reside upon it. One can only wonder what will come from all the digging both literal and figurative going on there. Perhaps something that was better left to rest will be disturbed."

            "Are you alright?" Stephen was alarmed by Barrett's strange talk and the way that his black eyes were becoming unfocused.

            "I'm sorry, Stephen. Don't mind my talk. I find myself going off on strange tangents lately."

            Still, Stephen felt that Barrett was being evasive. He had traveled on spiritual paths that few others in the world had trod, pushing himself to the very limits of his mental and bodily strength, and Stephen found himself wondering if he had finally reached the end of his journey.

            "Well," he said finally, "I suppose I shouldn't keep you any longer from your painstaking work."

            "Nonsense," said Barrett, now fully in possession of himself again. "I think you can help me! I have a lot of notes which need cataloguing. Could you come round to my bungalow and help me out?"

            "Not today! I haven't slept since I left the university!"

            "Of course! I should have thought. In that case, it is I who should not keep you longer. I'll give you a few days to rest, and perhaps the next time I see you will be when we take the road to find the answers you seek."

            The two men parted with the usual pleasantries, and Stephen watched Barrett pay the bill and make his way to his truck. Once the truck was out of sight around a corner, he exited the cafe and climbed the stairs to his room. There, he attempted to unpack but suddenly felt the energy draining from him, and before long, he had no choice but to collapse gratefully on the bed and fall deeply into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Four

            "Kathleen," said Julia Desmond as she climbed what felt like the millionth flight of steps, "I believe that you are either a glutton for punishment or else one who enjoys dealing it out. Tell me again why you made your office all the way up this tower?"

            "For the simple reason that the tower was one of the only structurally-safe parts of the building. Just a few more steps and you'll be able to sit down."

            Julia sometimes felt that Miss Kathleen O'Dell did her utmost to inject a bit of Ulster common sense into her world of luxury and high living as a kind of revenge for being lured away from the life she would have led as a lecturer at Cambridge. Though she knew that Kathleen's reasons for picking this tower room as an office were sound, she also caught a secret smile crossing the other woman's ruddy features as she did her best to toil up the spiraling stone stairs which seemed never to end. First, there had been the steep path from the dock to the house, and Julia had slipped more than once climbing it, and now there was this tower which looked like something out of one of those luridly-illustrated Victorian fairytale books.

            "You know," she said as they finally reached the last step, "so far, this place is not worthy to be called Xanadu! I think it should be called Xana-don't!"

            "Well," said Kathleen in her matter-of-fact way, "at least you can laugh! Now, welcome to my home away from home!"

            Julia now found herself in a large round room with a makeshift desk under a high and mullioned window and three folding chairs placed randomly throughout. The walls were of undressed stone and would have imparted a cheerless aspect to the place if not for the presence of some very authentic-looking tapestries. One particularly arresting hanging sported the figure of a running hound in full cry after a fleeing deer.

            "You like them? I found them as we were clearing things out. They were  protected from the fire in one of these rooms. They had been carefully stored in cedar, and I thought they would make good decorations for the guest rooms."

            "Yes, but aren't they a little bit old-fashioned? This is supposed to be a modern hotel, after all."

            "I've found that a little historic atmosphere can go a long way. Of course it'll be a modern hotel, but we can't forget that it's being built on layers of the past."

            "I suppose you're right. Now, where's this Mr. Temple we're supposed to meet?"

            "He's down at the diggings. I'll call him." Kathleen went to her desk and found a small walky-talky. "Mr. Temple? Miss Desmond is here. Would you come up to the office and show her some of what you've found?"

            "Right away, Miss O'Dell," came the disembodied voice, "but we've just found something new this morning. It'll be difficult to bring it up those narrow stairs. I'll try though."

            "With all you've told me, Kat, I'm afraid of what new thing he's bringing!" Julia pictured the as yet unknown Mr. Temple lumbering up the stairs with nothing less than a complete skeleton draped piggyback-style over his shoulders. "This place gives me the creeps. I can't wait till there's life here again."

            "It isn't really that bad once you get used to it," said Bill Temple's voice from the doorway. He did seem to be dragging something heavy with him, but to Julia's relief, the rattle of bones was not apparent in his approach. "I've brought some more art for you, Miss O'Dell," was all he said, and soon, a large framed portrait stood propped against the wall and Bill himself came in and sat down.

            He was a barrel-chested man with powerful arms which looked as though they could wrestle a bear, but his face was round and kindly-looking.

            "It's the strangest thing, Miss Desmond!" he said after shaking Julia's hand in greeting. "That portrait was found in the middle of the rubble of the great hall where the fire is said to have started but there's not a mark on it. Bits of other portraits were found there as well, but somehow this dashing dog seems to have survived."

            "Dashing dog eh?" Julia went closer and inspected the exquisitely-framed canvas, and her heart missed a beat. "Kathleen! Except for his old-fashioned clothing, this man could be my own father!"

            The man was tall and elegantly-dressed in seventeenth-century clothing and his eyes seemed strangely alive as Julia looked at them. In ornate lettering along the bottom edge of the frame was written a name, presumably the name of the man in the portrait: Jacques Eloi des Mondes.

            "He is fascinating," said Kathleen. "This is an example of vintage portraiture! It should hang in the lobby!"

            "I don't like it," said Julia suddenly. Her palms were beginning to sweat and she felt herself trembling all over. "I won't have it hanging in my hotel!"

            "But surely it would be another touch of history!"

            "Put it in a museum or something, but get it out of my sight! This is a modern hotel. I don't like the look in his eyes!"

            "I'll take it away then, Miss," said Bill Temple, evidently alarmed by her sudden fright.

            "I'm sorry, Mr. Temple. You don't need to remove it just yet. It's been a long couple of days. Now, can you show me this treasure which might be an heirloom of my family?"

            "Here it is," he said, withdrawing from a back pocket a gold chain on which hung a beautiful locket. Julia looked at it and found that there were what seemed at first to be flecks of rust on it. Then she remembered that gold is not prone to rust or tarnish and she looked more closely at the brownish discolourations on the surface of the metal.

            "Is that blood?"

            "That's what we think it is, Miss. Look inside!"

            Julia did so and found underneath a thin layer of glass a picture of a very beautiful woman, and in the other half of the locket was a picture of her own father, Jean Paul Desmond. Again, her glance involuntarily strayed to the portrait but she shook her head violently and returned to examining the contents of the small keepsake.

            "That must be Erica, his first wife!" she breathed. "He never spoke of her to me, but of course I've seen old newspaper clippings. She really was beautiful!"

            "Miss O'Dell didn't know what we should do with it. We wondered if it should be taken to the police or somewhere--you know--because of the blood, Miss."

            "Are you saying that you think this is evidence of some sort of crime?" Julia could not believe that she was having this conversation. All she wanted to do with this place was knock it down and build a new fancy hotel. She certainly did not want to spend her time playing detective.

            "We don't know anything for sure," said Kathleen hastily. "No one's trying to insinuate anything. We just thought we shouldn't proceed without your direction."

            "Well, it is a beautiful little thing, but apart from the fact that it contains my father's picture, it really means nothing to me."

            "There are the other things too, Miss Desmond," said Bill, shifting in his chair. "If you'd follow me downstairs again, I could show them to you."

            "Well, I've already been shown the tarot cards. I have no idea why they were here. As far as I know, my father never seemed to hold with spiritualism and all that other mumbo-jumbo. Still, they were interesting."

            "I think there's a lot about your father that none of us knows," said Kathleen. "As I told you before, there are the remains of a cryonics capsule lying downstairs, and it could only have come here during the time your father was in residence. What are we to make of that?"

            "I have no idea. Perhaps he bought into crazy fads like that when he was a younger man. Anyway, I do not need to see it! You know that anything to do with death depresses me. I won't have it talked about in my presence! As for the capsule, you can burn it completely if you want to, or bury it or drown it. I really don't care. Just get this hotel built!"

            Julia was beyond exasperated. This hotel was costing her much more than she had initially figured, and now people were throwing strange and complicated mysteries at her every five seconds. Why had the portrait survived the fire when the others among which it had hung had not? Why was a locket presumably belonging to the late Erica Desmond found with blood stains on it? Why had her father invested in equipment necessary to freeze a body in cryonic suspension? All these questions were burning in her brain and the last thing she wanted to do was to think about them. Besides, there were other things on her mind which seemed far more important to her than all these oddities. She had resolved not to confide in anyone until it was absolutely necessary, but she felt now that she must speak.

            "Mr. Temple," she said after an awkward silence, "I'm sorry I yelled. I'll inspect the capsule later. For now, Miss O'Dell and I have things to do. Please go and resume your work."

            "Shall I take the locket and the portrait away again?"

            "No, leave them here," was Julia's listless reply. "And just because I'm here, Bill, don't change the way you do things. Please report to Miss O'Dell as usual."

            "Thanks, Miss Desmond," said Bill as he stood up. "Sorry to have troubled you," and he walked briskly out of the room and disappeared down the stairs.

            Julia leaned back in her chair and regarded Kathleen for a moment. What she liked about Kat O'Dell above anything else was the composure she always maintained no matter what new situation confronted her. She hoped desperately to rely on that calm exterior when she told her the news she now had no choice but to reveal.

            "Kathleen," she said as the other was examining the portrait, "I have something to tell you."

            "What is it?" Kathleen straightened up and resumed her seat. "I knew that something was bothering you but I didn't want to mention anything."

            "The reason I left this hotel project in your hands was not only because I knew you were quite capable of handling it, but it was because of something else. For the past few months I've been away in Switzerland. I have been consulting with every specialist I could find, and they've all told me the same thing; the Cancer's back and no procedure I have tried has worked to slow it down."

            "But it's been over five years! I thought you were deemed cured!"

            "It's Leukemia, Kat. It doesn't work with timelines."

            "Are you alright now?"

            "I walked up all those stairs, didn't I? Yes. The doctors say that for now my levels are alright, but unless I can find some new procedure to try, all they can do is give me blood transfusions and such to keep me going a little longer, and of course there's the chemo. You remember the chemo, don't you?" Julia saw a sickly expression pass across Kathleen's face and she nodded gravely in response.

            "So, have they--have they given you a prognosis?"

            "They don't know for sure, but they think I have about a year to live without the chemo, and the projections don't look much better with it. My body hadn't fully recovered from the last course of treatments and you know I've never been one to take things easy."

            "Well," said Kathleen, "I guess we'd better get this place built then, hadn't we?"

            "It's a good thing you know how to meet deadlines, Kat, my friend," said Julia, and they both laughed with bitter amusement. "I'm the last of the Maljardin line of the Desmond dynasty, and I want to be sure I go out with a bang. You're going to make that happen. Do you understand?"

            "Your wish is my command, Mistress," and they both laughed again. Then in the silence which followed, Julia thought she heard the echo of another kind of laughter. This was mocking and evil, as though the laugher was totally indifferent to simple human suffering, and she felt a deep chill go through her entire being.

            "What is it?" Kathleen moved quickly to her side.

            "Nothing," said Julia. "I just had a little chill."

            "You turned completely white for a minute. I think you need rest. You can go into the room above this one. I have a futon in there. I know it's not what you're used to, but at least it's something."

            "Thanks, Kat. I think you're right," said Julia, and Kathleen went behind her desk and opened a door which Julia had not yet seen. Beyond it was a narrow set of stairs which led to a smaller room above this one, identical in shape but with a lower ceiling and a trap-door in the roof which Kathleen informed her led to a widow's walk around the very top of the tower. The futon was against the wall opposite the door and Julia further saw that Kathleen's suitcase was standing at its head.

            "I'll be working down here," Kathleen called up the stairs.

            "Good," said Julia. "I'm sure I won't sleep for too long, and thanks, Kat. Thanks for everything."

            The dream began almost without her knowing it. She lay on the futon just as she had when she had drifted off to sleep, but as soon as she stood up, she knew she must be dreaming, for she found herself floating through the outer wall of the tower and across the grounds of the mansion. As she gazed down from the impossible height, she realized that the mansion was as it must have been in its golden age, with high walls of indomitable stone and decorative gardens reaching all the way to the edge of the Maljardin cliffs. There was a line of elegantly-dressed people climbing the steep cliff path from the shore, and bringing up the rear was the man from the portrait. He was dressed in vintage Louis Quatorze splendour and he carried a gold-topped walking-stick. He was tall and lithe, young and intense, looking as she had seen her father look in photos taken in his prime, and he supported a mahogany-skinned woman with finely-molded features and long, black hair. When everyone had reached the top of the path, this man and woman moved to the front of the line and the man turned to his guests.

            "Ladies and gentlemen," he said with a dramatic flourish of his hand to indicate all who were assembled in his presence, "Mesdames and messieurs! Welcome to our humble home! Madame des Mondes and myself are pleased to host this special feast on the occasion of the birth of our first-born son! Enter now and take your ease!"

            He fairly danced up the steps and threw open the huge, ornately-carven doors and stood back to allow his guests to enter. Julia too found herself entering, and as she passed through the doorway, she suddenly felt herself standing on her feet and mingling with the guests. For an instant she found herself standing next to a brown-haired woman with soulful, brown eyes who seemed to be the only person to notice her.

            "You don't belong here," she said in Julia's ear.

            "I know," was all that Julia could think to say. "Do you?" She said this as it seemed that none of the guests had noticed this mysterious addition to their number even as they had not noticed her own presence.

            "I came here of my own free will," said the woman. "You appear to have been drawn here against yours."

            By this time the guests had made their way into the great hall where a small orchestra was making ready for the dancing which was evidently soon to commence, and the woman now took Julia's hand and led her into a small room off the hall where they were alone. Julia wondered why this was, since it seemed that no one could see or hear either of them, but the woman's first words explained her actions.

            "He will be looking for you, you know, the man with the gold-topped cane. He has brought you here for a reason, and that reason cannot be good. I know that events must take their course and it is not my task to prevent them, but I want you to know that if you should meet me again, you can trust me. Now, I have to leave you. Remember what I said about the man with the cane!"

            "Tell me who you are first!"

            "I am your friend and his enemy. That's all you need to know for now." With that word, she faded from Julia's sight, and in her place was the man himself, Jacques Eloi des Mondes.

            "My beloved descendant," he said as he came toward her, "I am happy to see you here!"

            "I'm just dreaming, that's all."

            "Are you certain? Dream can be a doorway for the soul, you know. I've brought you here to show you the grandeur of this mansion in its glory. You can't properly dispose of something if you've never truly seen it. This is your home. This is the glory of the ancient and noble line of the family you call the Desmonds. You could reign here as Miranda to my Prospero, queen of all you survey, and instead, you want to destroy the history of your family."

            "Miranda to your Prospero? You know nothing of me. I too am a magician."

            "A magician in the world of finance, perhaps, but you know nothing of true mastery. You could become a mistress even of life and death, you know. I see the sorrow weighing on your heart, and I can free you from it. What is the body and its little pains and ills when compared to the power of the spirit? Let me show you what you can gain! All you have to do is to rebuild Maljardin as it was and agree to live here for the rest of your life."

            "This is my island now," said Julia fiercely. "I can do with it as I choose, and I choose not to listen to you."

            "Never mind," said Jacques. "You will listen in time. aurevoir, my descendant!"

            Julia suddenly found herself outside again, floating higher and higher above the island and almost seeming to become one with the star-filled night around her. Then she found her gaze being drawn to one star which burned brighter than all the rest. It lay like a precious jewel deep in the heavens, pulsing strangely as though it were the ancient heart of some vast and eldritch creature. Julia felt herself suspended almost on a level with this astronomical oddity, and then from nowhere in particular, the musical voice of the mysterious brown-haired woman came to her.

            "Open your eyes, Miss Desmond! That star should not be yours! Open your eyes!"

            "Julia! Julia!" Kathleen was shaking her. "Come on, please! Wake up!"

            "Kat, come on! I'm awake! You don't have to shake me skin from bone!"

            "Sorry, but you were sleeping really strangely. I mean, your breathing was really slow and shallow and I thought something was wrong."

            "Something was wrong! I had the strangest dream I've ever had in my life!"

            "Is that all? You frightened me!"

            "Sorry, Kat, but I'm awake now. What time is it?"

            "Look for yourself."

            Julia went to the window and gasped. Confronting her was the same deep and star-filled night she had witnessed in her dream.

            "I wanted to have a nap," she said to cover her shock, "not sleep the whole day away!"

            "Well, your body must have needed I guess. I've made some dinner for us if you want."

            "Dinner? Here?"

            "I have a toaster oven and a hot-plate, and, if you haven't forgotten, I'm a genius."

            Julia laughed as she and Kathleen went down into the office which was now laid with paper plates and plastic cutlery, and they dined sumptuously on canned soup and grilled cheese sandwiches until all Julia's uncanny fears were utterly swallowed up in laughter and homey comfort. Then she made the mistake of looking at the portrait which still reclined against the wall, and when Kathleen had left for a moment to dispose of their fine china, she thought she heard Jacques' voice coming from it.

            "I told you that we'd meet again, my female descendant! You'll never be rid of me now!"

            Julia shook her head fiercely as though to rid herself of an annoying mosquito, but no matter how much she ignored him, she heard Jacques laughing and laughing, sounding like an evil mockery of her father in one of his rare lighthearted moods.

            "Get rid of this portrait, Kat," she said when her assistant had returned. "It can't stay here. Throw it in the sea or something. I don't care, but just get rid of it!"

            "I'll do something with it right now, Julia. I will. In the meantime, I suppose you should return to the main island."

            "And do what, sleep? I may never sleep again, Kat!"

            "You have to tell me what has spooked you!"

            "I don't have to tell you anything, Kat. Just take that thing and hide it, and as for going back to the main island, you should go and take my room for the night. I'll stay here. I can't sleep now anyway."

            "Alright," said Kathleen. "If you're sure."

            Julia watched her heft the heavy canvas in its gilt frame and somehow maneuver it down the stairs, and soon she saw the sea-plane come in for a landing and then take off again with Kathleen aboard.

            "I hate this place," she said to the empty room. "I really hate this place, but I know that I can make it my own, and I'm going to, even if I die trying."

            "And that you may, my descendant. That you may!" Jacques' voice seemed to echo on the soft night wind which blew gently through the open casement. It was then that Julia knew that whether the portrait existed or not, she would be hearing that voice for the rest of her life if she didn't accede to his wishes.

            "Alright," she said now. "Alright! I'll rebuild your precious mansion," and as suddenly as it had begun, the laughter ceased, and she was left alone at last with her thoughts and the splendour of the stars to keep her company.

Chapter Five

            Stephen paced angrily back and forth from door to window in his small hotel room and cursed his decision to come down here. Why had Barrett summoned him so urgently and then just left him to languish without so much as a word? Never mind that the past seven days in this so-called tropical paradise had poured with rain, but to top everything, Barrett's promised journey into the unknown had been delayed and delayed for reasons known only to himself.

            Though it was true that life here had not been altogether solitary, for he had during this last week become further acquainted with Miss Kathleen O'Dell. She it seemed had been banished for a time from Maljardin to work here, and in payment for his occasional companionship she had shown him the various repositories of historical information on the island and had even spent many hours combing through newspapers yellowed with age and microfilms of birth and death registries at his side.

            "Why are you helping me, Kathleen?" he had asked her one day.

            "Because strange changes have begun to take place on Maljardin, and if I can't confront them myself, I can help you to confront what might be their cause."

            "But I'm not trying to confront anything. I just want to solve the mystery of my uncle's disappearance."

            "And I want to solve the mystery of Julia Desmond's sudden demand that I stay away from a project that she herself committed to me six months ago. All I know is that she sent me here on the evening of the day you and I met, and by the next morning, I had received a singularly cryptic email stating in so many words that I was free to stay here and work but that Julia herself would be taking over the project from now on."

            "Are you saying that my uncle's disappearance and Julia's odd change of attitude are somehow connected?"

            "I don't know," Kathleen had said, "but there was something about being in that place that affected her deeply. There was a portrait that we found of an ancient ancestor of the Desmonds and it was somehow unhurt by the fire. She hated it and wanted it removed, but I could see nothing wrong with it. She actually wanted it destroyed, a peace of vintage art like that, but I just couldn't do it, so I hid it in an unused and undamaged room. She's been under a lot of stress lately. I'm afraid she might be going mad or something! I think I'll go mad too if I think about all this, so I decided to put my considerable mental acuity to use by helping you." She had laughed as she had said this, but he had seen true concern in her eyes which had touched him deeply.

            "Kathleen," he had found himself saying almost without thinking, "if I can help you in any way, please let me know," and the two had clasped hands in token of their mutual promise.

            Thus had the last few days passed, but the nights had been something else again. Never, since he had come to this place, had he truly had a good night's sleep. Dreams had disturbed him: dreams of bonfires and leaping worshippers, of drums and dancing, and over all these images had loomed the shadow of the curse-haunted garden of evil. He supposed that his days of culling scraps of Maljardin lore and legend from the recesses of the local library had been the source of these visions of the night, but he wished that they would stop. He wished that he could find the answers he had come here for, but apart from eye-strain and a persistent kink in his neck, he had gained nothing substantial, until this afternoon, that is, when an email from Barrett, and as cryptic as the one that Kathleen had described receiving some days ago, had flashed across the screen of his Blackberry.

            "Stephen," it had read, "tonight is the night. Be ready when I come for you. R. B."

            So here he was, long after any sane person would have been in bed, pacing his room in impatient anger. He knew the absurdity of this annoyance, since finally he was going to do what he had come here to do, but he felt it nonetheless, and resolved to give Barrett a piece of his mind when he saw him. Finally he heard a slow step coming along the hallway outside his room, and turning the handle of his door so as not to disturb the other hotel guests, he watched Barrett's approach, and the expression on his face as he came closer put all thoughts of angry remonstrance from his mind. Barrett looked as though even more years had fallen upon his already venerable head, and all Stephen could do was reach out a hand and usher him carefully into the room and sit him on a chair.

            "You look like you could use something," he said, going to the mini-bar and finding a small bottle of scotch.

            "Thank you," said Barrett, taking the offered whisky. "It's not as easy for me to go without sleep as it was in the past. This will help me a great deal. We have a rather long journey to take."

            "Can you not tell me anything about this person even now?"

            "I'm sorry, old man, but I just can't. But why don't you tell me how you've spent these past few rain-sodden days."

            "I've been keeping myself busy with futile research," Stephen said shortly. "Still, I had Miss O'Dell for company, so I suppose it wasn't all a waste of my time."

            "I'm sorry, Stephen," said Barrett. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting. I just--just couldn't come till now."

            "Well, I suppose what's done is done," said Stephen, upending the remainder of the tiny bottle of scotch and swallowing the contents. "Drink up, and we'll get going whenever you're ready."

            Barrett finished his drink and got to his feet, leaning on his strangely-carven staff for support, and the two of them made their way quietly out of the hotel and into the darkened streets of the little island town. The sky was clear and absent of cloud for once, and the stars shone brightly, adorning a perfectly round and full moon which sat among them like a silver jewel among sparkling chips of diamond. Stephen saw Barrett's old truck parked in front of the hotel, but to his surprise, Barrett did not make for it. Instead, he walked around the back of the hotel and searched for some time until he found an overgrown dirt track leading away from the town and into the dense jungle of vines and creepers which festooned the less populated areas of the island.

            "Did you bring a machete?" Stephen was being quite serious, but Barrett turned to him and smiled.

            "There's no need of such things here. This may look like a disused path through the forest primeval, but I promise you that it is quite navigable."

            As Stephen set foot on the track, he understood what Barrett had meant. Though the vines seemed to engulf the whole area, there was a path picked out among them where they had been carefully kept at bay by practiced hands. As he walked on behind his mentor, he suddenly felt the need for silence, and though he had many questions, he instinctively bit them back and locked them behind a wall of awe and reverence. This, he thought, must be an ancient and processional way for the worshippers of the god that in these islands was known as The Great Serpent. He wondered how many feet had trodden it and had gone to dust centuries ago, and he was further amazed to see that it had recently been used. Vague footprints were still visible in the dewy earth, and he knew that some of the people he had passed in the street during the past week as they went about their mundane and workaday affairs had traversed this ancient road at night and had come to some sacred and holy place to dance the dances of a people who had lived here for years beyond the count of written history.

            These thoughts were interrupted by the rapid beating of a drum. He thought it to be a signal or a warning, for Barrett stopped dead at the sound and listened. Suddenly a tall shape loomed before them on the path and a deep voice said menacingly:

            "Who comes here?"

            "It is I, Robert Barrett, and I bring Stephen Dawson. We are expected."

            "Very well," said the tall man. Stephen noticed that he was ornately tattooed on arms and chest and that he carried a long knife which looked to be made of the bone of an animal.

            "You may pass," he finally said after a pause which seemed interminable, and he faded into the surrounding undergrowth as though he had never been there.

            Barrett didn't move, however, until the drums had passed the guard's message on ahead. When the echoes of the drums had ceased, Stephen watched as Barrett reverently bowed three times and touched some of the earth to his forehead and then removed his shoes and socks. Stephen followed suit and they both moved on, Barrett still leaning on his staff and Stephen leaning metaphorically on him, for as they went forward, the sense of ancient holiness began almost to overpower him. He found that he now feared to meet the person they sought, though there was in fact nothing ominous in his surroundings to warrant that emotion. Still, the tall man had unnerved him. Why did this person need to be guarded? What if this ancient faith that Barrett seemed to revere so highly was something dark and evil? He knew that most faiths of this kind were not concerned with spreading harm and destruction throughout the world, and despite the fact that he was a Catholic priest, he didn't hold with the prejudices which had dogged his calling throughout history; he was too much of an anthropologist to do that, but he couldn't help being human, and it was human nature to fear the unknown until it was known. Still, as he moved along the path which was considerably wider at this point than it had been, he reproached himself for his childish doubts and resolved to trust Barrett as he had always trusted him, even if that trust led him into a circle of challenging spears.

            "Now we must go off the path," said Barrett. "You can put your shoes on again here. It's not safe for you to go barefoot where the path isn't tended."

            "This isn't holy ground off the path?"

            "No, but it should be treated with reverence. We are nearing the place we seek now," and without another word he dawned his shoes and so did Stephen, and they walked off the left-hand edge of the path into the tangle of interlaced undergrowth. Yet here too was a track for one who knew how to find it, and by the light of the moon Barrett went deftly on, threading his way purposefully between the stems and trunks of tropical plants and taking Stephen with him.

            They soon came to a cleared plot of ground in which little or nothing grew, and in the centre of this space stood a stone cabin. It was well-built of massive and irregularly shaped blocks and was strongly thatched with closely-woven palm-leaves, and it looked to Stephen like the perfect representation of the gingerbread house that belonged to the witch in the tale of Hansel and Gretel.

            "What's the matter?" Barrett must have noticed his suspicious glance.

            "Nothing," he said, trying to laugh but failing. "Nothing's the matter at all."

            "This may look like a strange little house," said Barrett, "but I promise you that no evil is here. You'll feel better when you're inside. Come on now," and he knocked quietly on the wooden door.

            "Come in, Robert," said a musical female voice. "Come in!"

            Stephen stood back to let Barrett open the door, and when he did so, he revealed a low-ceilinged room with a fireplace and various pieces of wicker furniture placed here and there. On a low stool near to the fire sat a woman who looked to be in her early thirties with rich, brown hair and deep, brown eyes that seemed to sparkle with something unnamable when their gaze fell on Stephen. For an instant he thought that the sparkle was due to tears, and this suspicion was confirmed when he saw her blink furiously before rising and coming toward them.

            "Come in and be welcome, both of you," she said now as she held out her hand to them. Stephen let Barrett go in first so he could watch how he approached her, for he saw that she was dressed in a ceremonial robe and he figured that she held a very high position in the island faith. Barrett came forward and bowed his head. At the same moment, the woman raised her hand and made a gesture over him.

            "May you be blessed, Robert Barrett," she said quietly, and Stephen felt tears in his own eyes as he watched her sure and strong command of the rituals of her faith.

            When Barrett had moved to a chair in the corner, Stephen felt instinctively that he should follow his movements in approaching this woman, so he too bowed his head as he came before her.

            "I will bless you, Fr. Stephen Dawson," she said softly to him, "if you will bless me."

            "Alright," he said, standing still and waiting for her to speak the words she had spoken to Barrett.

            "May you be blessed, Stephen Dawson," she said, and with her own hand raised his head and then, to his utter surprise, knelt in front of him as meekly as any nun. In fact, the monastic image was so strong that he found himself speaking Latin words of blessing which he had never spoken in his life while signing the bowed head with the sign of the cross.

            "Benedicite," he said, and offered her his hand. She took it firmly in both of hers and stood, and immediately pulled him into an embrace as they exchanged the kiss of peace. Again he felt the Latin words rise to his lips and he said:

            "Pax vobiscum," and without much surprise he heard her respond:

            "Et come spiritu tuam, Pater."

            Then the two moved apart and he saw her eyes lingering on his face again, and after avoiding another flood of tears, she conducted him to a seat across from her own at the fire.

            "Make yourself comfortable," she said now. "I'll be back in a moment with some things to make us some energizing tea. It's going to be a long night for all of us," and she disappeared into an inner room from which came the sounds of clinking bottles and the pounding of a pestle in a mortar.

            "What was that at the door?" Stephen asked Barrett when she had gone, "some kind of test?"

            "What do you mean?"

            "Well, you must have told her I was a priest, right? Perhaps seeing me out of uniform made her suspicious."

            "I didn't tell her you were a priest," said Barrett. "I swear to you that I didn't. However, I suppose that it was a test of sorts."

            "Yes," said the woman as she came in with some fragrant herbs in a small bowl, "and I hope I passed it."

            "What?" Stephen was confused.

            "I wanted you to know that I am what I seem to be," she said, "even though my looks may belie my station. I bear the mantle of power in our faith. I am called the Conjure Woman. I also wanted you to know that though you pretend not to be what you in fact are, I can sense your nature in spite of yourself."

            "And you think my nature is that of a priest?"

            "You are as much a man of God as  your uncle was," she said, and again the tears stood in her eyes for a moment so that to hide them she soon busied herself putting a kettle to heat and brewing the tea.

            "So," said Stephen when she had set the tea to steep and had taken her stool again, "you knew my uncle? That seems highly unlikely somehow."

            "Nevertheless," she said gravely, "it is the truth, whether you believe it or not."

            "I came here because a man I respect told me that here I would find the answers which have eluded me. It's his word I trust."

            "That is wise," said the Conjure Woman as she poured the tea. "I do not ask you to trust me now, but only to listen. Will you grant me that courtesy?"

            "Yes," said Stephen after a pause.

            "Robert," said the Conjure Woman as she saw his hand shaking with the effort of holding the earthenware mug she had just handed him, "tonight's journey was taxing for you, wasn't it? I think you should lie down in the bedroom." Stephen saw a look pass between them that had an unmistakably conspiratorial quality, so he was not surprised to see Barrett place his untasted tea on the small table near his chair and go, after a few words of courteous leave-taking, through another door and into a neatly-kept bedroom.

            "Surely he could have slept in his chair," Stephen said now.

            "Yes, but what I have to say is not for his ears. You, of course, may tell it to him, but since it concerns your family, it is to you that I must speak. I have been the custodian of secrets which were not rightfully mine to keep, and now it is my duty to give them up at last."

            With that, she stood up and went to a chest which stood against the wall near the door, and taking a key from around her neck, unlocked it and lifted the heavy-looking lid and rummaged inside for a moment. When she was finished, she returned to the fire and handed Stephen a Bible, a small, blue  notebook and a gold chain from which hung a simple cross.

            "These belonged to your uncle," she said simply.

            "And how did you come to possess them?"

            "They were given to me after he died."

            At these words, Stephen felt a shock for which he was totally unprepared. In his logical mind, he had quite accepted the probability that his uncle was in fact dead, but to hear it said aloud in such a stark and final way made him feel a sense of utter failure, and as a result, he became defensive.

            "How do you know he's dead? Did you see his body? Tell me everything!"

            "I saw him fall from one of the towers of the mansion at Maljardin," said the woman, evidently sensing his distress and trying to soothe it. "I never saw him buried, but there is a crypt under that mansion, so it may be that his body rests well despite the unnatural and untimely manner of his death."

            "Are you saying that he was murdered?"

            "I'm afraid so," she said, looking for a moment into the heart of the fire as though to summon a sight of what she was about to describe.

            "When I first met your uncle," she began slowly, "I felt instinctively his goodness and his strength."

            "But he had run away from his pulpit to follow some girl!" Stephen didn't like to disparage his uncle's memory, but this point had always troubled him greatly.

            "If you had med Holly Marshall as I did, you would have understood why. It is true that he did love her as a man loves a woman, but he knew that she didn't love him and he never pressed his suit further than friendship would permit. Now, as I was saying, I knew him as a strong person, but he was also in a state of doubt about his calling and even about his faith. His love for Holly had shaken him to the very soul, but his sojourn on Maljardin was full of strange portents and terrors about which you will read if you peruse the book I gave you. It is a journal he kept."

            "So how did you get these things? You didn't murder him, did you?" He hated himself for asking the question, but he knew it had to be asked no matter how odious it seemed to him to think of this simple and lovely woman as a murderess.

            "I most certainly had no hand in his death," she said now, "except perhaps by an act of omission."

            "Then who did it? Can we tell the police?"

            "The woman who murdered Reverend Matthew Dawson is far beyond the long arm of the law, I'm afraid. Again, the journal will tell you what you need to know about his interactions with her."

            "Have you read it then? My uncle's private thoughts?"

            "For informational purposes only," she said. "I had to piece some things together about the events that occurred on Maljardin when I was not present. It was necessary that I do so in order for me to fulfill my destiny. Please read this journal, and please don't leave here until you've read it."

            "As to leaving," he said, "I am on an indefinite sabbatical from both my priestly and my professorial duties, so I needn't leave any time soon, but now that I have these things of my uncle's, tell me why I should stay!"

            "There's Robert for one thing. I trust you've seen a change in him."

            "I have indeed, but he is some years older than he was since I last saw him, and most of us do not have your gift of seemingly perpetual youth."

            "Well, leaving me aside for the moment," she said sadly, "you must admit that he looks weak."

            "Are you saying that he's dying?"

            "I'm only saying that you should make the most of your time with him while you have it. Besides, I think that after reading your uncle's words, you will have more questions for me."

            "Then," said Stephen, rising to his feet, "I suppose we have nothing more to say to each other at this time."

            "I have one thing to say before you leave. I want you to know that your uncle died in a noble cause, fighting evil that he had never even imagined existing before he came to Maljardin."

            "I'm glad to hear that," he said, "though like most things I've heard concerning this business, your saying is annoyingly cryptic."

            "I'm sorry that it must be so now," she said, and she seemed genuinely apologetic, "but I promise that you will understand more after you've read the journal. Now, let us go. I'll guide you to your hotel."

            "What about Barrett?"

            "He should sleep," she said. "Don't worry. He knows this house well. You saw him follow the sacred path. Could you have done it on your own?"

            "No. I understand that he has learned many secrets of your faith."

            "More than many know nowadays. Now, come with me."

            A thick blanket of cloud had fallen over the sky by the time the two of them exited the Conjure Woman's abode, so Stephen was grateful, if a little surprised, when his guide took his hand. As they walked along the cabin path, he heard the sound of neither snapping twig or falling stone, and it was only when she paused to allow him to remove his shoes in order that he should tread the processional way with due reverence that he realized that she herself was already unshod. He felt her beside him in the pitch darkness and he knew her to be flesh and blood, but there was something otherworldly about the lightness of her step and the utter silence in which she seemed to cocoon herself. Yet for all her silence, her presence seemed to be well known to the unseen sentinels who seemed to guard this most sacred of roads, for no guards assailed their progress and no drums rang out in the still air.

            "Your hotel isn't far from here," she said as they reached the narrower end of the dirt track. "Can you find it yourself?"

            "Yes," he said, peering through the vines that screened the entrance of the path from the hotel grounds. "I hope Robert will be alright."

            "Don't worry," she said, giving him a radiant smile. "I'll see to it that he is. Now, I'll say goodbye for the moment. If you want me, call me."

            "Call you? How?" But before he had finished his question, she had moved silently away, melting into the night like smoke into smoke.

Chapter Six

            "Chris, give that man his money back! It's no good here." Kathleen O'Dell walked quickly over to the table where Bill Temple was sitting and ordered a white wine for herself and paid for his rum and coke.

            "I know I'm currently unemployed, Miss O'Dell," said Bill, "but I can afford a drink or two."

            "Hey," said Kathleen. "I arranged this meeting, so the least I can do is stand you to some refreshment."

            "Well, thanks. Now, what is it that I can help you with? Should you even be talking to me? I'm now in your boss's bad books, remember?"

            "I remember," said Kathleen, "and I remember something else. I remember Miss Desmond telling you to keep reporting to me about the progress of the hotel even though she was here. The fact that she later changed this state of affairs doesn't matter to me. I want to know what's been going on there for the past week or so, and God knows Julia Desmond isn't going to tell me."

            "Well," said Bill, "I've worked on Desmond building projects before this, and they've all been very straightforward. I've had a pretty free hand once the main plans were finished, and I've always been well paid, and I've always had good workers to direct."

            "Alright, so what happened with this project? You and I hired your workers together. We both thought they were the best in the business and we were even able to keep costs down by hiring locally."

            "I remember. You treated me to dinner then in celebration." Bill laughed, but Kathleen noticed that his smile did not reach his eyes.

            "Come on, Bill," she said. "Something has spooked you. I can see that. Now just tell me!"

            "Alright." Bill took a long swig from his glass and leaned back in his chair.

            They were seated in an out-of-the-way corner of the French Leaf Cafe, and while tourists came and went, mingling in impromptu groups or breaking up into romantic pairings, Kathleen listened as Bill told his tale.

            "When I got to work on the day after we found that portrait," he began, "I was surprised to learn that you had left. Miss Desmond was holding court in your office and I was surprised to see the portrait hanging where that tapestry of the deer-hunt had been. I could tell that she hadn't slept, and when she finally deigned to look up from her work and speak to me, she informed me in no uncertain terms that the plans for the hotel were being scrapped. She suddenly wanted to restore the mansion to its original state, and when I tried to explain that building codes for hotels were different from those for houses, she interrupted me and said that it was alright. We weren't going to build a hotel anymore. She played the grand lady with me, telling me of her family's ancient roots on this island and her need to be in touch with them again.

            "As it was, I didn't care. I was more than willing to dig up the old plans for the mansion and work with them, but when I informed my crew of what we were going to be doing once excavations were complete, more than half of them gave their notice immediately, and the remainder left when I finally quit."

            "Well, apart from the departure of your workers, what made you quit? You said you didn't mind the change in plans, so what was it?"

            "I asked one of the workers why they were leaving," Bill Continued, "and all that he would say was that this sudden change of plans was proof of the return of some mysterious evil out of the past. As you know, I'm not scared easily, so I managed to find more workers. Of course, I had to hire them from The States and get them down here which blew our budget completely out of the water, but Miss Desmond didn't mind a bit. All she wanted was for the building to happen as quickly as it could, and once we determined that the outer walls of the house were relatively intact, she wanted us to do our best to start the building as soon as we could.

            "She actually made me hire another shift of workers and set up huge lights so that they could work at night. I wouldn't be surprised if most of the work is done in as little as a month. She doesn't sleep anymore, and she's prepared to spend whatever money she has to spend in order to get the job done."

            "But there's still something you're not telling me."

            "Well," said Bill, "it happened the day before yesterday. Miss Desmond had called me up to her office, and as I got to the top of the stairs, I heard her talking to someone. She was asking this person for more time and she wanted a promise kept. As I opened the door, I found no one in the room except Miss Desmond, and from the way she was standing, it looked as though she was speaking to that portrait. She turned when she heard me coming and let loose such a flood of accusations and insults that I could think of nothing to do but to quit. Something's really wrong over there, Miss O'Dell, and I think you're the only one who might be able to stop it!"

            "At this point," said Kathleen, trying hard to take in what he had just said, "I don't know how I can. If she talks to me, it's only to give me orders or to ask me to report to her."

            "Can I ask what she's having you do over here?"

            "I seem to have become the Desmond family historian," said Kathleen. "All she wants from me is research."

            "Does it have to do with that man in the portrait, Jacques Eloi des Mondes?"

            "Not as such," said Kathleen. "but it's about his time. She told me that my plans for the hotel were all wrong and that she wanted to create an authentic seventeenth-century atmosphere for her guests. You see? She didn't even tell me the truth of what she's doing over there! Miss Desmond has never lied to me before, and I think she never meant for you to tell me anything either."

            "So you think she's deliberately keeping you busy for some reason?"

            "Exactly. I suppose that all I can do is wait for an invitation to Maljardin. Since she hasn't sent me home yet, I'm sure she's got some plan in mind for my eventual return."

            "Well, I'm staying here for another two days. If you want to talk again, let me know, and if there's anything I can do to help you, I will."

            "Thanks, Bill. Thanks a lot."

            "Thank you for the drink, Miss O'Dell! Now, I think I'm off to the beach to look at the sunset. I might as well enjoy my last few days here and take the vacation I've never given myself."

            "Have fun!"

            Kathleen watched him walk away and pondered what he had just told her. She had to find a way to get to Maljardin, even if it meant losing her job, or worse, her friend. She had not told anyone about Julia's Cancer returning, but she feared that it was this which had pushed her over the edge. Perhaps, she thought, it was time for her to enlist some outside help, but the only other person she really knew on the island was Dr. Robert Barrett, and he didn't strike her as being much of a people-person. Of course, there was also Stephen Dawson. He had told her that he was a priest as well as a professor, and these two professions combined gave him an air of trustworthiness and authority in her mind that only an intellectual who had attended an Irish parochial school during childhood and adolescence like herself could understand. She was unsure of him though, since he had problems of his own, but she could think of no one else to talk to about this, and besides, here he was now, walking sleepily into the cafe and heading straight for her table.

            "I was just thinking about you," she said as he sat down and ordered a coffee.

            "I honestly cannot say the same thing," he said with a deep sigh, "but I'm glad not to be sitting here alone."

            "I'm about to order dinner," said Kathleen. "Are you hungry?"

            "Ravenous! I'll have the fish and rice curry," he said to the waitress who came to take their order.

            "I'll have what he's having," said Kathleen absently.

            "I see you haven't had to endure solitude," said Stephen, noticing Bill's empty glass. "Did the elusive Miss Desmond grace you with her presence?"

            "No, but she was the subject of conversation. I was having a meeting with the now former construction foreman for the soon-to-be-former Chateau Xanadu."

            "Run that by me again?"

            "The foreman with whom I had been working very successfully till Julia took over last week has now quit. What's more, many of the crew that he and I originally hired from around these parts have quit as well. Why do you think that was?"

            "I couldn't possibly guess!"

            "Oh come on. Just try!"

            "They weren't making enough money?"

            "No. Try again."

            "Poor working conditions?"

            "Sorry! Also not correct."

            "I really don't know!"

            "Oh come, Fr. Stephen! It's right up your street!"

            "It's against their religion to build a hotel?"

            "Close enough," said Kathleen. "The fact is that they believe that it's bad mojo for Julia to change the hotel plans and to restore the original mansion to the way it was before the fire."

            "Is that what she's doing? Spooky!"

            "Oh! Not you too!"

            "Well, my uncle was last seen in that mansion, and as I now know almost definitively, that mansion was where he died. So all this talk of restoring it is rather spooky to me."

            "True," said Kathleen as their dinners were placed in front of them. "I wasn't thinking."

            "Well, I can see you're spooked as well," said Stephen. "Why don't you tell me what's eating you? Maybe we can help each other out."

            Kathleen told Stephen what Bill had told her, and she was surprised at how seriously he was taking it. She had supposed that he would listen politely to her problems, but she was not prepared for the intense way he looked at her as she described Julia's changes of mood.

            "Stephen," she said when she had finished, "are you alright? You look like a ghost just walked up and tapped you on the shoulder."

            "In a strange way," he replied, "that's exactly what has happened. I had a meeting of my own recently, last night in fact, and I was given a journal which my uncle kept during his visit here."

            "Yes?"

            "Well, though I've only begun reading it, I've found the name Jacques Eloi des Mondes mentioned several times, and he describes Jean Paul Desmond as a man of many moods. His obsession was restoring his dead wife to life by means of cryonics, but Uncle Matt mentions the portrait as oddly transfixing Jean Paul at times. I think you and I do need to help each other. I fear that history may be repeating itself in more ways than one over there on Maljardin!".

            "But who gave you that journal? Was it Dr. Barrett?"

            "It was someone he knows and who seems to have known my uncle."

            "How very mysterious! Ah well, I'm not one to pry into what isn't mine to know. Still, would you mind if I looked at the journal sometime?"

            "I think it's a task very suited to your abilities. I've been reading it all day between naps, but I haven't been able to sleep very well and I absolutely need to get my eight hours tonight."

            "Well, with what Bill told me, I don't think I could sleep if I tried, so if you're alright with me taking it, I think it could shed a lot of light on my own mystery as well as on yours."

            "Well, here it is," said Stephen. "Knock yourself out."

            Kathleen took the blue notebook reverently and watched as Stephen raised his water glass.

            "I know I'm not drinking," he said, "but this will have to do. I'd like to propose a toast."

            "Alright," said Kathleen, raising her glass of Chardonnay. "Go ahead!"

            "To partnership!"

            "No," said Kathleen impulsively. "To friendship!"

            "Fair enough," said Stephen. "To friendship!"

            They clinked their glasses solemnly and drank at exactly the same time.

            "Shall we meet tomorrow for lunch?"

            "Why not make it breakfast? I don't want to lose any time with Julia the way she is."

            "Very well then. Breakfast it is. Perhaps I can get Dr. Barrett to join us. I have the distinct impression that he knows more about Maljardin than he's told either of us."

            "True enough," said Kathleen with a small smile. "He has given me that impression as well. Alright then. I'll see you here tomorrow at about 9:00 A.M."

            "Till then, then. Goodnight!"

            "Sleep well!"

            As Stephen exited the cafe, Kathleen watched him with a longing look. She realized that she was beginning to act with him the way she acted with men she was attracted to, and she hoped he hadn't noticed. Still, she thought, why did he have to be a priest? He was witty, good-looking, gentlemanly and kind. He was a man that she could see herself marrying one day, and it was all in vain because of a choice he made several years ago. Yet, she thought, perhaps crumbs are almost as good as a loaf. He had returned her declaration of friendship, hadn't he? She'd have to live on that for a while as best as she could. For now, she could help him by reading and making notes on his uncle's journal. This at least would keep her busy, and it had the bonus of possibly helping Julia as well. She resolved therefore to put all her energy into it, and she thought that there was no time like the present to get started.

            Finishing her wine, she went to pay her bill and was surprised to find that Stephen had already done so. After debating whether to disturb him in his room and pay him back or to insist that she pick up the tab for breakfast, she decided upon the latter course and made her way back to her own room, blue notebook in hand.

            Sitting down at the desk, she opened the book and then hesitated. Here in front of her was the last written record of a man who had now been dead for forty years or more. She wondered why this should frighten her, since she was accustomed to reading books written by people who had long ago gone to dust, but, she supposed, those books were not the private and personal thoughts of those writers, and this journal was. It was only now that she realized what she had in her possession, and all of a sudden, she felt like an interloper.

            "But Stephen could use a fresh eye on this," she said out loud to the empty room. "I'm not being nosy on my own behalf, but I'm looking at this book with his permission. Alright then. Here goes nothing!"

            As she began thumbing the pages, Kathleen was struck by the insightfulness of this man. He truly was called to his pastoral duties, she thought, but she did wonder just who this Holly Marshall was and exactly what he saw in her. As far as she could tell, the girl was truculent and angry, very immature and without very many redeeming qualities. However, he did appear to genuinely care for her welfare, and not only on an objective level. It was quite clear from his writings that he loved her as a man loves a woman, and by the time she had reached the journal entries which took place on Maljardin, Kathleen found herself feeling sympathy for this deeply-compassionate man who had left everything familiar to him to pursue a dream which likely had no hope of coming true.

            From the beginning, Matthew Dawson's pursuance of Holly Marshall seemed portentous. He had met "a very mysterious and special woman named Evangeline (or Vangie as everyone calls her) Abbott who reads fortunes and waits tables" in the very cafe where Kathleen had just had dinner with his nephew, and she had spoken of Holly being surrounded by unknown dangers. She had further warned Matthew that he was needed on Maljardin as a minister in order to defeat the evil that seemed to be walking there.

            "Well, Miss Abbott," she said aloud as she leaned back in her chair to rest her eyes, "I wish I had your gift at fortune-telling. I wonder now if these Tarot cards I rescued from Maljardin were yours?"

            She idly shuffled the pack as she pondered what Matthew Dawson's words might be leading to, and as she did so, a card fell to the desktop in front of her. She looked at it, trying to remember the very small amount of Tarot lore she had learned from some occult enthusiasts she had known in university. This was the King of Wands, she knew, and then she looked at the journal again. Most of Matt's reflections dwelt on The Fool, as Vangie had seemed to think that this card represented himself, but he had written her thoughts on the King of Wands as well, and in its reversed position as this card was now, she had said that it was a card of ill omen betokening the presence of no one less than Jacques Eloi des Mondes himself.

            "Well," she said, "if these Tarot cards are trying to tell me something, I'm listening. I just don't know what to do about it! Still, all this seems so surreal! I mean, Jean Paul Desmond lost his wife. Julia Desmond has Cancer. They're both really traumatic events and both these people are masters of the grand gesture. Julia has just as much eccentricity potential as her father did. It doesn't mean there's an actual devil involved. I think I have to stop now. I'm driving myself crazy. Goodnight, Matthew Dawson, and Miss Abbott, I'll take care of these cards for you."

            She closed the book and straightened the cards into a pile, being sure to hide the King of Wands well, and then looking at the clock, she noticed that it was three A.M.

            Hmmm... That's strange, she thought. Vangie Abbott told Matt to tell Raxl that the third hour was best for her if they were both to read the cards together. I wonder if it still is? Could she be watching over all this from some other plane of existence?

            But these ponderings were too deep for her at this time of night, and despite her earlier professions of insomnia, she suddenly felt very tired indeed. So, resolving to leave all these strange and supernatural things out of the Readers' Digest version of the journal that she was going to give Stephen at breakfast, she undressed and lay down on her bed, falling deeply asleep almost instantly.

Chapter Seven

            When the knocking started, Stephen was sure that the hotel was on fire and that he would be burned in his bed. Still, for all the natural panic he felt, he thought it would be more pleasant to cook slowly while still remaining asleep than to have to wake up and run for his life. His dreams had been confused and fragmentary, and the knocking seemed to enter into them in a very natural way.

            "Alright," he finally said. "Alright! What is it?"

            "Sir, I'm sorry to disturb you, but we need a priest. Can you be ready quickly?"

            Stephen knew by now what "we need a priest" meant when it was said in that frantic a voice. Someone must have died in the night. He looked at the clock, certain it was morning, and was surprised to find that it was only 3:00 A.M. He dressed quickly in his priestly clothes and retrieved the things he would need to perform this most solemn of offices, and by the time he had opened the door, the maid who had called him was in actual hysterics.

            "Look," he said to her. "People die. It's difficult but it happens. Just take me to the room and try to calm down."

            "But he's not dead yet! And his face is just, oh!"

            Stephen followed her sobs down the hall and to another floor of the hotel where he was ushered into a room even smaller than his own. There he found a man writhing in some kind of internal agony.

            "The priest is here, Mr. Temple," said the doctor who was attending him in a soft voice.

            "Good," said the man through clenched teeth. "I have to tell you something, Father."

            "First," said Stephen, "tell me your name."

            "William Patrick Temple," the man replied, pausing between each word as though it took great effort for him to pronounce them.

            "Alright then, William. Do you want to make your confession now?"

            "No. Later! First, I have to tell you something."

            "Keep this brief," the doctor whispered in Stephen's ear. "He's sinking fast."

            "William," said Stephen, "are you sorry for having offended God with all the sins of your past life?"

            "Yes," said William, "but I don't think that my offending God is what I have to worry about the most. I've offended The Devil, and this is what I get!"

            The man grabbed Stephen's hand in a sudden spasm and Stephen was forced to look directly into his face. William Temple's eyes were wide and staring, and it was evident from the contortions of his features that he had been frightened badly and was in great pain. Forgetting the rituals of his calling for a moment, Stephen spoke directly to the man out of fear and disgust.

            "How did this happen to you?"

            "We think it's a heart attack," came the doctor's ready answer.

            "I wasn't talking to you," said Stephen savagely. "I was talking to him!"

            "All I can say," said the man, "is that I have a very healthy heart. Please help me, Father. Maljardin! Maljardin is the key, and the portrait. Tell Miss O'Dell that the portrait is evil!"

            "Do you know what he's talking about?" The doctor was a small, officious sort of man and Stephen was in no mood for his questions.

            "Don't worry," he said, ignoring him. "I'm sorry this is happening to you. You're absolved of all your sins. Be at peace!"

            "Promise me you'll tell her about the portrait!"

            "I promise. I promise!"

            The man's grip on Stephen's hand relaxed and the flailing of his limbs was soon stilled. Stephen found himself shivering despite the warmth of the room, and he felt instinctively that an evil presence was quite satisfied with its night's work. He had rarely encountered a presence like this which he seemed to sense in his very bones, so he did the only thing he could think of, and with more conviction than he had felt in a long time, he traced the sign of the cross in oil on the man's forehead, eyes, lips and chest. As he said the final prayers for the dead, he prayed inwardly for God to cleanse the room of evil and to guide this man to his eternal rest without the burden of sin on his soul.

            "Father," said the doctor, adjusting his glasses on his turned up nose, "I have to certify him now."

            "Alright," said Stephen. "I'm finished here."

            Making his way back to his room, he was overcome by the utter silence of the sleeping hotel. He found himself repeating The Lord's Prayer to himself as he walked down the hall. He still felt the chill clinging to him, and hated himself for being so easily spooked, but seeing that man lying in bed with an expression of total fear on his face had shaken him to the very core. When he entered his own room, he walked around it several times and sprinkled holy water in all the corners, but the chill was still with him.

            "This has to stop," he said aloud, and suddenly found himself clutching the small gold cross which had belonged to his uncle.

            "It will," said a soft, musical voice from out of the darkness, and when Stephen turned towards it, he found the wavering form of The Conjure Woman standing before him.

            "What?"

            "Hush," she said quickly. "I have little time. Just know that all this will stop, but know equally that you must have a hand in stopping it."

            "A man is dead! He claims that The Devil killed him!"

            "I know it well, and I know that he spoke the truth. You'll see me in the flesh soon enough. We will speak more then. In the meantime, that cross you're holding is your connection to me. I will do what I can for you now, but I can do little in this form."

            Saying this, she waved her hand in blessing over him and he suddenly felt the room grow warmer.

            "He knows you now, Stephen," she said. "Beware and guard yourself as best as you can, but remember that I am here to help you, for he is the enemy of my people as well as of yours. Finish reading your uncle's journal and you'll understand all you need to."

            "Uh, thank you," he said.

            "Sleep now," she whispered as her form faded from before his eyes, and he suddenly felt himself falling asleep where he stood, so that it took all his effort to lie down on his bed before he became insensible to everything except his dreams, which were on this night very vivid indeed.

            He stood in an ancient temple of some kind and he was wearing his priest's robes. There was a brazier in which burned a strange kind of incense which seemed to be drugging the very air he breathed, and through the smoke he saw her: The Conjure Woman he had met in the stone cabin to which Barrett had led him the night before. She sat cross-legged in front of the brazier and gazed intently into it, and suddenly, despite himself, he found himself taking up a drum and tapping out some ancient rhythm which seemed as primal as the secret pulsing of the stars.

            "Follow," he heard her voice saying in time with his drumming fingers. "Follow your heart's calling! Follow and do not stop!"

            "What is this place? Who are you?"

            "That you will know soon enough," was all her reply, and again the urge came to him to drum faster and faster, and suddenly he knew that he was lending her strength to enter a deep state of trance.

            "Am I a priest of my God or of yours?"

            "You are a true priest," she replied slowly. "That is what is needed in this place."

            "But where is this place? Why am I needed?"

            "All I can tell you is that it has been ordained. You must help to finish what was started by your kinsman. It is time for you to face your destiny."

            These words echoed in his mind as he awoke, and again there was a knocking on his door.

            "Yes," he said as he hurriedly dressed in his street clothes again.

            "It's Kathleen. May I come in?"

            "Yes, of course," he said and opened the door.

            "Here's the journal," she said. "If you want me to read more of it, I will, but I feel very strongly that I shouldn't be involved in your family's business."

            "You shouldn't be doing my dirty work for me. It's true."

            "I will report my findings to you," said Kathleen, "but can we go to breakfast first?"

            "Yes. I feel the need of sustenance myself."

            "Have a rough night?"

            "The roughest possible," he said. "One of the guests here died last night."

            "Oh no! How horrible! Were you present in an official capacity?"

            Yes, and I have a message for you from him."

            "Him? Him? You don't mean--Bill Temple?"

            "I'm sorry to be so blunt about it, but yes. Bill Temple."

            "Oh God! Oh God! He was going to have fun here before he went home. He seemed freed from all the worry and fear on Maljardin, and now to suddenly die?"

            "They say it was a heart attack."

            "They say? Do you believe them?"

            "I believe he had a heart attack, yes, but I saw his face as he was dying, and I think that he was frightened to death, and, well, I felt something."

            "Felt something? Speak plainly, can't you?"

            Stephen could see that Kathleen was barely able to keep her emotions in check.

            "I will," he said, "but let's go to the cafe."

            "Yes. I'm sorry. Let's go."

            As they ate their breakfast, Stephen watched the staff coming and going, and he fancied that he saw something shifty in the looks which passed between them.

            "What's going on with them?" He said as he finished his eggs.

            "With who? What do you mean?"

            "The staff here. There's something strange happening here."

            "Why do you care about them so much?"

            "It's like I was trying to tell you before. When Bill Temple was dying, I felt something strange. I felt a deep chill in my bones even though the room was warm, and I knew somehow that there was a malicious presence in that room that mocked Bill's fears."

            "That reminds me of a passage in the journal," said Kathleen, her face suddenly brightening rather than brooding. "Your uncle met a waitress who worked here and she told him that she was psychic, and he quotes her as describing the feeling in the air then as chilling to her very nerve-ends. In fact, I wasn't going to tell you about her. I didn't want to frighten you unnecessarily, but now that Bill's dead, well, I feel differently."

            "This waitress," said Stephen. "Did he describe her?"

            "No," said Kathleen, "not physically. He only spoke about the signs and portents she seemed to feel about Maljardin and those connected with it."

            "And what were those?"

            "Well, she read Tarot cards, and the card she was most concerned about was the King of Wands, and you know, at 3:00 A.M. I was playing with the Tarot cards we found in the mansion ruins."

            "You found Tarot cards?"

            "Yes," she said, and took them out of the briefcase which she always had near her. "Well, as I said, I was shuffling them absently when one fell out on the desk. It was the King of Wands, and it was reversed. Vangie Abbott (that was the waitress's name) said that that this was the traditional card of ill omen, and she specifically linked it with the name of Jacques Eloi des Mondes."

            "Bill spoke of him too, of the portrait. He wanted me to tell you that the portrait was the key. I believe that he thought he had been murdered by the spirit of that man."

            "You have to read the journal, Stephen. You just have to! Maybe we can learn how to fight this evil from your uncle!"

            "Is it really evil? Could it be some kind of contagious hysteria?"

            "That was my first thought as well, but Julia has been acting so oddly lately, and now you say that Bill Temple seems to have been frightened to death, and I can't help but make the connection between my conversation with him yesterday and his sudden loss of life last night. Oh, by the way, when were you called?"

            "As it happens," said Stephen with a shiver, "at 3:00 A.M."

            "Maybe Vangie was trying to tell me something, though she was among the missing on Maljardin after the fire. Still, if we can believe in evil spirits, why not in good ones?"

            "Well, I don't believe in anything definitively just yet, but I know you're right about one thing. I have to finish the journal, and I don't think there's any time to lose. Look again at those waiters! They're planning something. I can see it."

            "He's right, you know, Miss O'Dell." A young, tanned waiter had come over while they were talking.

            "This is Chris, Stephen."

            "Hello, Chris. What were you saying?"

            "They are planning something. It's a real kick, actually. They believe that a death in the hotel brings bad mojo or juju or karma or something, so they bring in one of their local witches or wizards or something to do a little spell-casting. You just watch! Pretty soon they'll come to everyone's room and tell them that there's going to be a moonlight sailing tour of the neighbouring islands, and as soon as everyone's gone, they'll start the fun."

            "It sounds interesting," said Stephen.

            "Ever the anthropologist, eh?" He was surprised by the appearance of Dr. Barrett.

            "I never had a chance to invite you to breakfast, Dr. B., but since you're here, are you hungry?"

            "I'm only here with a message for you," he said. "There will be a moonlight sailing tour planned for all the guests here tonight. It would be best if you both attended. Is that clear?"

            "Clear as mud," said Stephen, "but I'm afraid I'll have to pass. I get seasick far too easily."

            "And there's only one place I'm going," said Kathleen, "whenever I'm invited, that is. That's Maljardin! Till then, I'm staying put."

            "Well then, keep hidden in your rooms," said Barrett. "If you ask not to be disturbed, the staff will respect your wishes and will not force you out of the hotel, but neither will they let outsiders observe their ritual."

            "Alright then," said Stephen. "I have a lot of work to do anyway."

            "I think two heads will be better than one for that," said Kathleen. "Can I join you in your researches?"

            "Of course," said Stephen. "Let's begin now!"

Chapter Eight

            For Kathleen, the day passed quickly enough. She felt rather responsible for Bill's even being involved in this hotel venture at all, so she spent much of the day on the phone with his family and with the doctor who had pronounced him dead so that she could facilitate his being sent home as soon as possible. The hardest part for her was speaking to his wife, because all the distraught woman kept saying was how healthy her Bill was and how this all just couldn't be true. Kathleen assured her again and again that it was true, even going so far as to say that she had identified the body so that the police could be shut of the matter as quickly as possible, but the woman was completely inconsolable.

            Meanwhile, as she told the same story over and over again, Stephen reclined on his bed, looking distinctly unpriestlike as she thought, and finally read through the entire journal. She saw him close the book with a helpless sort of finality, and by this time the sun had begun to set.

            "Well," he said now, and she noticed the pallor of his features, "I'm done. I've done what I was told to do, and what did I learn?"

            "Are you alright, Stephen? You look ill!"

            "Oh, it's been coming on all day," he said, "just a slight fever, but forget about that now!"

            "Well, alright, so what did you learn?"

            "I learned that Maljardin is a pretty crazy place. Did you know that Jean Paul's wife really did come back from the dead? Oh, it took Uncle Matt a while to really believe it, but in the end he was convinced that she had not only come back, but that she was a demonic presence. He died as he was in the act of trying to exorcise her. Can you believe it?"

            "But that journal doesn't tell you he died,  surely?"

            "No, someone else told me that," said Stephen.

            "But what would lead him to believe that Erica Desmond had returned from the dead as a demon?"

            "Well, there were some mysterious deaths which he reported. First, and I'm sorry to have to tell you this since you seemed to like her so much, there was the unexpected and inexplicable death of Vangie Abbott. It seems that she was conducting some kind of séance to try to contact Erica, and she suddenly fell to the floor and gasped for air. Then, she just suddenly died. Uncle Matt wondered if she'd had some sort of heart attack. He reported that she had been showing signs of extreme stress for the past few days."

            "Wait," said Kathleen, interrupting him. "Doesn't that sound like what happened to Bill?"

            "A little, now that you mention it, yes. Strange!"

            "Ok, so you said there were deaths. Was Erica back from the dead when Vangie died?"

            "No, by all accounts, but it was her spirit they were trying to contact."

            "So now  you believe in séances?"

            "I believe in mass suggestion. Superstitious practices like séances and exorcisms can fulfill the expectations of their participants merely by their own belief in them, but that's beside the point. The other death that happened was that of Jean Paul Desmond's lawyer and business partner, Dan Forest. He died trying to leave the island in a boat, and Uncle Matt said he saw Jean Paul's servant Raxl carrying a bowl of water with a small paper boat in it which had been submerged. She said that she had seen Erica push the boat under the water."

            "What on earth does that prove?" Kathleen was really becoming annoyed now.

            "I suppose you've never read James Frazer."

            "Oh, only the little bit that helped me understand Elliott's The Waste Land."

            "Well, in The Golden Bough, he spends a great deal of time talking about sympathetic magic, where a likeness of something is made to represent the real thing, like the idea that a Voodoo doll can represent a living person. The paper boat represented Dan's boat, and Raxl believed that Erica had caused it to sink by means of sympathetic magic."

            "But why does this prove her demonic nature?"

            "By itself it might not have done so, but taking Raxl's comments together with the comments of Dr. Alison Carr, Erica's sister, Uncle Matt came to the conclusion that she was not merely a mortal woman. Alison ascribed her odd behaviour to biochemical changes in the body, but the way she arrived, simply walking down the stairs one evening was too surreal for him to just ignore, and you've read already about the fears surrounding Jacques Eloi des Mondes having been freed by Jean Paul."

            "So we come back to him again, eh? I hate not knowing what's going on over there!"

            "Well, I guess all you can do is wait. As for me, I'm going to take some pills and try to sleep off this fever."

            "Of course. I'll leave you alone. I'm sorry for giving you the third degree like that."

            "Don't be sorry! You told me that two heads were better than one, and you were right. Your inquisitive nature is helping me focus my thoughts. Still though, you yourself have had a very trying day."

            "It wasn't easy looking at Bill like that," she said. "You're right about his face. Usually they relax, don't they? He still looked really terrified!"

            She saw a shiver pass through Stephen and she went to him and took his hand.

            "Your palm is really sweaty. Should I get a doctor for you?"

            "No no. I'll be alright."

            "Well, you don't look very good. I'll be sure to get a doctor tomorrow. Alright?"

            "Yes," he said. "Tomorrow," and he turned his face to the wall, leaving her to exit in silence.

            Back in her own room, she found herself looking out the window at the harbour where a fleet of small sail-boats was setting forth. She hoped the people on them were enjoying themselves, and began to regret her earlier decision not to go on the tour. She loved sailing and the night was clear and moonlit, and she longed to be out in it, being quite sick and tired of being cooped up. Still, she thought, if there was to be some strange ritual taking place elsewhere in the hotel, perhaps it was better for her to stay in her room after all. She had had enough strangeness for one day, and if she couldn't be out on one of those boats, she could at least beguile the remainder of the evening hours with something comfortably familiar. Accordingly, she took out her well-loved and well-read copy of A Tale Of Two Cities and soon was carried away.

            A few hours later, sleep finally beginning to entice her to its bosom, Kathleen looked up from her book to find that deep night had fallen. She saw that the sail-boats were moored again at the marina and she felt the need, despite her fatigue, to take a solitary turn in the hotel grounds. Exiting her first-floor room by its sliding patio doors, therefore, she walked around and around the hotel. It was true that she felt tired, but her mind was still very active, and she knew herself well enough not to try to sleep when she was in this state. It would only bring a battle between her mind and her body, and contrary to all reason, her mind would invariably be the victor. So now she walked, hoping that the rhythm of her feet would lull her mind into submission. However, she soon found that sleep was not to be her fate this night, for just as she rounded the back of the hotel for a sixth time, she heard the sound of someone suddenly falling. Fearing a repeat of Bill Temple's mysterious death, her first impulse was to run away and hide in her room, but the better angels of her nature directed her feet to go and search for the source of the sound. Before long, she came upon someone lying face-down near a screening tangle of vines and for an instant she feared that this person was dead. However, a low groan escaping the lips assured her that she was not dealing with a corpse, and as she came closer, she realized that another figure was kneeling there in the dark.

            "Who are you?" The kneeling man spoke in a deep and husky voice.

            "My name is Kathleen O'Dell," she said. "I'm a guest at the hotel and I was taking a walk before bed, and--"

            "Go back to the hotel, Miss. We take care of our own."

            Kathleen could see the thick muscles in the man's arms working as he turned his charge over, and then she realized what he had meant when he had said that "we take care of our own," for she saw that his arms were tattooed with vivid green markings. He must be one of the Voodoo people, she thought, and this woman must be one also. Indeed, as she now saw, the woman was dressed in what looked to be a ceremonial robe, and from the decidedly deferential manner which the man was using in caring for her, she looked to be an authority figure.

            "If you're sure it's alright," she said, "I'll go, but my room isn't far from here. Perhaps your--uh--your mistress just needs to lie comfortably for a while."

            "Well," said the man, "perhaps you're right. I'm sorry I was harsh with you. It's just that the Conjure Woman doesn't usually associate with outsiders."

            "I think you have that slightly wrong, Michel," said a familiar voice from behind, and soon, Robert Barrett was standing beside Kathleen. "Outsiders, as you call tourists, don't generally know that there is such a person as the Conjure Woman. For now, I think that Miss O'Dell is correct. Please do as she suggests. You can trust her, and so can the Conjure Woman."

            "Alright, Papa Robert," said Michel. "Alright. Which way?"

            Kathleen led the way to the patio doors of her room, and as they walked along, she thought she heard the Conjure Woman muttering something that sounded like:

            "No, Quito! Don't bury me! I'm not dead," and then she heard Barrett whisper something reassuring to her, and soon, Michel had deposited his burden on her queen-sized bed and had departed without even a goodbye.

            "May I leave her with you, Miss O'Dell?" Barrett asked this as he finished checking the Conjure Woman's pulse and breathing and seemed to feel that everything was more-or-less alright.

            "Yes," said Kathleen. "This looks like one of the turns my grandmother sometimes used to take. She said that they came on her when the spirits from The Other World were abroad. We all thought she had some kind of undiagnosed seizure disorder, but she never had it checked by a doctor."

            "Well," said Barrett, "I must confess that I've never seen her have one of these turns, as you call them, but if you've seen them before, perhaps you know some tricks that I don't."

            "I think she just needs rest," said Kathleen, "and I'll be happy to stay awake and be sure she's comfortable."

            "Thanks very much," said Barrett. "I have some other things to attend to now, but I'll let everyone know that she is in safe hands. Goodnight, Miss O'Dell."

            When Barrett was gone, Kathleen closed and locked the patio doors and made sure that all the bolts were drawn on the door that gave onto the corridor. Then she drew a chair near to the bed and resumed her perusal of Dickens from where she had marked her place, and she sat, alternately reading and dozing till the first birds began to herald the coming dawn.

            As the book hastened with its inexorable pace toward its climax and inevitable conclusion, Kathleen finally put it aside and looked down at the sleeping woman before her. She seemed young, perhaps in her early thirties, and she had brown hair and a very attractive face. Her eyes, which were strangely open and alert though her body seemed to sleep, were of a similar hue and seemed as though they would look right through you to the very marrow of your bones.

            "So you're the Conjure Woman," she said softly. "I think Matt Dawson referred to Vangie Abbott using that same title. Maybe you can help Julia Desmond, and maybe you should have these." She went then to her briefcase, drew out the deck of Tarot cards, and brought them to the bed. At that, there was a sudden movement from the Conjure Woman, and soon, she was sitting upright in bed, all sleep, natural or otherwise, gone from her.

            "My cards," she said. "My cards! You have my cards? But how?"

            "Well," said Kathleen, "I suppose they are yours by right, since they belonged to a former Conjure Woman."

            "No," said the other, looking fixedly at her with those intense, brown eyes, "you don't understand. These were my cards. I can feel my own psychic impression coming from them."

            "But that's impossible," said Kathleen. "These cards were found in the ruins of Maljardin! You wouldn't even have been born when that place burned down, and besides, I think there's much more to worry about here than a bunch of Tarot cards. How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?"

            "I'm feeling fine," said the Conjure Woman, "and apart from being a little thirsty, I need nothing at present, but I would like to know how you come to possess my Tarot cards."

            "First, will you answer some questions that I have?"

            "Very well."

            "Alright. What happened to you last night? Why did you collapse?"

            "I came here to exorcise a guest-room. It's a common enough occurrence if a guest happens to die while in residence here, but this exorcism was very different. I felt great evil in that room, and it followed me as I left the hotel. Pretty soon, I felt myself overwhelmed by a sudden feeling of weakness, and before I knew it, I was lying on the ground, almost completely unseeing and unhearing. I certainly wasn't able to speak to any of you, though I had some dim idea that you were near me."

            "I hope you don't mind that I suggested you be brought back here," said Kathleen, "but I didn't know how far your--uh--guardian had to carry you."

            "Well, be assured that Michel would have carried me clear across the channel if he had to. He is devoted to his duties as my protector."

            "I could see that well enough. I thought he would kill me on the spot for daring to intrude upon you!"

            "But Robert was there?"

            "Yes, and he made Michel see sense."

            "Wait a minute! You're that one! You're Miss O'Dell, the one who has been trying to uncover the history of the Desmond family in these parts. Robert's told me about you."

            "Well," said Kathleen, a little taken aback at being described as 'that one,' "it's true that I've been trying to unearth the Desmond secrets, but I'm also trying to fix their reputation around here."

            "Correction," said the Conjure Woman, looking deeply into her eyes again. "You were trying to do that, but you have found that it is impossible."

            "You are psychic!"

            "Yes, but that's not how I learned this about you. The workers which you and Miss Julia Desmond hired told me about what is happening on Maljardin, and it was I who advised them to leave before it was too late, and, I might add, I would tell you the same thing. If Julia Desmond is following in her father's footsteps and has truly made a pact with Jacques Eloi des Mondes, then there is very little that can be done for her by you."

            "But it might not be that at all! She's been under a lot of strain lately."

            "Please do not speak of what you do not know, Miss O'Dell. Be sure that I know whereof I am speaking, for I was present when Julia Desmond was introduced to that devil."

            "What? How?"

            "That does not matter now. The point is that if you don't want to end up like Bill Temple, you should leave here now."

            "But I can't!"

            "And why not? If it's the money that troubles you--"

            "It is most definitely not the money!" Kathleen found herself almost yelling. "Julia Desmond and I have been friends since Cambridge! She is, in fact, my best friend, and if I can help her, I'm going to, so I'm not leaving! Threaten me with death all you want, but I'm not leaving!"

            "I do not threaten, Miss O'Dell," said the Conjure Woman in an even tone. "I merely warn. The fact is that I am frightened for all who are connected to Maljardin at this time, and I can see now that I have hidden in the shadows for too long. Now, will you give me my cards?"

            "I still think you're mistaken," said Kathleen, "but I suppose, as I said before, that they are at least yours by right of inheritance. It's my belief that they belonged to a very special woman by the name of Vangie Abbott who died there on Maljardin. Perhaps they'll bring you luck or something."

            "Perhaps they will," said the Conjure Woman with a sly smile. "Perhaps they will."

            "So you still think they're really yours then?"

            "I know they are."

            "Then how do you explain their being found on Maljardin?"

            "They were found there," said the Conjure Woman with a merry glint in her eye, "because I last used them there, though at the time I was feeling far from fortunate."

            Kathleen's hand shook as she clutched the pack of cards tighter and tighter, and at the same time she felt the colour draining from her face as realization dawned.

            "You're playing with me," she said. "You're trying to tell me that you're someone whom I know is dead!"

            "What could I gain by pretending to be someone I'm not? What I'm telling you is the absolute truth. Take it or leave it as you will. Now, will you hand over the cards?"

            "Alright," said Kathleen, this time holding the pack out to the other woman. "Alright. Here you are."

            "Thank you, Kathleen. Thank you very much!"

            As she watched the woman cut and shuffle the cards, she was reminded of a passage in Matthew Dawson's journal. He had written:

            "I am always mesmerized when Vangie shuffles the Tarot cards. Her deft movements are like those of a juggler, or no. That is too vulgar an image. Her deft movements are like those of a humming-bird as it moves from flower to flower, but the woman behind those dancing fingers is definitely not as vulnerable as a humming-bird, and yet there is a strange quality about her, a quality of fragility, as though she were a flower which could only grow properly in her native soil. I suppose she seems too bright for this course world of ours."

            She found herself looking again at the woman in front of her, and suddenly she understood what Matthew Dawson had meant, and though she could scarcely believe what she was about to say, she said it anyway, and knew it to be true.

            "You're welcome, Miss Abbott. You're very welcome."

Chapter Nine

            "Well, Father, it's Flu, I'm afraid." The small, officious and totally annoying doctor was again in Stephen's presence, and again he found himself in the peculiar position of being angry with this man for merely existing.

            "I could have told you that," he said with what felt like sand-paper in his throat. "Now, how much do I owe you for this brilliant diagnosis?"

            "As far as I'm concerned," said the doctor, "you don't owe me anything. You did assist with Mr. Temple the other night, after all. Now, I want you to gargle with salt water to help your throat, and to get plenty of rest and drink plenty of fluids. Other than that, Father, I'm afraid that you should have been vaccinated when you had the chance."

            "I know, I know. Thank you for coming."

            "Your friend, Miss O'Dell, wouldn't leave my office until I did come. She also told me to tell you that she will be with you soon."

            "Thanks again," said Stephen, and lay back on his pillows as the doctor picked up his bag and left.

            After a minute or so, he turned and looked at the small clock radio on the bedside table. It was just after eleven o'clock in the morning, and all he wanted to do now was sleep. Last night had passed far too slowly. Not only had he spent his time alternately sweating and shivering, but he had had very confusing and disturbing dreams which still haunted him. He also fancied that he heard elements of the ritual to exercise the room where the dead man had stayed, and then he had felt a strange moment of being suspended immovably in a void place of neither day nor night, and he thought he heard the Conjure Woman's voice calling his name, but no matter what he did, he could not make his limbs stir to come to her.

            After a while, however, this strange feeling of physical and spiritual paralysis seemed to pass off, and he put it down to the odd perceptual tricks that his fever, which had moved from slight to high by now, was playing on him. As he recalled that moment in the light of day, he remembered managing to touch the cross which had belonged to his uncle. He wore it around his neck now, and during that moment of non-being, he had a flash of awareness which made him grasp it in his hand, and he realized that this was what had helped him to focus himself.

            "Maybe it really is a touchstone for the Conjure Woman," he said to himself, suddenly deciding to get up and to try to shave himself in preparation for Kathleen's arrival.

            His whole body ached, and he found himself dizzy as he crossed the room, and as he tried to grasp his razor, he found that his hand shook too much for him to use it properly.

            "Oh God," he moaned as he managed to wash his face. "So far this trip has been a bust!"

            "A bust?" Stephen almost jumped out of his skin as he caught Kathleen's reflection in the mirror of the medicine-chest.

            "How did you get in here?"

            "I asked for a key. I thought you shouldn't have to get up and open the door."

            "Oh, well, that was kind of you," he said, moving totteringly toward the bed again.

            "I won't keep you long," said Kathleen. "Did that fop of a doctor finally come for you?"

            "You find him annoying as well? I thought I was being uncharitable."

            "Well, I don't like his eyes. They look shifty, untrustworthy."

            "I just find him far too deferential and yet also condescending."

            "You got all that from this visit?"

            "No no," said Stephen, beginning to cough. "I dealt with him when Bill Temple--when he died."

            "Well, I am sorry I sent you such a trying person, but the hotel staff recommended him."

            "It was a nice gesture, Kathleen. Thank you."

            "I'm not the only one who cares about your well-being," she said mysteriously. "I come bearing gifts!"

            Stephen noticed for the first time that a bunch of parcels were standing in the corner near the door. Kathleen went to them and brought them out one by one. There were various kinds of bottled fruit juice, several bottles of water, and some vials of powder.

            "This stuff's from a friend of yours," she said, taking one of the vials and showing it to him. "I met her rather unexpectedly last night. I'm supposed to boil some water and drop this stuff into it. She says it will help you to get a good sleep."

            "You met the Conjure Woman?" Stephen found himself coughing again and was barely able to get the words out.

            "Yes," said Kathleen. "Believe it or not, I almost tripped over her."

            Stephen listened quietly while Kathleen told the story of her night's adventure and boiled water in his in-room coffee-maker.

            "So she's alright now?" he said as she brewed the hot sleeping-draught.

            "Yes. She didn't tell me specifics of what happened, but she did say that it had to do with Jacques Eloi des Mondes, and she urged me to leave and to forget about Julia, stating that I could end up like Bill Temple if I stayed."

            "She really said that?"

            "Yes, but I made her understand that I'm Julia's friend as well as her assistant. I'm staying."

            Stephen sat on the edge of the bed as Kathleen handed him the cup.

            "So where is she now?"

            "She left early this morning and she actually took me to her cabin. That's where I got this stuff from, and where she and I talked some more. She thinks that you will be of assistance in helping to rid Maljardin of this evil presence."

            "As far as I'm concerned," said Stephen, "I've got what I came for. As soon as I'm better, I'm leaving here. She asked me to stay when I first met with her, but I can't see what else I'm supposed to learn from her."

            "I can think of one thing," said Kathleen, beginning to sort the various bottles and such she had brought with her so that he could get at them easily. "Do you even know her name?"

            "Her name?" Stephen looked at her in astonishment. "I never even thought of her as having a name, somehow," he said stupidly.

            "And what about how she knew your uncle?"

            "She said she met him. I don't understand how she could have been alive in 1969, but I suspect she met him here before he went to Maljardin, and then somehow saw him fall to his death."

            "I think the question you should be asking is not how she could have been alive then, but how she could be alive now," said Kathleen. "Think about it! How could some random person have just come to Maljardin without Jean Paul Desmond's permission? You've read your uncle's words about how much of a control-freak he was."

            "But everyone died, or almost everyone," he said. "You told me that."

            "That's true," said Kathleen, "but do you remember the last person who held the title of Conjure Woman? Your uncle mentioned it. Look!"

            She finished putting the groceries she had brought in order and went over to the desk. He could see the curve of her neck as she sat down in the chair and pulled the notebook to her. As she flipped through the pages, he felt a sudden chill and buried himself in his blankets. Then, as she found the passage she wanted and began to read, he felt the hot drink she had given him beginning to work, and it was as through a rapidly-thickening haze of warmth and comfort that he heard her words.

            "'I had another conversation today in the cafe with Evangeline Abbott. Some of the unearthly air that seems to surround her may be explained by her heredity. She told me that she is the daughter of the local Voodoo priest, called the Conjure Man, and she seems to have delved deeply into the mysteries of her faith. She has offered to let me meet her father. I would not be surprised if she becomes the Conjure Woman someday.' And his prediction came true, if you recall,"

 she said, closing the book again.

            "Alright, but she died during that weird séance!"

            "Did she?"

            "If not, then how could Uncle Matt have seen her lifeless body?"

            "I think she's the one to answer those questions. However, now, I think it's time for you to sleep. That drink is definitely taking effect. I'll be back later today to fix you another one, alright? I've been given strict instructions."

            "Thanks, Kathleen. And if you see her--uh--Vangie Abbott, then thank her too. Nothing I've tried has touched this fever till now."

            "Will do," said Kathleen, and soon, she was gone without another word.

            He lay in silence for a long time, feeling a deep sense of calm throughout his whole body, but his mind, which he found had been freed from the tyranny of the fever-phantoms that had haunted him for the past several hours, was anything but relaxed. Kathleen's revelation had plunged him into a bout of urgent thinking, and only the drug's soporific properties slowed it down to a manageable level. Indeed, he did doze on and off, but whenever he was awake, he was clear-headed and could not help thinking about what Kathleen had just told him and contrasting it with his uncle's journal.

            Recalling his uncle's words, he thought that he could form a reasonable hypothesis as to what might have happened to Evangeline Abbott if she had actually died. The journal mentioned a prediction that she made which stated that she would die on Maljardin. According to Matt, this seemed to be a long-held belief of hers, and given the increasingly disconcerting happenings of the days leading up to her supposed death, it was only natural that her stress levels would have increased as well. Among other things, he knew, the changing moods of Jean Paul Desmond had everyone on edge, and all the portents and signs which kept cropping up would be enough to make a sensitive person as Vangie surely was totter on the brink of madness. Still, if she did not actually die, then what happened? Or did she die and return from the dead? If Erica Desmond had done so, then perhaps everyone in these islands had this ability.

            These thoughts led him to thinking of the sadistic and monstrous things which Erica Desmond had done on her supposed return from death. She had seemed kind and loving, but underneath she had a hard heart and seemed to enjoy tormenting people. What if the Conjure Woman was only pretending to be kind to him? What if she was in league with the evil of that ancient island across the channel? How could he begin to trust her? How was Barrett able to put such faith in her? And now Kathleen seemed to be falling under her spell, and even he seemed to be linked to her through the cross he now wore. What if she was poisoning him with this powder she had given to Kathleen to give to him? How was he to learn the truth?

            But then, as he was sinking towards sleep again, he found himself thinking of the Conjure Woman's face as they had blessed each other. She had seen something in him which had brought genuine tears to her eyes, and he had heard the deep concern in her voice when she had described Barrett's failing health. Surely this woman was to be trusted. Surely she was devout in her faith and a force for good, but she had admitted that by some unnamed act of omission she may have contributed to Matt's death. So what did all this mean? The only way for him to know, he realized sleepily, was to meet with her again.

            "Just as she said I would," he said to himself. "I suppose I have to stay on a little longer anyway. It seems I'm too curious for my own good."

            His eyes soon closed, and he slept deeply until Kathleen arrived to give him another dose of medicine.

Chapter Ten

            The next week passed in a dreamlike monotony for Kathleen, even though it consisted of anything but her usual routine. During the days, she ministered to Stephen and made sure he was following the instructions of both the doctor and the Conjure Woman, and as all things do in this life, his illness slowly passed off, to be replaced by a persistent weakness of limb and tiredness of body which only rest, so Vangie Abbott said, would cure.

            As it was, she had ample opportunity to speak with the Conjure Woman, because while she spent her days playing nurse to Stephen, she spent her nights in the secluded cabin, staring at the fire and drinking cup after cup of strong, fragrant tea. Every night just after sunset, she would walk to where she had encountered Vangie's fallen form, and every night, the tall and tattooed Michel would guide her along the secret path till she saw the welcoming curl of smoke from the chimney. Under that roof, she heard strange and terrible confessions, and if she had been frustrated once by the shroud of secrecy that seemed to surround the Desmond family's past on this island, she was now frightened by the depth and magnitude of the things she was now being given to know.

            "Why are you telling me all this?" she asked one night.

            "Because forewarned is forearmed, as they say. If you find  yourself going back to Maljardin, you need to know what you're letting yourself in for."

            "Well," said Kathleen, "it just so happens that Julia is coming over here tomorrow. She wants to meet with me."

            "Will you be meeting with her alone?"

            "I asked Stephen to join us. He's still a little weak, but his appetite's back, so we're all meeting for dinner at the cafe."

            "Does she know about him being there?"

            "No, actually. I don't know why, but I didn't want her to know."

            "That is as it should be. You'll know whether she really is under the influence of Jacques Eloi des Mondes by her reaction to him."

            "But I'm not asking him to come as a priest," said Kathleen with surprise.

            "No matter what clothing Stephen Dawson wears," said Vangie solemnly, "he cannot escape his calling, and demons will know him for a man of God."

            "Well, I still hope you're wrong about all this," said Kathleen, "but you did say that he would lure her with promises of miraculous happenings, and she does have terminal Cancer."

            "Exactly, and he will use her vulnerability to his own advantage. Be assured that restoring the mansion is only a first step in his plans!"

            "Well, whatever his plans are, I hope to learn more of Julia's plans tomorrow."

            "And you will report to me what happens at the meeting?"

            "I will," said Kathleen, "if I think there's anything in it."

            "That is all I can ask," said Vangie, going over to an altar in the centre of the room. "Now, if you'll permit it, I want to perform a small ritual of protection for you."

            "Alright," said Kathleen. "What do I have to do?"

            "Just stand beside me and follow my lead."

            Kathleen moved to stand beside the Conjure Woman and watched in silence as she lit some tall candles and a small charcoal brazier onto which she sprinkled some sweet-smelling incense. Then, when the candles burned high and bright, Vangie took Kathleen's hand in hers and began to speak.

            "Gods of my ancestors, spirits of those who have gone before, Great Serpent of wisdom and power! Give your protection to this woman who will shortly enter the pit of the beast! Let such blessings as can come through me pass to her! Make her strong! Make her steadfast! Help her to know the true path she must walk, and keep her safe from all harm!"

            There was a deep silence after these words as Vangie seemed to open herself to the powers she had invoked, and then suddenly Kathleen looked at her face. Indeed, it was difficult for her not to, because from Vangie's young and beautiful face there shone a strange and sorcerous light. At first, she thought that it was just the play of the candle-light on her features, but she soon realized that this was something different, something spiritual. Suddenly, Vangie turned to face her and took her other hand, and Kathleen felt a definite thrill of energy as it passed from the Conjure Woman to herself.

            "There," said Vangie after a while, "it's done. I've given you what I can for now," and all at once, all the brightness was gone from her face and Kathleen saw deep fatigue in her eyes.

            "Are you alright?" She was alarmed.

            "I will be," said Vangie, and she moved slowly to extinguish the candles. "I could use your help in another matter, however."

            "Alright," said Kathleen. "Anything I can do I will."

            "Good," said Vangie. "Come to the table." Kathleen did so and sat in the chair which the other woman indicated.

            "I want to consult the Tarot," said Vangie as she took out the cards, "and I want to see if I can find out what is happening on Maljardin."

            "Surely you can do that without me!" Kathleen felt very self-conscious in this woman's presence. Very few people intimidated her, and Vangie was not exactly intimidating in her manner, but the depth of her beliefs in such things as gods and demons made Kathleen feel very much out of her element.

            "You are the only person who can help me with this. All I need is for you to lay your hands on the pack and to think of Julia Desmond."

            "Well, that shouldn't be too difficult," said Kathleen with a sardonic smile. "I do little else these days."

            "Alright then," said Vangie, and she laid the pack between them on the table.

            Kathleen moved to put her hands on the cards, and again she felt the thrill of energy as Vangie's hands rested on top of hers for a moment. Then, with no signal exchanged between them, they mutually pulled away and Vangie began to shuffle and cut the cards. There was a fine grace in her movements, and Kathleen could only watch in silent awe until the spread was laid.

            "Well," said Vangie, "what do you see?"

            "Me?"

            "Yes."

            "Well, it's all a jumble of images to me," said Kathleen. "I mean, I played around with Tarot cards in university, but I never went deeply into them. I do notice one card though, The King of Wands in the reversed position. According to Matthew Dawson's journal, that represents Jacques."

            "Yes, I'm afraid that's the truth."

            "And I notice The Fool as well. You said that it represented Matthew Dawson before. Who does it represent now?"

            "I'm not entirely certain, but I know that the Nine of Swords is opposed by The Fool, and I think you know what that card means."

            "You describe it as the card of death," said Kathleen.

            "Yes, and there is a definite connection between the Nine of Swords and the King of Wands."

            "But The Fool opposes the card of death?"

            "Yes. The Fool is the balance wheel, the thing that may tip the scale in our favour."

            "Our favour?"

            "Yes, for I see my own card here as well," and she pointed to a card that was labeled The High Priestess. Kathleen saw the image of a beautifully-robed woman sitting between a dark pillar and a light one and holding a partly unrolled scroll in her hands.

            "So what exactly are you saying?"

            "I'm saying that if there is a devil on Maljardin to be exorcised, I must be involved in that exorcism. However, I cannot do it alone. The Fool must be present, and so, Kathleen, must you." She pointed to a card which lay between The Fool and The High Priestess. Kathleen saw a woman seated on a throne and holding a drawn sword in her hand.

            "She looks rather hard and cruel," said Kathleen. "Is that how you see me?"

            "The cards reflect our innermost selves," said Vangie kindly. "I always think of the Queen of Swords as representing loyal and protective women. You, my dear, are definitely that!"

            "So where is Julia in all this then?"

            "Here," said Vangie, laying a finger on the card to the right of the King of Wands. Kathleen looked and saw the Queen of Wands: a regal-looking woman seated on a throne holding a flowering wand in her hand and with a cat lying at her feet.

            "She looks so powerful," said Kathleen.

            "She does, and she is the perfect consort for the King. In my experience, many Desmonds have been represented in the Tarot pack by the suit of Wands, but notice the cards above and below her."

            Kathleen saw the Ten of Swords overshadowing the Queen of Wands, and below the Queen was the Three of Swords.

            "Notice the heart pierced by the three swords," said Vangie. "This usually indicates sudden news of some kind, usually something upsetting, and I don't need to tell you anything about the Ten."

            "No," said Kathleen bitterly. "The man lying down with ten swords sticking out of his back is pretty self-explanatory, but does it mean that she has been defeated or that there is the potential to defeat the reversed King?"

            "That, as they say, is the question. We won't know that until you meet with her."

            "Is there any hope at all?" Kathleen found tears standing in her eyes and tried to fight them back with all her might, but she was soon sobbing in spite of herself, and she was grateful, if embarrassed, when Vangie came and drew  her into an embrace.

            "Listen to me," she said softly but with great intensity. "There is always reason to hope. Your friend is not lost yet, and I can see now how much you love her. It is love that will win the day, love and strength. So dry your eyes and try to relax. You're not alone in this and neither is Julia."

            "I'm sorry about breaking down like that," said Kathleen after a while. "I'm not usually like that."

            "We all have our times," said Vangie. "We are all human. Now, do you think you will sleep?"

            "I am very tired," said Kathleen.

            "Then go into my bedroom. Sleep is out of the question for me tonight."

            "Thanks, Vangie. Thanks a lot!"

            Kathleen's sleep was deep and without interruption, and when she woke, she felt refreshed and ready for whatever the day would bring. She left the cabin in the company of Vangie herself, who guided her surely and swiftly along the path.

            "Be safe, Kathleen," said the Conjure Woman as they parted.

            "I'll do my best," said Kathleen, and she left the shelter of the screening vines and walked through the early morning sunshine to the hotel.

            The day was filled with activity, but it was of the minutest kind. Since Stephen was largely well, her nursing duties were only cursory, but she felt that she should prepare some kind of report for Julia on all of her historical researches. Still, even though she had plenty of tasks to occupy her mind, she kept stopping in the midst of what she was doing and thinking. She thought back again and again to the short phone conversation she had held with Julia yesterday.

            "Kat," Julia had said as though they were back at Cambridge and she needed help with a term-paper, "I wonder if you might be able to meet with me tomorrow?"

            "Of course I can," had been her enthusiastic reply. "I have lots to tell you and lots of plans for the interior decoration of the house!"

            "Good. I'll come over to the main island and we can meet at the cafe for dinner."

            "Julia," Kathleen had asked just before they hung up, "are you alright over there? It's just that I've heard things."

            "You mean Bill Temple? Oh Kathleen! You can't believe in all the things his workers told him. These islanders are just full of ancient stories and legends, and as for him, well, we had a disagreement. He'd say anything to put you out of favour with me."

            "As it was, he was concerned about you. He's dead, you know."

            "Well," Julia had said in a strangely glib way, "death does come to us all in our time. Anyway, be down in the cafe at six o'clock tomorrow evening. Alright?"

            "Alright," Kathleen had said, and they had ended the call with a few casual words of farewell.

            It was only now, when she was sitting in her room and supposed to be focused on preparing a slideshow of vintage furnishings and other household accessories to show to Julia at dinner, that she recalled the offhand way in which Julia had seemed to take the news of Bill Temple's death. It was almost as though she had already known about it, or worse, as though she had no emotion about it whatever. While it was true that Julia could occasionally be very self-involved, she was not without a sense of empathy, and would usually have taken news like that with at least a modicum of solemnity. Then there was the way she had almost meekly asked for the meeting. Kathleen had thought at the time that Julia was trying to find a way to ask for help, but as the call had progressed, it had seemed as though she was being summoned for an audience with some noble or royal personage rather than for a meeting with a long-time friend and colleague.

            Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her door, and when she opened it, she found Stephen waiting for her.

            "It's almost time," he said.

            "I know," she said with a sigh. "I haven't finished my work, but she'll just have to deal with it. Just let me go and freshen up a bit, and then we'll be off."

            As she put her makeup on, Kathleen looked at herself in the mirror. She realized that she was looking slightly the worse for wear, and she fell to thinking of what Julia might look like when she saw her tonight. Bill had described a woman who went without sleep and was driven by some unknown obsession, and now she couldn't help thinking of all the horror stories she had ever read in which eccentric and intelligent people trafficked with demons and monsters from other dimensions. They always seemed to end up in mad-houses or in states of physical and mental exhaustion. She wondered if Julia would present such a picture of gaunt and staring frenzy: her hair dishevelled, her eyes bloodshot and over-bright, her body emaciated and her cheeks hollow. So, it was with great surprise and a palpable sense of relief that she saw her friend twenty minutes later come striding across the dining-room of the cafe looking very much as she did when she had first arrived.

            "It really is like a royal procession," Stephen remarked quietly, as the waiters jumped to fulfill Julia's every need.

            "Yes," said Kathleen, "and she usually hates it, but look at her now!"

            She looked again at Julia, and for the first time noticed her manner of dress. It seemed wildly inappropriate for a business-meeting. She wore a flowing gown of deepest blue, and around her shoulders was a velvet cape trimmed with sable. Kathleen didn't understand this in the least, but as Julia came closer, she found it difficult not to scream, for around Julia's neck was a locket, the very locket which had once belonged to Erica Desmond and which was stained with what looked like blood.

            "Why Kathleen!" said Julia breezily. "You look as though you've seen a ghost! And who is this?"

            "You remember Stephen Dawson, don't you?" Kathleen fell back on pleasantries, though her mind was reeling with all that she was seeing.

            "Ah yes," said Julia. "Hello, Mr. Dawson!"

            "Hello, Miss Desmond," said Stephen, and Kathleen noticed his adoring gaze drawn again and again to Julia's flowing hair and bright, blue eyes. "Kathleen invited me to meet with you as I've been helping her out with her research."

            "Ah," said Julia. "How nice!" Kathleen noticed that though she seemed to be all smiles, there was a barely-controlled fury brewing in the depths of her eyes when she looked at Stephen, and she thought back on what the Conjure Woman had said the night before.

            "No matter what clothing Stephen Dawson wears, he cannot escape his calling, and demons will know him for a man of God."

            Did she know then? Kathleen hoped not, but as dinner was ordered and Julia raised her glass for a toast, her fears were renewed.

            "My friends," said Julia with a flourish, "I give you William Temple, and the man who attended him in his last moments," and here, she looked at Stephen with undisguised malice for a moment, as she clinked glasses with Kathleen with a friendly air.

            "Now," she said after a pause, "let's get down to business. Show me your plans, Kathleen!"

            Kathleen passed her laptop across the table and sat quietly as Julia clicked through the images in her slideshow.

            "Well," said Julia, "you seem to have a flare for this work. I wanted to see your work before I made my decision, but this small sample has convinced me. I'd like you to come back with me to Maljardin and help me rebuild my family's ancestral home!"

            "But Julia," she said, "that's just it. Before, you wanted nothing to do with your family's past on Maljardin. You wanted this island specifically for the profit it could turn for you as a resort. Are you telling me you've abandoned all that?"

            "What can I say? Blood calls to blood sometimes, and I'm tired of the city life. I want to restore the chateau and to live in it."

            "Is it true that you've been having round-the-clock shifts working over there?"

            "Oh yes," said Julia. "We're working like fiends!"

            Kathleen couldn't help noticing her choice of words, and by a secretive look which he gave her, she knew that Stephen had noticed it as well.

            "Miss Desmond," he said now, "I must say that you have treated Miss O'Dell with something less than respect during the past weeks."

            "I know, Mr. Dawson," said Julia, "and for that I'm truly sorry. It was necessary for me to take over the project for a while, but now that Kathleen and I are on the same page again, I find that I need her expertise."

            "If I go with you," said Kathleen, "will you be completely honest with me? Will you keep me in the loop about what you're doing?"

            "Of course I will," said Julia. "You and I will be as thick as thieves, my dear."

            "Well," said Kathleen, "give me a while to think about it then!"

            "Well, it just so happens that I have a few supplies to pick up in town before the stores close," said Julia. "So, I'll go and do that and meet you here when I'm finished. Feel free to order anything you like for dessert, both of you. It's on my account."

            Kathleen watched her walk away and noticed Stephen's eyes following her.

            "Well?" she said, when the coffee had come.

            "Well," he echoed. "This was a strange meeting to say the least!"

            "She's definitely not herself," Kathleen agreed, "and what did you make of that toast she gave?"

            "She'd have no way of knowing that I had given Bill the last rites," said Stephen, "but she looked at me as though I had personally offended her."

            "Never mind about the last rites," said Kathleen. "She had no way of knowing you're a priest! Oh, something's really wrong over there, and that's why I have to go."

            "Are you crazy?" Stephen looked angrily at her. "You've seen her behaviour! There's no telling what she might do or what turn her mood might take! I don't trust her."

            "I don't trust her either," said Kathleen, "but I know that my friend Julia is still in there somewhere, and now that I've seen her, I know that I couldn't stand letting her leave here without going with her."

            "Well," said Stephen, "if you have to go, I guess I can't stop you."

            "Don't worry," said Kathleen, giving him a winning smile. "The Conjure Woman couldn't stop me either, but she's told me a lot of things about Maljardin and the evil presence there over the past week, and I know there must be a way for me to get through to Julia."

            "But you say that she would rather you didn't go to the island, right?"

            "Right, but she feels that I'm involved in whatever's coming, and besides, I can't pass up this opportunity. There is one thing though. Could you report what went on at this meeting to her? She asked me to do it, but if Julia leaves tonight, I'll have to go with her."

            "Well, I can see that you're set on this," said Stephen resignedly, "so I want you to take this." He handed her a small, gold cross on a chain and wouldn't take his eyes off her until she put it around her neck. "It belonged to my uncle and it may help you. It's some kind of link to the Conjure Woman."

            "Stephen," said Kathleen, the chain and cross reminding her, "did you notice the locket that Julia is wearing?"

            "I did," said Stephen. "It belonged to Erica Desmond, didn't it? Uncle Matt mentioned it."

            "That's right," said Julia, appearing at the table again. "It was given to her by my father. I thought it fitting that I should wear it as an heirloom."

            "A strange choice to make, given its gruesome history," said Stephen.

            "Well," said Julia, "gruesome is as gruesome does. This was given as a symbol of undying love. I prefer to think of it that way. Now, Kathleen, if you're coming, you'd better go and pack. You'll not be coming back to the hotel any time soon."

            "Alright," said Kathleen. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

            Back in her room, she busied herself with folding clothes and packing belongings, but when all was finished, she found herself shaking and uncertain.

            "I don't know if I can do this," she said to her reflection. "Everything seemed so different this morning!" She touched the cross at her throat, and into her mind came words of reassurance spoken in Vangie's unmistakable voice.

            "All is not lost, Kathleen. Your heart will lead you rightly if you listen to it, and remember, I am not far away."

            "Alright," she said aloud. "Alright. I'm going," and without a backward glance, she picked up her bags and left.

Chapter Eleven

            Stephen sat alone in the cafe and watched as the sea-plane bound for Maljardin coasted out onto the water and climbed into the rose-tinted evening sky. He hated the thought of Kathleen over there alone with Julia, but he was surprised to find within himself a feeling of jealousy that Julia had chosen her instead of him. Try as he might, he could not get the image of Julia's long flowing hair or the sound of her voice out of his head, and despite the fact that he had a bad feeling about her, he also felt oddly allured by her, which in itself was strange, since her type of woman did not usually attract him very much. Yet, as he thought back upon the impression she had made on him at dinner, he remembered that as soon as she had entered the room, he had felt that same inward chill that he had noticed at Bill Temple's bedside; and then there was the toast she had proposed. He could not mistake the look she had given him for anything but a look of challenge, and even this feeling of attraction in the midst of repulsion made him certain that it was not merely Julia Desmond with whom he had just met. He knew that there was only one person who could help him to make sense of all this, but he wasn't sure that he could deal with her tonight.

            After Kathleen had informed him that the Conjure Woman was none other than Evangeline Abbott, the Tarot-reading waitress from his uncle Matt's journal, he had been in a turmoil of doubt as to how he could ever face her again. He had resolved to avoid it for as long as he could, but now that he had promised Kathleen that he would report the substance of their meeting with Julia to her, he knew he had to go. Reaching into his pocket, he removed the small slip of paper which she had handed him before leaving with Julia and peered again at the hastily-scribbled note.

            "Stephen," it said. "You can keep my appointment with our mutual friend tonight. Just go around the back of the hotel and look for a tall man. He'll be there after sunset, and he'll take you along the path."

            Stephen remembered the tall man from his earlier visit, and he was a little afraid of meeting him in such a secluded place. However, if Kathleen had been safe with him, he thought, then he would probably be alright. He just hoped that he could make a better impression on him than he had the last time. He had felt at their first meeting that if it were not for Barrett, the man would have had no hesitation in tearing him to pieces with his bare hands or with the strange and ancient-looking knife which he carried. Still, he had seemed to be a man who could be reasoned with. Barrett had done so, after all, so Stephen knew that his fears must be irrational. Whenever he came up against one of these purely instinctive and unreasonable fears within himself, he thought back to a convocation lecture he had once attended, where the visiting professor had said:

            "We think we have come so far and have learned so much, but we must remember that we carry the cave always within us. We fear what we don't understand precisely because the unknown often meant death for our cave-dwelling ancestors, and though our brains have become more sophisticated over time, we have never lost the primal drives and fears which have helped us to survive. Hence," he had concluded dramatically, "our lives are a continual struggle against returning to that cave buried in our collective memory, and to tell you the truth, I believe that more of us give up the fight than carry it forward. Let me urge you future anthropologists to use your knowledge of the past to shape humanity's future."

            Ever since that lecture, he had tried to remain conscious of what he had come to call his cave-man instincts, but every once in a while, one would catch him unawares as this one had, and he would curse himself for being an unenlightened primitive.

            "Lost your companions, Mr. Dawson?" Chris had come over.

            "Yes, and now I have to go as well. It's all charged to Julia Desmond apparently."

            "Right," said Chris. "Have a good night!" Stephen smiled ironically, downed the remainder of his coffee at a gulp, and walked out of the cafe.

            The sun had set by the time he was exiting the hotel by a rear fire-door, and he was grateful for the clarity of the sky as he approached the screen of vines and creepers that gave onto the sacred processional path.

            "What are you doing here?" The tall man was there, just as Kathleen had said he would be, and he seemed genuinely suspicious of him.

            "I've come to see the Conjure Woman," he said, trying not to sound too defensive. "I need to tell her something about Miss O'Dell."

            "Well," said the man, "alright. Come on," and he led the way along the path, indicating when Stephen should remove his shoes and when he was free to put them on again, and when they reached the cabin, he left him without a word.

            Stephen stood a while in thought, uncertain of what he was going to do when he saw her again, but before he could raise a hand to knock on the door, he heard a light step coming around the side of the house, and the Conjure Woman was soon standing beside him.

            "So you've come at last," she said.

            "Yes, Miss Abbott," he said slowly, "I guess I have."

            "Please come in," she said, opening the door and beckoning him inside with a wave of her hand, "and sit down."

            Stephen stepped into the firelit room and moved carefully to the chair in which he had sat on his first visit here. He saw the Conjure Woman regarding him quizzically as she too came in, closing the door behind her, and took her usual low stool across from him. They sat in silence for what seemed like an interminable space of time, and just as he was beginning to become annoyed by its depth, the silence was broken by her soft and mellifluous voice.

            "I'm glad you've come, Stephen."

            "To be honest, Miss Abbott," he said, "I'm not entirely sure why I'm here."

            "Please," she said with a light laugh. "Now that you know my name, call me Vangie."

            "So it's really true then," said Stephen, shifting nervously in his chair. "You really are--uh--her."

            "Yes, it's true," said Vangie, "though I know it's difficult for you to accept."

            "Well," said Stephen, hesitating, "I don't mean to sound ungrateful or anything. I mean, I do thank you for helping me with that Flu I went through, and for giving me more of my uncle's story, and for--uh--for the night when Bill Temple died. You--uh--came to me and helped me. I do thank you for all that, but well, how could you be that same waitress that my uncle met? I just don't understand!"

            "Let me try to help you," said Vangie. "You and I need to understand each other if we're going to set things to rights on Maljardin."

            "We?"

            "Yes. The evil has touched you. You're a part of it now, whether you want to be or not."

            "But I could leave any time I want to," he said, "and I must say that I have wanted to leave ever since I finished Uncle Matt's journal."

            "But  you couldn't, could you?" She looked at him with that direct gaze that seemed to pierce him to the heart.

            "Well," he said, "I got sick, yes, but--"

            "Yes. You got sick. You got sick the day after you attended a dying man who had been touched by evil."

            "A coincidence!"

            "You, a man of God, talk of coincidence?"

            "I'm a man of the twenty-first century! Do you expect me to believe that I got the Flu from some evil spirit?"

            "I don't expect you to believe anything. I hope that you will look at the facts as they are, even if they seem incredible to you."

            "Alright," he said stiffly. "Here are the facts as I see them. I was invited down here by an old friend to meet a venerable personage who was supposed to have known my uncle before he died, and I was introduced to a woman who barely looks to be past thirty years of age who gave me a couple of books and a cross. My uncle died forty years ago!" He found himself yelling now, but he couldn't stop. Instead, he plunged on without a break. "I can't believe that you knew him, and I can't believe that you really are who Kathleen says you are."

            "Kathleen? Will you tell me about her?"

            "She went with Julia to Maljardin," he said almost offhandedly.

            "And you gave her the cross I had given you."

            "Yes," he said, "but how did you know?"

            "I know," she said. "That's enough. You did rightly, by the way, and the fact that you gave it to her tells me that part of you believes that she is going into great danger."

            "Well," he said, "I do. I met Julia Desmond tonight, and she definitely seemed--well--odd. She looked at me in the most confrontational way at one point, and seemed to know me for a priest and for the man who gave Mr. Temple the last rites, and there's another thing. She was wearing a locket around her neck which looked to be stained with very old dry blood."

            Vangie's face went a deadly shade of white and she gasped audibly.

            "Are you alright?"

            "Do you not recall your uncle's journal?"

            "Do you mean that business about the black rabbit and the locket? I must admit that by that point I was getting very confused."

            "Have you got the journal with you?"

            He reached into a pocket of the light jacket he was wearing and took out the book.

            "Alright," he said, flipping pages. "Here's the bit. Uncle Matt says that a black rabbit mysteriously appeared one day where no living thing could survive. The plants of Maljardin are apparently poisonous. Then he says that Jean Paul's servant Raxl suddenly found a blood-stained locket around the rabbit's neck and was convinced that the rabbit was evil."

            "Just so," said Vangie. "Jean Paul Desmond identified the locket as belonging to his wife, and he also stated that it had been sealed into the cryo-capsule with her. I recall the locket and the intense anger which seemed to flow through it. As we now know, Erica's spirit was in the rabbit and wanted to get out, and when she finally resumed human form, she was in league with Jacques."

            "And she was supposed to have killed you," said Stephen in an accusatory tone, "but somehow, you're alive. Could you be in league with Jacques as well?"

            "It's very astute of you to ask that question," she said, never altering her gentle speech, "and all I can do is tell you my story. You'll have to judge it for yourself."

            "Alright then," said Stephen. "Say what you have to say!"

            "First," said Vangie, "let me tell you that there are many things in this story of which I am not proud." She paused a while and looked into the heart of the fire, and then, with a deep breath, she began to speak.

            "As you have read, my purpose for coming to Maljardin was twofold; as far as Jean Paul Desmond was concerned, I was there to conduct a séance in which he would contact the spirit of his recently-deceased wife. For my own part, I was there to complete my father's unfinished work. I had been given the task by him as he lay on his deathbed, but it was a difficult thing for me to accept it, since I had predicted long ago that my own death would take place on that island. However, it would be a heartless person who could refuse a parent's dying wish, so I resolved to get there by any means necessary.

            "Once there, I realized that the signs shown in the Tarot readings I had done from afar were only the beginning of the strange and fantastic portents which would soon show themselves. In a ritual conducted by Raxl and myself, I received a vision which revealed that if we did a séance, there would be sorrow and death, but no matter how much we tried to dissuade Jean Paul from his purpose, we could not, and I did hold out hope that the ritual would reveal a way to rid the island of its ancient curse."

            "But at that first attempt," Stephen said, "the chandelier fell and you fell into some sort of trance."

            "Just so," said Vangie. "I was in the grip of a very strong influence, and when I finally came out of the trance, I realized that there was more going on here than any of us knew. As you will have read in your uncle's journal, Raxl and I had set up a box of sand over which was hung a pendulum so that the spirits could write messages to us if they wished."

            "I'm familiar with this kind of practice," he said as she paused in her story. "You only got confused messages from it as I understand."

            "Yes. We thought we might be able to find the doll and the pin by the ancient symbols we could see in the sand, but when we looked for them where we thought the spirit-writing told us to look, nothing was there. Suffice it to say that after all these strange events, we were all stretched to the limits of our sanity, so that by the time the rabbit and the locket appeared, none of us knew what was right. All that I knew was that there was growing anger and mistrust all around, and it was impossible for me to conduct a séance in safety while these energies were present.

            "I took to spending long hours in my room, trying to calm myself enough to find the clarity which I sought, but it was to no avail. I tried to conduct a second séance in order to determine whether the locket did in fact belong to the deceased Erica, but the anger was very strong and it put Holly Marshall in danger, and I finally refused to perform another one."

            "Yes," said Stephen. "Uncle Matt wrote that Holly was poisoned by some wine that she drank."

            "It was fortunate that she did not die," said Vangie, "but as she did not die, Jean Paul felt that a séance would still be possible. Not wanting him to try it himself, I finally agreed to conduct it, but I was very weak and barely in control of myself. I knew that my death could very well result from it. I had been falling in and out of trances ever since the first one and I knew that I was in over my head. However, my father's dying words rang in my ears. He had told me that I would never rest until I had accomplished the task of getting rid of Jacques Eloi des Mondes and his influence forever.

            "So, though I had barely eaten or slept, I agreed to conduct one last séance. I was upset that Holly was involved, but for some reason, she was a very strong connection to Erica's spirit. So, with everyone on the island participating this time, we began. I called for Erica to come across the chasm of death, and she did come. She chose Holly for her vessel, and as Holly's lips moved, we all watched in awe as Erica's voice came from this young girl.

            "It was too much for Holly's mother to bear, so she asked us to stop. I too said that it should stop, but Jean Paul was insistent that we continue. Then I felt a surge of power flow through me. I knew that the conjure gods were with me, but then all at once another power was opposing me, and I felt my throat beginning to close as though someone was strangling me."

            "Even then," said Stephen, "Jean Paul refused to stop the séance. I remember that from Uncle Matt's journal!"

            "He was almost mad at that point," said Vangie, "and so was I. I felt my death approaching, and at the last minute, I remembered a technique that my father had taught me. I decided to try to fool the spirits, so I cried out that I had been murdered. I urged everyone to leave the island, and then I threw myself into a self-induced deathlike state. I slowed my heart and my breathing and hoped that Dr. Carr wouldn't detect a pulse, and when everyone was sure I was dead, I simply lay on the floor, still in my trance, but able to see, hear and sense things as though I were awake.

            "With dismay I felt the vibrations of Erica's spirit growing stronger. It had been able to use me to gain a foothold in this world, and I knew now, when it was too late for me to do anything, that Erica was the angry spirit that I had been sensing. Jean Paul had found a skull which he thought belonged to a prisoner of Jacques who had been murdered rather savagely, and it was this man whom he had thought to be the angry spirit that was troubling us. I knew now that this had been a ruse, a trick to allow Erica to come back.

            "I heard Jean Paul ask me for forgiveness, and it was I who felt the most need of forgiveness in that room, but I was too much of a coward to release myself from the trance. Instead, I waited for Quito to carry me away to the sacred burial-ground of our folk which existed on Maljardin, and before he could begin digging my grave, I managed to bring myself out of the trance and to tell him not to bury me. I was very weak and could not walk, so I asked Quito to take me to a secluded cave in the cliffs, well above the water-line even at high tide, and I told him that I would do my best to help everyone still trapped in that house. I knew that Erica was too strong for me to battle with directly, so I tried other means."

            "But if you couldn't deal with Erica, What had made you think you could deal with Jacques Eloi des Mondes?"

            "I was arrogant," said Vangie. "I thought that I could match him act for act, using my father's ancient rituals to focus my modern and exceptional mind. It was only when I sat in the shelter of the cave to which Quito had brought me that I realized the error of my ways. I had largely abandoned my father's teachings in favor of those which parapsychology could offer me, and as a result, I was completely out of my element when dealing with the forces on Maljardin. I was a believer in ESP and other extensions of the mind, but I felt that my father's teachings were outmoded and unnecessarily steeped in superstition and ritual."

            "But you participated in rituals with Raxl," said Stephen.

            "I did," said Vangie, "because my duties as Conjure Woman instructed me to do so. However, I felt that in the last analysis, the enlightened mind would triumph over those ancient ways. I felt that it was just a matter of balancing the positive and negative energies in the house, and I thought that Erica's energy would be positive enough to do so."

            "And yet," remonstrated Stephen, "you told my uncle that the devil was loose on Maljardin."

            "I was trying to speak his language," said Vangie. "I felt that his prayers and ceremonies could only provide more positive energy. It's true that a part of me really believed my father's ideas about Jacques Eloi des Mondes, but I considered this a very childish part of myself, until I had spent some time on the island, that is. There, Vangie Abbott did die, in a manner of speaking, and the young girl I had been long ago was reborn."

            "And just how long ago were you what you would call a young girl?"

            "I am the youngest of the daughters of the last Conjure Man," said Vangie, "and he was the same man who condemned Jacques Eloi des Mondes to be bound in his dead body or in his effigy for eternity. I was alive when that happened, though I was too young to participate."

            "You mean to tell me that you are three-hundred years old?"

            "Yes," said Vangie. "When I was dedicated to the gods as a woman, I went into a deep trance. It was then that I prophesied my death on Maljardin, and for a girl of thirteen this was very traumatic. I didn't know what to do, and as years passed, my fear of death became all-consuming. So, when my father asked for volunteers to undergo a ceremony which would slow the aging process so that we could remain vigilant in case Jacques Eloi des Mondes' spirit was freed, I agreed without hesitation. I had a thirst for life and a hunger for knowledge. I wanted to live for as long as I could, and I never thought that I would have to assume my father's post; but one by one, my brothers and sisters died, and my father, who had extended his life well past the limits of merely mortal endurance, kept silent watch over Maljardin, so that I was able to adapt myself to this world and its modern complexities without shouldering any of the responsibilities to which I had pledged myself so long ago."

            "So you left your father alone?"

            "There were also Raxl and Quito," said Vangie. "They too had undergone the ritual of long life. They were the frontline soldiers in the fight against evil on Maljardin."

            "So," said Stephen coldly, "you basically ran and hid, just like you ran and hid  in a cave and left the others, including my uncle, to die on Maljardin."

            "I'm afraid that you're correct," said Vangie, "and I wish to ask you for forgiveness."

            "Finish  your story," said Stephen, "and I'll decide."

            "Well, as I sat in the cave, I realized I had been wrong to doubt my father's faith, and it was Quito who was my teacher in those days. He came to me whenever he could and told me in his sign-language what was happening in the house, and when I learned that the artist Tim Stanton was going to paint a portrait of the resurrected Erica, I tried with all my might to show him her true self. From what Quito told me and from what your uncle's journal said, he received the impressions on a subconscious level and painted her as something ugly and demonic."

            "But how did you feel when everyone started dying?"

            "I was extremely grieved," said Vangie, "but I knew I was unable to prevent what was happening. I had been taught much by my father, but I had been too attached to my own selfish plans to practice what I had learned. So, when the fire broke out, Quito arranged for me to hide in the boat and to cross the channel, and when I came here, I devoted myself to learning all I could of my father's ways. I spent many nights traveling on spiritual paths and learning from my ancestors the ways of the Conjure Woman, and though I still retain much of my knowledge of modern psychic phenomena, I have reacquainted myself with my roots and have found the well-spring from which my father drew his strength."

            "Well," said Stephen after a long silence, "I don't know if I can forgive you for abandoning my uncle and the others, but I think I understand something of your dilemma. That's the best I can do for now."

            "I thought you might," said Vangie. "That's the reason I wanted to show you that you are a true priest."

            "A true priest? The last time I heard that phrase was in a strange dream I had."

            "Dreams can be flights of the soul, Stephen, and they can speak the truth as well."

            "So what then? Am I supposed to storm over to Maljardin and start exorcising the place? We haven't done exorcisms in the Catholic Church for centuries."

            "But you know them to be effective in some cases, I think?"

            "Yes, but the effectiveness is believed to be due to the power of suggestion, the possession itself being also due to some sort of deeply-implanted suggestion, usually a cultural one."

            "Please think of my own example," said Vangie. "There are times when the old ways are the best. Your ancient thinkers believed in demons and in the power of Christ to exorcise them. Why can't  you? Remember, if you go to Maljardin largely unarmed against what waits for you, you will be overpowered."

            Stephen stood up and began pacing the room restlessly. He had heard so many strange things tonight that he was emotionally overwhelmed.

            "Look," he said finally, coming to stand near her. "I don't know what's right anymore and I don't know if I can trust you, but I promise that I'll give all that I've heard due consideration, and I won't leave until you and I meet again."

            "Thank you, Stephen," she said, clasping his hand in hers and gazing deeply into his eyes for a long moment. "I will await that meeting eagerly."

            "I promise something else," said Stephen. "If I hear anything more about what's going on at Maljardin, I'll find a way to let you know about it."

            "And I will do the same," she said. "Now, I think it's about time for you to sleep!" She gave him an appraising look. "You're still recovering, after all."

            "True," he said.

            "If you walk to the edge of the sacred path," she said, "Michel will see you. He will guide you to your hotel."

            "Very well," said Stephen. "Till we meet again!"

            "Till then," she replied, and he left her gazing fixedly at the fire and walked slowly out into the star-strewn night.

Chapter Twelve

            Kathleen stepped carefully out of the sea-plane and onto the Maljardin dock, all the while looking up at the top of the cliffs to where the Desmond chateau stood silhouetted against the sky. She could not believe how much progress had been made since she had last seen it. The rubble had been cleared away and the central portion of the mansion had been roofed and restored, and there was light pouring from the windows. However, as she climbed the cliff path at Julia's side, she couldn't help wondering if this was all an illusion; it seemed so different than the fire-ravaged hulk it had once been.

            Indeed, as she drew closer, she could see the unfinished portions and the men working on them even after sunset. It was as Bill had told her. Huge floodlights illuminated the grounds, and the otherwise picturesque scene which she had viewed from a distance was ruined somewhat by the sound of drills and the sight of dust flying everywhere.

            "I had them work on the great hall first," Julia explained. "I simply could not climb all those stairs to the office you had made," and she threw open the great doors which looked new, but which, Kathleen noted, were exact reproductions of the old ones. "Welcome to my home, Kathleen!"

            The smell of paint and plaster dust was strong here, but the great hall was intact, and there was a fire in the fireplace. This should have lent a cheerful air to the vast space, but Kathleen couldn't help noticing the lurid colour of the flames as they were reflected in a portrait which hung prominently on the wall across from a large leather sofa. Moving closer, she realized with no surprise that it was none other than the portrait of Jacques Eloi des Mondes.

            "So," she said, hoping desperately that she sounded matter-of-fact, "You've gotten over your earlier aversion to this rakish rogue then?"

            "Oh quite!" said Julia, sweeping her hand in an arc to indicate the hall as a whole. "It just seemed so empty without something to give it focus. Isn't he handsome?"

            Kathleen looked at the portrait more closely. When she had seen it in her makeshift office in the north tower, she had appraised it purely for artistic value, and had found it a stunning example of Baroque painting. However, after what she had learned from the journal of Reverend Matthew Dawson and from Vangie Abbott, she found herself ignoring the painter's style and looking only at the man in the frame. His eyes were keen as arrows and seemed to have a cunning look in them which she did not like, and wondering for a moment why it bothered her so, she realized that it was because the same devious glint was now habitually in Julia's eyes as well.

            "He does bear a striking resemblance to your father. I remember when we attended his funeral. The pictures of him when he was young were really wonderful!"

            "Yes," said Julia. "He was a worthy man, though I sometimes think he was a little weak."

            Kathleen stared at her friend in absolute disbelief.

            "Weak? You always thought of him as your role-model!"

            "Of course I did. You're right. I must be tired. Would you like a drink?" Julia was noticeably shaken by this slip-up, but all Kathleen could do was play along until she could find out if anything of her friend still remained. So far, she held out little hope.

            "Alright," she said, and watched Julia fairly glide over to a sideboard and pour some white wine from an ornate decanter.

            Taking her filled glass, Kathleen sat down on the sofa and waited for Julia to take her place beside her. As she sipped her wine, she thought of the toast they had made when Julia had first arrived. Then, she had been in control of things; now, she was all at sea and uncertain of how to navigate the dangerous waters of this new situation without running aground or breaking up.

            “My dear, I can see that you’ve been under a terrible strain these past few days,” Julia said now. “If I have caused it, I am truly sorry. Now that you’re here, I trust that I’ll be able to make amends.”

            “I am glad to be here, if only to reassure myself that you are alright.”

            “Well,” said Julia, “I must say that I feel almost like a new woman! My life’s been too many years chasing impossible dreams. It’s time to settle down, and what better place to do so than here?”

            “So why did you lead me to believe that you were still planning to turn this place into a hotel?”

            “Well, I thought you wouldn’t work as diligently if you knew it was to be my private home.”

            “You should know me better than that, Julia!”

            “I know, and I do apologize. I must say that the plans you showed me at dinner look very good.”

            "Thanks," said Kathleen. "I did a lot of research to put them together."

            "I'm sure you did," said Julia, absently twirling her glass in her fingers.

            "Yes," Kathleen pursued. "I researched every aspect of life on Maljardin in the sixteen-hundreds in order to be as thorough as possible, and I found a lot of interesting information on your family's past."

            "Do tell, Kathleen! Do tell!"

            "Well, take that man in the portrait for instance. What do you know about him?" She knew she was gambling now, but she had to see what Julia knew and whether she was controlled by Jacques or was actually complicit in whatever his plans might be.

            "I know that he was daring and bold," said Julia, "and," she added with special emphasis, "willing to do anything to achieve his goals. In short," again resuming her airy tone, "a man after the heart of any Desmond!"

            "But what was he like? Did your family ever speak of him? Surely your mother must have mentioned him. She was always a great historian, after all. She told me many stories about the Desmonds of the past." Kathleen thought with fondness of Emily Desmond, Nee Blare, whose bookish temperament was more than a match for her own. In fact, it was due to her interests in Desmond history that she had first been introduced to Jean Paul, and throughout their marriage, she had become the Desmond family chronicler and secret-keeper.

            "Well then," Julia countered, "did she tell you anything about Monsieur des Mondes?"

            "No," said Kathleen, "but I felt strongly that she knew something about him. I asked her about him once." This was an outright lie, but it had the desired effect. The colour left Julia's face and she almost dropped the glass she was twirling.

            "My mother? You asked my mother about Jacques Eloi des Mondes? Why should she know anything about him. She was good and pure and had nothing to do with--"

            "With what?" Kathleen felt that Julia was becoming herself now and wanted her to admit what was going on. Instead, there was a long silence, and then Julia looked straight at her, and the shifty look was gone from her eyes. What was left was a kind of frozen helplessness, and suddenly Kathleen was certain that whatever was going on here, Julia was in over her head. She resolved then and there to do what she could to help her.

            "Kat," Julia finally said, "I don't know what's happening here. I don't even clearly remember asking you to come, but I really am glad you're here! I've been so caught up in--in this weird obsession of mine!"

            "Well," Kathleen ventured, "maybe it's time to chuck it all. Maybe it's time to pack up and leave!"

            "No," said Julia. "No! We can't do that!"

            "Well then, can you tell me about how this all started? When I left, you wanted this portrait destroyed, and now it's hanging here as though it had never left."

            "Look," said Julia. "I can't tell you everything now. I just can't. All I can say is that I have to stay here and live here. That's the only chance I have now for any kind of happiness."

            "Well," said Kathleen, "I must say that your choice in jewelry is rather macabre."

            Julia lifted the locket from around her neck and regarded it curiously.

            "You're right," she finally said. "I hate it!"

            "Then I have something you'll like better," said Kathleen, "and unfastened the gold cross that Stephen had given her and handed it to Julia. She attempted several times to put it around her own neck, but her fingers seemed to falter and three times it fell into her lap. Trying for the fourth time, she finally managed the clasp, and as soon as the cross touched her skin, she seemed to hold herself a little straighter than before and a peaceful smile played across her firelit features.

            "I didn't think crosses were exactly your style, Kat," she said with one of her merry laughs.

            "It's true that I'm not much of a beads and bells girl anymore," said Kathleen, "but this cross is from a friend. I think it might help you."

            "Why? Was it blessed by a saint or something?"

            "Or something," said Kathleen, thinking to herself that if there was ever a candidate for sainthood, it was Vangie Abbott. "I just think it'll come in handy."

            "Then I'll keep it for sure," said Julia, finishing her drink and rising. "Now, what about a tour?"

            Kathleen readily assented, and the two women spent the next while wandering the corridors and galleries which had already been restored. There were, however, makeshift walls and fences blocking off the unfinished passages and rooms, and Kathleen noted that the towers flanking the mansion proper were not actually connected to the building except by catwalks made of scaffolding. As they walked up stairs and around corners, Kathleen noticed the sounds of the drills and other tools growing louder.

            "How do you sleep with all that noise?" she asked Julia.

            "Well," said Julia, "I often camp out in the great hall, but if the noise is loud there, well, I'll show you."

            She led Kathleen down into the great hall again, and then Kathleen noticed another set of steps branching off and descending further into the depths of the house. At the bottom, Julia took from her pocket a flashlight with which she illuminated the way ahead.

            Kathleen was suddenly reminded of Edgar Alan Poe's short story, "The Cask of Amontillado," for in the beam of Julia's light, she saw ahead of her an archway which looked original, and beyond that was a vaulted ceiling and a tunnel leading to a larger chamber. As her eyes adjusted to her surroundings, she heard her footsteps echoing off stone walls, and she saw cut into the walls of the larger chamber long shelves or niches, and in the niches were many oblong boxes, and it was with deepening dread that she realized that these boxes had curving tops ornately carved with the names of their owners.

            "Julia!" she gasped. "You can't tell me that you're sleeping in the crypt!"

            "I know it seems strange," said Julia, "but I've been having a lot of headaches lately, and this is the only place where the noise of the construction doesn't penetrate."

            "Headaches? Are you sure you're alright? Maybe I can find a doctor to examine you. There's one on the main island that I know."

            "No, Kat. Really, it's alright. See?"

            Julia showed her a curtained alcove in which was the futon from her former bedroom.

            "Trust me," she said reassuringly. "I chose this place purely for its silence."

            Kathleen noticed her eyes shifting despite her confident tone, and remembered with what revulsion she usually viewed anything to do with death. However, there was no way that she was going to confront her friend about this tonight. She was very tired and had been thrown off balance by the strange changes of mood that Julia had exhibited.

            "Well," she said now, "do you have a place for me to sleep?"

            "Yes," said Julia. "There's a room made up in your old north tower, though it's not so high up as your office was.

            "That was Bill's room!"

            "Yes," said Julia, "but he's not using it now, is he?" She had assumed her former airy tone again. "Come now, Kathleen! You're not superstitious, are you?"

            "No," said Kathleen. "You just surprised me, I suppose."

            "Alright then," said Julia. "Let us leave this gloomy place, and I'll show you to your room."

            Kathleen followed her friend who was not her friend through the gothic mansion which was originally going to be a modern hotel, her mind a seething mass of doubts and fears. How was she going to get through to Julia so that she would confide in her? She felt that Julia was her best friend, but it was only now in the light of current events that she wondered if her conviction that Julia felt the same way was actually based on objective fact rather than subjective self-delusion. Soon, Julia paused before a door at the end of a long hall and stood aside for her to enter.

            "You'll be comfortable here, I trust?"

            "I think so, Julia. Thank you!"

            "We'll get to work bright and early in the morning, shall we?"

            "Bright and early," Kathleen said, adopting a cheery tone which belied her internal uncertainty.

            "Oh," said Julia, taking the cross from her neck and handing it to Kathleen, "you really should keep this. It really isn't my style."

            Kathleen took the cross with dismay, but she smiled brightly and thanked her friend warmly.

            "And now," said Julia, "goodnight!"

            "Goodnight, Julia," said Kathleen as she watched her friend's retreating figure.

            Putting the cross around her own neck again, she walked into the room which was furnished in a Spartan fashion. She thought of Bill as she put her bags in the corner and examined the folding camp-bed set beneath the high window.

            "I'm sorry you were brought into this, Bill," she said aloud. "It wasn't fair. Still, at least you're at peace now. I still have to figure all of this out!"

            "You are not the only one, Kathleen," said Vangie's voice in her mind. "While the cross was with Julia, I was able to determine that she is being controlled by a dark force, but it is not Jacques Eloi des Mondes. He may be behind it all, but Julia is in the grip of another spirit. You must try to give her the cross again if you can."

            "Will you speak to her in her mind? How are you able to do so with me?"

            "Your mind is unclouded, Kathleen. It has great potential. As for Julia, I'm sure you will see what I will do if you can return the cross to her. Soon, I think, you and I will not need to use it as a link, but be careful! Do not open your mind too far while you're on Maljardin. It is a place of rampant evil. Never forget that!"

            "Alright," said Kathleen. "I'll try my best."

            She found herself growing more and more tired by the minute, and soon, she had no choice but to lie down fully clothed on the bed. This would normally have bothered her, but tonight she was too full of doubt and fear to mind much. She was about to drift off to sleep when she noticed something above her on the window-sill. Getting out of bed and reaching above her, she found a strange little doll with a long metal pin through the area where its heart would be. The doll, she noticed, was wearing a carpenter's apron and had a very familiar face.

            "Bill!" she said to herself. "He really was murdered!"

            She replaced the frightening thing where it was on the sill and lifted the curtain to scan the ledge more closely. Just as she was about to give up, she found another doll nestled in the corner nearest the window. Taking it in her hand, she almost dropped it, for there confronting her was a woman with red hair and wearing a business suit. It was true that the face was nondescript, but the likeness could not be mistaken. She found another long pin lying next to the Kathleen doll, and the meaning of this could not have been made any plainer.

            "I'm being warned," she said. "It's just like Vangie said that morning in my hotel room! I could end up just like Bill Temple!"

Chapter Thirteen

            Stephen placed yet another collated sheaf of papers into yet another manila folder and sighed. It had been three days since his talk with the Conjure Woman and he was finally doing what Barrett had requested on the day he arrived: organizing a vast collection of notes and correspondences related to his studies of Maljardin. It was getting on toward sunset, Barrett would be emerging soon from  his usual afternoon nap, and Stephen had finally resolved that he would confide in his former mentor all that Evangeline Abbott had told him. He half-suspected that Barrett knew most of it already, but it was time for him to find out for sure. Barrett was the one piece of the puzzle that was missing for him, and it was time now to fix that. Besides, since he had heard nothing from Kathleen ever since her return to Julia Desmond's island, he felt his mind being clouded with worries and fears that he could not control.

            "Work going well I see?" Barrett came out of his bedroom looking relaxed, and Stephen felt a pang of resentment which made his tone sharp.

            "Well, since there's nothing else for me to do down here, I thought I'd give it my all."

            "Come now, my boy," said Barrett, pouring two glasses of whisky. "Time to put the books away now."

            "I'm sorry," Stephen said. "I'm just so worried about Kathleen!"

            "I know you are. You seem to be able to talk of nothing else."

            "The fact is," said Stephen, taking the offered drink, "I'm beginning to feel that you got me down here on somewhat false pretenses."

            "I think that deserves an explanation, Mr. Dawson," said Barrett, adopting his professorial voice. "I had nothing but honest intentions in contacting you."

            "Maybe you did," said Stephen, "but what about her? What about your Conjure Woman? You'll agree that she can be mysterious and secretive at times?"

            "It comes with the territory. You should know that." Barrett sat down across from Stephen at the folder-laden dining-room table and looked straight into his eyes. "She must be a little circumspect in order to keep the curiosity-seekers away from her people. I'll tell you that they have drugs and ceremonies that can do things that we scientifically-advanced westerners think are impossible."

            "Oh," said Stephen, "I know one of those stories. This young and attractive priestess is supposed to be three-hundred years old!"

            "So this is why you've been on edge," said Barrett. "She told you about herself and about your uncle?"

            "But surely you know that already! Surely you've been in on everything since I came down here! Why else did you ask me to start coming here the very day after I had that meeting with your esteemed colleague?"

            "You think she put me up to it? You know I wanted your help, Stephen. I asked you for it when you first arrived, but then I was indisposed and you became ill, and nothing could happen till now. That's all it is."

            "Well, I feel like I'm being controlled somehow. The bottom line is that she ran away from her responsibilities forty years ago, and now that they've come back to bite her in the ass, she wants more help! She at least told you to tell me to bring my priest stuff, right? That has to be true."

            "No," said Barrett. "Remember? I didn't tell her you were a priest. If you want to know why I asked you to come prepared for active duty, I will. It's because I'm dying, Stephen. I'm dying, and I want you to attend me."

            "What? You're anything but a devout Catholic!"

            "True," said Barrett, "but I was born into a Catholic family and was duly baptized in that faith. Actually, I wish both you and Evangeline Abbott to attend me in your respective capacities. I think you are more alike than you realize."

            "I am nothing like her!" Stephen exploded. "I would not have left people to die! I would not have left a man to confront some strange evil and be destroyed by it!"

            "Alright," said Barrett quietly. "Let's begin at the beginning. What did Vangie tell you about the way your uncle died?"

            "She told me that he was trying to exorcise Erica Desmond who had returned from the dead as a woman of demonic cunning. I read the journal entry he wrote before meeting with her. He was never more clear about his calling or his faith, and despite all that, she was able to throw him off the tower of that house over there and then to smear his name by telling everyone that he had killed himself in a fit of depression."

            "How do you know that?"

            "There's an entry at the end of the journal written by Vangie herself. In it, she states that she knows that the story told by Erica about his death was not true. Quito, Jean Paul's mute servant, told her so. She ended by saying that she would avenge Uncle Matt's memory and the memories of all those who were killed by the evil on that island."

            "Well," said Barrett, pouring Stephen another drink but not taking one for himself, "that's something positive at least. So, what's the matter?"

            "She tricked them all," said Stephen, slamming his glass down onto the table. "She made everyone think that she was dead, even made them mourn for her, and she ran away and hid!"

            "And she admitted this to you?"

            "Yes! She even went so far as to ask me for forgiveness!"

            "Perhaps," said Barrett slowly, "she thought that you of all people would be in a position to forgive."

            "Oh, here we go again," said Stephen. "I'm a priest, so I should forgive. I'm so tired, Barrett! I'm just so damned tired of it all!"

            "And what do you want to do now?" Barrett's calmness was really getting on Stephen's nerves.

            "I want to get the hell out of here!"

            "Right," said Barrett. "You're overwhelmed. You've been ill! Of course you want to leave. Now, doesn't that sound familiar?"

            Stephen looked into his glass in order to avoid Barrett's gaze. He knew deep inside himself that Barrett was absolutely right. He had no right to sit in judgment of a woman who had wrestled with the evil which had as yet only barely touched him. She had done what she felt was right, and she now regretted it. Who was he to condemn her?

            "I suppose I've been casting stones out of turn," he said now.

            "You're upset," said Barrett. "What you need is to do what she asked. You need to forgive her. I think it's true that you're being controlled, but I think that it's by a power higher than myself or the Conjure Woman. Why else have you been obsessed with this place for so many years?"

            "It is strange," said Stephen. "It's not everyone who would define their whole lives in the light of a piece of family history that happened before they were born. I guess you're right. I've been acting stupid."

            "Happy the fool who knows what he is," said Barrett absently, but Stephen shuddered.

            "What did you say?"

            "I didn't mean to offend, old boy!"

            "No," said Stephen. "You mentioned the word 'fool'. It reminded me of Uncle Matt again. Vangie said that he was represented in the Tarot pack as The Fool, the balance-wheel, the presence that could tip the scale and shift the balance of power on Maljardin."

            "That's very interesting," said Barrett. "The Fool often represents pure consciousness, potential as yet untapped. It is the beginning and it is the end. It is whatever comes between the night and the morning. It is everything and also nothing. It is the perfected spirit and the spirit seeking perfection."

            "Ah. One of those paradoxical things," said Stephen. "Great!"

            "Well," said Barrett, "there is one who can enlighten you further. As it happens, I was going to visit her tonight. Care to come with me?"

            "I suppose I'd better," said Stephen. "I've been such an ass about all this!"

            "She'll understand," said Barrett. "Don't worry!"

            Stephen finished his drink and Barrett got them some dinner. When they were finished, Barrett drove to the hotel and together they walked into the vine-curtained shelter of the processional way. The guardian Michel was not present this time, but Stephen felt that he must be somewhere watching what was happening. When they got to the barely-discernible path that led to the cabin, Stephen paused for a moment.

            "There's no smoke," he said. "Maybe she's not at home."

            "She's there," was all Barrett's answer, but Stephen thought he caught a peculiar note of fear in his voice.

            Barrett knocked rather loudly on the door, but as there was no response from within, he quickly opened it and stepped inside. Uncertain of what he should do, Stephen followed quietly behind him, so his view of the room was blocked by Barrett's imposing form. He could not help hearing, however, a deep silence around him, so deep that it was actually deafening. It was soon broken by Barrett's frightened gasp as he apparently saw something strange, and when Stephen moved beside him to get a better look, he noticed the woman they had come to see lying on her back on the floor. She looked pale and her eyes were extremely unfocused. For a moment, Stephen thought she was dead, but Barrett seemed not to think so, so he let him take the lead.

            "Vangie!" Barrett called in a sure, strong voice. "Vangie Abbott! Wake up!"

            "What's happened to her?" Stephen was totally unprepared for something like this.

            "I think she's in a kind of trance," said Barrett. "I'm not sure."

            Stephen stood and regarded the priestess on the floor, and suddenly he felt that strange spiritual chill which seemed to betoken the evil of this place, and all at once, taking a rosary from his pocket, he began to pray.

            "Good," said Barrett. "Every little bit helps!"

            Stephen heard him laying and lighting the fire as he continued praying, and while he was in the middle of what felt like his hundredth 'Hail Mary,' he was surprised to find another voice saying the words with him. When the prayer was finished, he turned and saw Vangie sitting up and regarding him with an inscrutable expression on her face. It seemed to be a mixture of fear, awe and deep compassion.

            "What is it?" he asked.

            "Your voice," she said. "I never realized how much it resembles his--your uncle's. You called me back! Thank you, Stephen."

            "May I help you up?" Barrett was still busy brewing tea. Stephen wondered why he was not more concerned about his priestess, but he suspected that he did not want to intrude on what he himself had to say to her.

            "Thank you," she said, "and thank you, Robert! Tea would be lovely!"

            "He," Stephen began, "he was here."

            "Yes," said Vangie. "I have been worried about your friend Kathleen, and was trying to probe Maljardin with my mind. I can sometimes see things far off if I concentrate hard, but it isn't one of my primary gifts. As it turns out, I was not very wise to try it unaided."

            "No," said Barrett. "Why on earth did you do it?" Stephen was slightly amused to hear him using that tone of voice. He sounded for all the world as though he were scolding a wayward child. It seemed as though Vangie had picked up on this as well, for she too began to smile.

            "I was foolish and impatient," she said. "Will that do for an answer? Right now, all I want is my tea, thank you, Robert."

            "Here you are, my lady," said Barrett, presenting the unremarkable cup to her as though it were a ceremonial vessel. Stephen was surprised to see her take it in that same reverent way.

            "Thank you," she said, "and I'm sorry I frightened you, and Stephen, I'm glad to see you."

            "I just wanted to tell you this in person," he said, taking his cup as well. "I wanted to say that I do not forgive you."

            "Dawson!" Barrett was indignant.

            "No, Robert," said Vangie. "Let him finish!"

            "I don't forgive you," said Stephen, "because there's nothing to forgive. It's done, and you can't change it. You did what you thought you needed to do. What I will do is let go of my anger about it. As it is, I think I'm more angry at the way my uncle died, and I'm feeling trapped, controlled. I thought you were doing the controlling, but now, I'm not so sure."

            "I think you've seen evidence of the fact," she said, "that I am most definitely not in control of this situation. I do need help, and I do not think that mere chance brought you and I, a priest of Christ and a priestess of The Great Serpent, together."

            "I'm beginning to think that way too," said Stephen, "though I'm at a loss as to how I can help you."

            "Well," said Barrett, "it seems to me that very little can be done from here."

            "That's true," said Vangie, "but Maljardin is off-limits to us, and I hardly think that Julia Desmond will invite us over for dinner any time soon."

            "Kathleen hasn't spoken to me since she left," said Stephen. "She said that she would, and I'm very worried."

            "Unfortunately," said Vangie gravely, "I was not able to penetrate the shroud of evil engulfing the island. It drained me before I could pull away, and that is why I fell into the trance. I think I was there for about three hours when I suddenly heard your voice asking for help from your Queen of Heaven. You did remind me of your uncle then. It was uncanny!"

            "I thought nothing was uncanny to people in your line," said Stephen wryly.

            "If I really believed that," said Vangie, "then I would indeed be unworthy of the mantle I bear. We must always stay open to the possibility that inexplicable things exist in this world."

            "I'm afraid you're preaching to deaf ears," said Barrett. "Stephen is not only an anthropologist, but also a Jesuit. They question things almost as a form of prayer!"

            "He's right," said Stephen, "about the kind of mind that I have, but I'm not deaf to your words, Conjure Woman. Not anymore. There is too much going on here for me to ignore. We've got to find a way to get over there!"

            "Be assured, Stephen, that we will," said Vangie. "Unfortunately, there is a timing to all of this which is not subject to our interference."

            "I just want to know how Kathleen is doing and whether she's safe! I've tried emailing her and calling her, and there's been absolutely no response!"

            "I saw her safe on Maljardin the night she left here," said Vangie, "but more than that I have not been able to see."

            "Well," said Stephen, hardly knowing what he expected, "what about the cards? Can't you do a reading or something? You were always doing them for my uncle and telling him all kinds of things about what was happening on Maljardin. Can't you do that now?"

            "Even the cards are silent tonight," said Vangie, picking them up and shuffling them in a listless manner. "No, Stephen, something is definitely interfering with my abilities, and that has to stop."

            "Can we not call the gods to fight on our behalf?" Barrett had not spoken for some time, but now that he did, Stephen was surprised to find himself mentally agreeing with this suggestion.

            "We have the priest and the priestess," said Vangie. "Both you and I are present, but we have no drummer."

            "From what I've heard, you have some excellent drummers hereabouts," said Stephen. "What about Michel, for instance?"

            "I don't want my people exposed to this evil if I can shield them from it," said Vangie. "However, I think Robert is right. Will you act as our drummer? Robert can show you the rhythms."

            "Do you know what you're asking me to do?"

            "She's asking you to drum, Stephen. That's all."

            "Yes," Stephen said, "and martyrs have died for refusing to do even less than that."

            "Do you really believe what you're saying?" Barrett rounded on him savagely. "Are you a priest of Christ only when it's convenient for you?"

            "You're right," Stephen said, taken aback. "It's not my own conscience I'm afraid of. It's what others might think if they found out."

            "Well, they wouldn't learn it from me," said Barrett, "and they certainly would never learn it from the Conjure Woman."

            "In fact," said Vangie solemnly, "it is highly irregular for a non-believer to be invited into a ritual such as this. I do this in peril of the loss of my authority in the eyes of my people, but I deem that danger to be worth facing when I compare it with that of the evil which now walks among us."

            "Alright," said Stephen. "I'll do it."

            "Good," said Vangie. "I must prepare. Robert, please show Stephen the rhythms." She went to the altar that stood in the room and from underneath it she drew a large drum fashioned of wood and goat-skin and in the shape of a goblet. Stephen looked at the diamond pattern of the ropes which bound the skin to the body and traced the intricate carvings around the wooden base.

            "This is like what the West Africans use," he said finally. "I've learned some of their rhythms."

            "Then you'll have no problem learning ours," said Barrett. "They are similar, and all we need for this ritual is a continual rhythm kept up. It will lend energy to the Conjure Woman for what the gods will ask of her."

            As Vangie retired to her bedroom to prepare herself, Barrett taught Stephen the rhythms on the drum, showing him how to strike the head so as to get the best sound. Stephen had played a similar instrument before, and he had always felt a primal kind of thrill when he did. It was as though he was melting into the past, becoming one with all the humans who had come before him, and using the drum to beat off the darkness and silence of death. Now, as he tapped out the rhythms at Barrett's instruction, he realized that a long-cherished dream was at last coming true, for he was preparing to enter a world which he had never known: a world of ancient ritual and magic. He was, in fact, finally following in Barrett's footsteps for the first time in his life.

            "Well, Stephen," said Barrett finally, "you're no Buddy Rich, but you'll be a great help to us."

            "Barrett, is something wrong?" Stephen saw a strange expression on his old friend's face which he could not interpret.

            "It is always Vangie who takes the risks," said Barrett bitterly. "I don't want her destroyed by all of this. She's too--too--"

            "Barrett," said Stephen in astonishment. "I can't believe it! You don't just admire her spiritually. You're in love with her!"

            "Is it that surprising? She's made me feel alive, Stephen, in a way no other woman could. She has what I could never find in anyone else. She is a true companion to me, no mere acquaintance but a true spiritual partner, and now, she has to put her life on the line for this mysterious and evil presence over there on that island, and all she says is that it is her duty."

            "And I still maintain that," said Vangie, emerging with a robe similar to the one she was wearing in her hands. "Here you are, Robert."

            As Barrett ducked into the bedroom to dawn his ceremonial garb, Vangie took the seat he had been using and looked directly at Stephen across the head of the drum.

            "Please believe me," she began, "when I tell you that I did not ask you to participate in this ritual lightly. I understand your conflict."

            "I only wish it were the conflict it should be," he said. "If I had enough faith in my own God, I would know where I stand in all this and would categorically deny participating in this rite, but all that makes me hesitate is the fact that others in my faith might find out about it. I am indeed the Pharisee in the parable."

            "We've all had those moments of pride and self-justification," said Vangie, "but let me try to set your mind at ease. You will have to be within the circle, but that is for your protection. There will be no nudity or anything. In fact, all we will be doing is meditating, making a connection with the gods and letting them speak. You may call it self-hypnosis if you like. What you call it does not matter. All we need from you is for you to drum and to provide a grounding influence."

            "I'll do my best," said Stephen, and he watched as she moved silently around the room and made things ready for the ritual.

            The candles were lit and the smoke of incense drifted up from the brazier when Robert emerged, serpent staff in hand, and moved slowly to face Vangie across the altar. The two began to chant and to move around the room, sprinkling water and salt in a wide circle which encompassed the altar, the drum, Stephen and the chair in which he sat. Then Vangie moved to the alter again and stood facing the east, and Barrett took the brazier and wafted the incense around the circle. As he did this, into Stephen's mind came several lines of academic prose which detailed the various ways in which faiths such as this one defined and consecrated their sacred space, but then, all such thoughts were driven from his mind by Vangie's whispered command:

            "Stephen, drum!"

            At that word, he knew that things were really beginning now, and as Barrett and Vangie moved slowly around the altar, he began a slow rhythm like the beating of a heart. Soon, Barrett and Vangie stood beside each other and faced the east again, and Barrett began the invocation.

            "Oh Great Serpent, Creator of things dark and light! Ancient benefactor of the people! Come to us now as we have need of your aid and council! Come at the bidding of those who serve you and speak to us, we beg!"

            "I am she, hater of evil!" said Vangie in a clear, strong voice.

            "I am he whose mouth spews flame!" replied Barrett, and they began to dance, bare feet tapping on the floor-boards, around the altar as the candle-flames stretched tall in the wind of their movements.

            Now, Stephen found himself using a faster rhythm, and he was surprised to find himself using the drum by touch alone, for his eyes were riveted on the dancing pair, but especially on the form of the Conjure Woman, who, though she was dancing frantically, still wore her habitual expression of calm dignity. Soon, they slowed down again, but Stephen instinctively felt that the dancing was just a preamble to the central activity of the ritual, and he knew that the quick rhythms that Barrett had shown him were still necessary.

            "Come now!" Barrett said. "Come, Regent of the Realm Beyond Time! Speak to us, Princess of Light, for the Prince of Darkness opposes our endeavours, and he must be challenged if there is to be peace in our days! Speak to us, Beautiful One!"

            At this, he laid his hands on Vangie's shoulders, and she suddenly stood tall and rigid, her form framed in the candle light, and she began to speak in a slow, strange voice. At her first words, Stephen suddenly ceased to drum, knowing instinctively that silence was demanded at this moment.

            "Stay the course and be true to what is right! Evil will thrive as long as it is given ground! It must be pulled out by the root if it is truly to be conquered! It must, it must--" Vangie's voice trailed off and she suddenly crumpled to her knees.

            "Drum, Stephen," she said now through clenched teeth. "I am being called. I must make a journey in the spirit! Drum!"

            Stephen had a million questions, but he held them back, catching Barrett's strained expression out of the corner of his eye, and began to drum once more in the fast dancing rhythm that he had used before. Meanwhile, Barrett had knelt behind the Conjure Woman and was now sitting cross-legged and cradling her head in his lap. So this, Stephen thought, was what happened to her body when she made one of these strange spiritual journeys? He had been unprepared for it, and he found himself appalled and mystified. However, he did know one thing. Kathleen must have called her, and that meant that she needed help. So now her spirit was on Maljardin, prey to evil and utterly alone. He continued to drum, and as his hands drummed, his mind and heart sent up a prayer that this night would not end in tragedy for Kathleen or for the Conjure Woman.

Chapter Fourteen

            Contrary to the dire warning she had received on the night of her arrival on Maljardin, Kathleen spent the first three days in relative comfort. Long hours were consumed in pouring over plans and blueprints for the final construction and design of the newly-restored Desmond chateau, and Julia sat beside her, engaged and helpful, and though she was by turns both moody and gay, Kathleen chose to ignore this in favour of a peaceful working relationship. Still, she was dismayed to find that her cell phone could not get a signal when it had done during all her time here for the past six months, and whenever she tried to access the internet, she was annoyed that the money she had spent to set it up out here was apparently going to waste. However, whenever she brought it up to Julia, she was assured blithely that there was absolutely nothing wrong.

            Thus, she came to know that Julia was compulsively lying to her and had absolutely no compunction about doing so. She began to wonder if Julia's sudden transformation on the night when she had attempted to give her the cross was true or feigned, and as the days progressed, she came to feel a deep sense of dread and terror, and she was grateful for the presence of the cross around her own neck. Still, despite Vangie's prediction that the link between them was growing stronger, she felt somehow the creeping certainty that something was trying to jam whatever kind of signals caused that link, and just like her cell phone and her laptop, that more ethereal line of communication was being cut off as well.

            She had not, during the last three days, even mentioned the presence of the conjure dolls in her room, but she noticed with great relief that by the time her second night in that room came, they had been taken away to be, she secretly hoped, destroyed. However, this hope was not a very buoyant one, and it soon lay heavy in her heart, because as the sun of the third day since her arrival began to sink below the cliff-tops into the swirling sea, she knew that there was now no escape for her unless Julia wanted it that way.

            "Julia," she began as they ate a dinner of cold chicken and salad, "I wanted to ask you something."

            "Ask away, Kathleen!"

            Julia was again dressed in the gay and gaudy finery she had worn to the French Leaf Cafe, and again she wore the infamous locket.

            "Well, I wanted to know if I might be able to arrange a short trip to the main island. I need to research some more designs for you."

            "Do you really have to go?"

            "Well, since I cannot use the internet to get what I need," Kathleen said with special emphasis, "then I'll have to do this in person."

            "Are you sure that's all you want to do?" Julia's eyes had taken on the cunning look which Kathleen associated with Jacques Eloi des Mondes, and she didn't like it.

            "I am quite sure, yes. What do you think I might do?"

            "That man you were with the other night," said Julia, seeming to change the subject. "He's a priest, is he not?"

            "I don't know," said Kathleen, deliberately lying. "You seem to know more about him than I do. What gave you the idea that he's a priest?"

            "I don't know. He just had a priestly look about him. I wonder why you felt compelled to ask him to our private meeting?"

            Kathleen had the distinct impression that a figurative sword had been drawn by Julia and had been crossed with her own in challenge.

            "I was wondering," Julia went on, "if you might feel the need to invite him here as well! I wouldn't want him ruining the work we're doing."

            "And what exactly is that work?" Kathleen had been working very hard for the past few days, but she felt that this was just window-dressing.

            "You will soon see, my dear. Good things come to those who wait, you know."

            "The fact is," said Kathleen, "I am not satisfied with that answer. Now, may I go to the main island or not?"

            "Really, darling," Julia drawled disgustingly, "you are quite indispensable to me. I know I've kept you at arm's length for a while, but now that I know that I can trust you--"

            "Trust me? Trust me?" Kathleen was beyond angry. "You've felt that you could trust me for some  years now!"

            "Oh come now!" Julia went to the sideboard and poured a glass of wine. "You mustn't behave like that. Relax and have some wine!"

            Kathleen took the offered glass from her friend and began to drink. As she drank and as Julia continued to offer meaningless banalities, she felt her head growing heavy and Julia's words beginning to lose their meaning and to be swallowed up in the sound of the blood pounding in her ears. Just as she felt herself falling into oblivion, she managed to take the gold cross in her hand and to whisper quietly:

            "Help me, Miss Abbott! Conjure Woman! Help!"

            "Come, Kathleen," said Julia. "You've been angry because you're tired. That's all. It's time you lay down for a while," and gentle as a lover, she took her friend around the shoulders and supported her until she could lie down on the leather sofa directly across from the portrait of Jacques Eloi des Mondes. However, as soon as she was quiet, Julia took the cross roughly into her hands and turned the chain so she could undo the clasp. She made to throw it into the fire, but before she could do so, a voice which seemed somehow familiar stopped her. Kathleen saw and heard all this through an oncoming tide of drug-induced unconsciousness, but as soon as she heard that voice, it was as though she were being pulled above the waves into a state of absolute clarity.

            "Stay your hand, Julia Desmond," said the voice of the Conjure Woman, and there, in the room, was Vangie herself, indistinct as a shadow, but there nonetheless.

            "What?" Julia seemed genuinely shaken as the cross fell ringing to the floor.

            "Destroy that cross," said Vangie, "and you destroy any chance of your salvation!"

            Then Kathleen heard a strange thing; she heard laughter coming from the portrait on the wall, and then, to her utter astonishment, she heard the portrait speak.

            "So it is you, Miss Abbott!" His voice was like a cat purring. "Have you not learned your lesson?"

            "Have you not learned yours, demon?"

            "And what lesson might that be?"

            "That your time is long over!"

            "But surely you know the saying in these parts," he said. "The devil is eternal!"

            "I know it," said Vangie, "but you are not the true devil. He has given you power, but it is borrowed power. You will have to settle accounts with him someday, and I think that day is coming soon!"

            "I have no account to settle, little girl! It is you who have an account to settle, and if you come here, the prophecy you made so long ago will be fulfilled. Never doubt it! It is true that I can do nothing to you now, but you should never set foot on this island in the body, for if you do, you will assuredly die!"

            Vangie turned her attention to Julia once more and calmly spoke her name.

            "Julia? Julia Susanne Desmond? Come back to us! Tell me what you gave to Kathleen!"

            "Gave her? What? I don't--"

            "You do know! At least tell me if you have tried to kill her!"

            "Kill her? No! Never!"

            Vangie moved to Kathleen's side, and though she could see through the spirit-form of her benefactor, Kathleen felt her presence as surely as if she were solidly there.

            "Ah," Vangie said quietly, "you'll be alright I think. She only meant to make you sleep."

            "Vangie, be--" but Kathleen's cry through numbed lips was too slow in coming. She had seen Julia raise her hand in a curious kind of gesture, and as she brought it down, a red light seemed to come from her spread fingers and strike Vangie's spirit in the back. For a moment she wavered on the edge of disappearing entirely, but then she seemed to rally and she turned to face Julia.

            "So I am right then," she said. "You too are here, demon-bride of Jacques Eloi des Mondes! Did you think you could destroy me? I have learned much since we last faced each other," and with that, Vangie drew herself up to her full height and Kathleen saw a halo of blue fire around her head.

            "Would you destroy Julia Desmond as well, Conjure Woman?"

            "No," said Vangie, and with that, Julia was rocked by a powerful force, and she was soon lying on the floor, seeming to be unconscious.

            "Kathleen," said Vangie, taking the cross from where it lay on the floor, "take this back again. While you intended to do rightly the other night by giving it to your friend, you inadvertently caused evil to enter this thing and allowed demonic powers to use the link between you and myself to influence my abilities."

            "Vangie!" Kathleen was mortified. "I'm sorry!"

            "It was not your fault," said Vangie. "I can see now that Julia is possessed by the demon who tormented her father, that demon who has taken the form of his first wife, Erica Desmond. When Julia wakes, she will be truly herself, for a while at least. You must try to get her to invite Barrett or Stephen to Maljardin somehow."

            "What about me?"

            "I think I can clear this for you," said Vangie, and Kathleen felt an electric tingle as her ghostly hand touched her forehead. "You will be alright now, and now I must--"

            She was interrupted by the mocking laughter which came from the portrait, and she seemed to feel some kind of pain, because the words she was going to say died on her lips, and with a gasp and a small scream, she disappeared as suddenly as she had come.

            "Vangie?" said Kathleen, sitting bolt upright on the sofa. "Vangie!"

            "Now now, Miss O'Dell," she thought she heard the portrait say. "Don't worry! I wouldn't want to tempt fate. Vangie Abbott is not dead, but if you ever speak to her again, be sure you tell her to stay away from my island if she values her extraordinarily long life!"

            Kathleen gritted her teeth against the relentless laughter and touched the cross reverently.

            "Please let her be alright! Let them both be alright," she said, looking down at her friend who seemed to be sleeping peacefully. "God help us all!"

Chapter Fifteen

            "God help us all," said Stephen as he continued to drum and Barrett continued to speak soft words to his unconscious priestess. It had been twenty minutes or so since she had fallen down, and he recalled that this was the second trance state into which she had fallen in one day. That time, so she had said, she had lain like this for three hours. He didn't think he could wait that long. He thought the fear in his heart would get the better of him, the deep and primal fear of the cave against which he always tried so hard to struggle. Suddenly, as the candles began to gutter and the incense smoke began to get thin, Barrett's voice came from the darkness.

            "By Jove! I think she's coming back, Stephen. Drum faster, man!"

            Stephen realized only now that his drumming had become lackluster and sporadic, and now he turned his attention from his fears to the work that lay ahead of him. Moving his hands across the head of the drum, he beat out the primal rhythm that Barrett had taught him, and then suddenly, he found himself using a deep and intense rhythm which he had only heard in a dream some days ago: the dream of the ancient temple and the Conjure Woman. In this dream too he had been drumming, and now, he knew at the level of blood and bone that this was the right rhythm to use.

            "Good," said Barrett. "Good man! But how--" His question died unasked as he gasped with hope and fear and said:

            "Conjure Woman? Evangeline?" Stephen heard him pronounce her full name with such tenderness that he could not fail to hear the deep love in it.

            "The journey," came Vangie's voice in response, "has been made successfully, but not without danger. The old words are the true words. The mild zephyr shall conquer the mist, and the cooling wind draw heat; bright light disperse the sirocco, quickening fire burn out the darkness, and clear water blow away the vapours. I am Conjure Woman! I am Princess of Light, and Regent of the Realm Beyond Time, and I must come to Maljardin to fulfill that prophecy!"

            "And perhaps another?" Barrett was almost angry. "Would you hurl yourself to destruction for the sake of the consequences of a rich eccentric's whims?"

            "Many prophecies must be fulfilled," said Vangie, "and if my death is to come on that haunted island, then it is ordained, but it is not ordained when that day will dawn which takes me from this world. Now, Robert, we must close the ritual. Come, help me up!"

            Barrett did so, and together they moved around the altar and did what needed to be done to end the ritual properly. Stephen began drumming the slow heart's rhythm again, and when the candles were extinguished and the coals were smothered, Vangie came and gently took the drum from him, and handing it to Barrett to stow under the altar, she knelt before him for a moment.

            "You have heard me say this before, I think," she said quietly, "but you are a true priest, Stephen Matthew Dawson! That rhythm you used as I came back was the very rhythm of life and death. It was the only rhythm that could have helped me, and you were given it when you needed it. It seems I chose rightly when I chose my drummer!"

            "I'm just glad you're safe, Vangie," said Stephen.

            "Yes," said Barrett, coming to take his former chair. "Here from the troubled sea hath Evangeline landed, an exile, finding among the children of Port French Leave a home and a country."

            "Must you quote poetry?" Vangie stood up and drew her own low stool to where the two men sat.

            "No," said Barrett, "but I insist on badly paraphrasing it. From the time you told me your story, I've thought of you as that woman in the Longfellow poem."

            "Well," said Vangie, "perhaps you spoke truer than you knew, for the sea of the spirit is a troubled one, and I did not escape it tonight entirely unscathed."

            "Are you alright? What about Kathleen?" Stephen was on his feet and pacing in his renewed anxiety.

            "Kathleen is alright for now," said Vangie, "but Julia has been possessed. It seems that the bargain she made with Jacques Eloi des Mondes involved her being a vessel for the spirit known to all as Erica Desmond."

            "Then Kathleen is really in danger!"

            "For now, that spirit has fled from Julia. I don't know how long it will stay away, but I was able to drive it back for a while at least. I hope that Julia can be prevailed upon, because one way or another, we must get over to Maljardin, and soon!"

            "Perhaps Stephen and I can do what is needed," said Barrett. "I don't know why you need go there yourself. I know much of our faith, and Stephen's a priest of his faith, so perhaps that is all that is needed."

            "Robert," said Vangie, "I understand your concern, and I thank you for it. However, there are wheels within wheels to this situation, and with all due respect, you don't know everything about it."

            "Then tell me! I won't have you risking yourself if you don't have to! Look what happened tonight!"

            "I know it has frightened you, Robert, and I'm sorry, but you must know that even if you found a way to prevent me from coming with you, I would end up there eventually. It is so ordained. I know that now."

            "But are you really alright?" Stephen felt it necessary to try to get back to the fundamentals of their current predicament. "You look pale."

            "I'll be fine, Stephen," said Vangie. "I was attacked by both Erica and Jacques, and I was wounded in the spirit, but it will heal. I must be in seclusion for a while, however, to meditate. Will you keep the vigil with me, Stephen?"

            "I will," he said.

            "Thank you, old boy," said Robert. "It would be my duty to do this normally, but I must go home and rest. The ritual was taxing for me."

            "Perhaps it is you who should not be with us on Maljardin," Stephen said almost without thinking.

            "Again, Stephen," said Vangie, "his presence is ordained. All three of us will be involved in fighting this evil, and Robert must save his strength now. Thank you for enduring the ritual for me, Robert."

            "It was the very least I could do, fair Evangeline," he said, kissing her hand in his best gentleman's fashion.

            "Will you be alright to walk to your truck yourself?"

            "Yes," said Robert. "Stay here and conserve your own energy!"

            Ducking once more into the bedroom to change back into his usual clothes, he was soon out again, and leaning on his serpent staff, he walked slowly out of the cabin.

            Vangie watched him for a long time, and when she was sure that he would be alright, she came in again and resumed her seat on the stool.

            "He loves you, you know," Stephen said to break the ensuing silence.

            "I've known that for some time now, Stephen," said Vangie with a deep sigh. "I feel great affection for him, it is true, but not that kind of love. Still, I think that you and I are his greatest friends in the world."

            "So it would seem. He told me his dying wish tonight before we came here."

            "I am glad of that," said Vangie. "What's more, I would be glad to have you by my side when it finally does happen. Your strength will no doubt be needed."

            "I was thinking that I would be able to rely on you when the time comes," said Stephen with a laugh.

            "We'll rely on each other," said Vangie, and again he thought he saw tears in her eyes.

            "Vangie," he said with concern, "what is it?"

            "It's just that you look so much like your uncle! He was a very special man, Stephen, a rare spirit. I wish you could have known him."

            "Thanks to you," he said, "I almost feel that I do. I know I was angry before, but I was failing to practice my own professed values. I have no right to judge you for doing something that I myself have wanted to do these past days. That is for another power higher than me or you to do. Now, how do we keep this vigil?"

            "We pray," said Vangie. "You with your rosary if you wish, and I with my meditations."

            "Fair enough," said Stephen, retrieving his beads from his pocket, and he watched for a moment as she composed herself and stared into the fire. Then he began to pray.

            The night passed in a dream of silent reflection until, at the darkest hour before the dawn, Stephen happened to look up from his prayers. He saw that the fire had sunk to ashes and the room had become pitch black. It was as though the night had stolen in and had made the little cabin its dwelling. Yet, as his eyes got used to the lack of light, he was surprised to find a soft glow illuminating the features of the Conjure Woman as she sat peacefully, a beatific smile on her fair face. He looked at her in complete awe, and he was surprised to hear her voice coming from that glowing form just as it normally sounded.

            "Come, Stephen," she said quietly. "Come here for a moment."

            He had no choice but to obey, spellbound as he was by her beauty.

            "Kneel!" she said, and he did so without protest.

            "Take my hands!" she said now, and when he did, he felt a thrill move through his entire being. "You must be strengthened for the ordeal ahead," was all her explanation.

            "Shouldn't this be for Robert?"

            "It is for you," she said sternly. "Accept it for what it is and let it be."

            Stephen realized that she was putting herself through great physical pain to do this for him, and knowing that it could not now be stopped, he endured it in silence, and suddenly, the light was gone from her and she would have fallen from her stool if he had not caught her.

            "Can I do anything for you?" He was alarmed.

            "You have done everything," she said, and as he supported her for a moment while she found her feet, he suddenly found himself drawn into a passionate embrace. Unsure of what to do next, he looked into her eyes, and though they were tired, he could not mistake the longing in them.

            "Now you know," she said with a catch in her voice, "why I cannot love Barrett. I know that I can never be yours, Stephen, and I do not want emotion to cloud our purpose, but from the moment I first met you, I loved you."

            He could say nothing, only hold her tenderly to him and let her drink him in.

            "You have much before you," she said now, "and I wanted you to be prepared."

            "But you were supposed to be strengthening yourself!"

            "I have been," she said, "or I wouldn't have been able to do what I just did."

            She was about to let him go when he looked at her again and suddenly took her more tightly in his arms and kissed her full on the mouth. They held the kiss for a long time before mutually pulling back, and as she resumed her seat again, he stood shyly facing her, speechless and unable to move.

            "If I have caused you trouble," she said, "I am sorry."

            "That's just it," he finally said. "I don't feel that what we did was wrong. I should, but I don't!"

            "Well, try not to think about it too much if you can," she said. "I just needed to be honest with you. Truth between us is absolutely necessary if we are to work together. The devil will try to divide us in any way that he can, and that includes using our vulnerabilities against us."

            "Don't worry, Vangie," said Stephen. "I'm not going anywhere. In fact, I have an idea. It will at least keep me occupied until whatever we figure out to get us to Maljardin can be set in motion."

            "Yes?" She seemed genuinely interested.

            "You talk of exorcism," he said. "Well, I am going to try to get permission to perform one. I pray that the local bishop is as open to these kinds of things as so many people are around here."

            "And what if he isn't?"

            "Vangie," he said, drawing himself up to his full height, "if he isn't, I really don't care! They can drum me out of the priesthood if they like, but I'm not leaving Kathleen over there without doing something, and I'm not leaving you and Barrett to face this by yourselves either!"

            "Stephen," Vangie said, clasping his hand, "we'll do it this time! We'll do what should have been done forty years ago! I know it now!"

            "And what of the kiss?" He wanted to be sure that she would not be hurt by it.

            "The kiss was beautiful," she said, "and I will keep it as a wonderful memory. If you must confess it as a sin, that is between you and your God, but I for one will cherish it always. It was a moment of bliss in a time of terror. Let's leave it at that for now."

            In that moment, if not in any other, Stephen realized that Vangie really was older than her looks made her seem. She took a reflective view of their situation that not many women would have been able to take. He knew her passion and respected it, but he was relieved to find her philosophizing in much the same way that he was doing now.

            "Now you know my heart, Stephen," Vangie said, resuming her seat by the fireplace. "See you keep its secrets!"

            "I will," said Stephen. "Goodnight, Conjure Woman!"

            "Goodnight," she said, and the last thing he saw as he exited the cabin was her seated figure again staring intently as though the fire still danced before her. He suspected, however, that though the earthly fire was dead, there were other flames somewhere on which her eyes were fixed. He walked musingly away as the first gray streaks of dawn licked at the sky, the warmth of her embrace still in him and the taste of her lips still lingering on his tongue.

Chapter Sixteen

            Kathleen's head hurt. She still lay on the sofa in the great hall of the house on Maljardin, and her head pounded with pain and with morning light from the sun falling full upon her.

            "Good," said a voice beside her, and she looked to see Julia, now dressed as she usually was in a blue business suit and kneeling beside her.

            "Jules?" She found herself using the old name from their university days. Indeed, she felt as though they were back in her rooms at Cambridge, and waking up after a night of furious partying.

            "We must have drunk too much last night. I had the strangest dream!"

            "Oh yeah?" Kathleen slowly sat up and Julia came to sit beside her.

            "Yes. I dreamed that I poisoned you, and then some woman was here and she was talking to that portrait! Why did I ever decide to hang it there?"

            "I don't know," said Kathleen, "but it wasn't a dream. You met the Conjure Woman last night."

            "What? What are you talking about?"

            "Jules, something really weird is going on here."

            "Well, all I know is that I don't want that portrait here. I'm going to remove it today."

            "Julia, you need to be straight with me. Our lives depend on it."

            "Aren't you being a little dramatic, Kat?"

            "No," said Kathleen, "because there's another thing that wasn't a dream. You did drug my wine last night. I think you just wanted me to sleep, but you did it."

            "No! Why would I do that?"

            "Well," said Kathleen, "it was you but it wasn't you as well."

            "Now you're making no sense at all!"

            "What do you remember about the last few weeks?"

            "I don't know," Julia said. "It's like I've been wandering around in a fog, and every time I've come out of it, I've found that a few days have passed and that strange things have happened in the meantime."

            "Like what?"

            "Like the internet being switched off. Only you or I can do that, so it must have been me, but why would I do that?"

            "I'm telling you that this house is strange," said Kathleen, "and you've changed by living here."

            "I'm sorry about that," said Julia, "but it can't be helped."

            "What on earth does that mean?" Kathleen was exasperated.

            "I have to do what I'm called to do," said Julia. "That's all I can say, but you are right. This house has many secrets. Maybe we need some help to figure them out. What about that doctor friend of yours? What was his name, Bartlet?"

            "No," said Kathleen, "Barrett. Robert Barrett. He's been researching this island for some time now, and has always wanted a chance to come over here and do firsthand field work."

            "Well," said Julia, "now that communications are restored, will you be able to contact him?"

            "I'll certainly try," said Kathleen. "I'll certainly try!"

            "First," said Julia, "let's get rid of this portrait!"

            "Alright," said Kathleen, and they both went to the large canvas and lifted it from where it hung on the wall.

            "Here," said Julia. "We'll put this thing in the crypt," and together they went down the stairs and carried the portrait to a far corner of the vaulted chamber where stood the mysterious cryo-capsule. Though it was damaged beyond repair, it was large and heavy, and it was with great satisfaction that Kathleen felt it drop full upon the canvas.

            "Well," she said, "this is not the usual thing one would do with art like this, but I think the hall will look better without it. Let's go find that tapestry of the hunted deer!"

            "Right," said Julia, and they searched the house until they had found what they were looking for.

            After hanging the tapestry in the hall, they went about their various activities, Kathleen working in her bedroom-cum-office and using the newly-restored internet connection to dash off an email to Stephen telling him that plans were in the works for their coming to Maljardin, and Julia secluded in some other part of the house. Meanwhile, the work on the house continued, and Kathleen had much to do to prioritize the tasks of the various workers. Julia had left her in charge once again, and though from the night of her arrival she had thought this to be a token position only, after last night's events, she felt at last that she was dealing with her friend as she should be, no longer clouded or cunning, but her true self. Still, she wondered how long this state of affairs would last, and her fears were confirmed and intensified when, as she returned through the great hall for her usual dinner with Julia, she happened to look over at the place where they had hung the tapestry that morning. Her heart missed a beat, for there on the wall, looking as perfect as it ever had, was the portrait of Jacques Eloi des Mondes, and on the floor beneath it lay tattered shreds of cloth in greens and browns. As she bent down for a closer look, she discovered with a kind of bitter amusement that the remains of the tapestry looked as though they had been torn unevenly as if by main strength.

            "Julia!" Her knees were weak and she was in danger of falling. How could that portrait have returned to the wall?

            "What is it?" Julia emerged from the dining-room.

            "Look!"

            "No! How did this happen? Kat! What's going on here?"

            "You tell me!"

            "I don't understand," said Julia.

            "I do," said Kathleen. "This thing is truly evil! Perhaps if Barrett can find the secret of it, we can destroy it."

            "Destroy?" Julia shifted her gaze between the portrait and Kathleen. "I don't know that we have to destroy it. We just have to bury it and lay it to rest!"

            "But we tried that," said Kathleen. "We put a very heavy machine on top of it and it still found its way back up here, and look at the floor!"

            "It's a shame about that tapestry," said Julia. "Still, there are others."

            "Come on, Jules," Kathleen said, looking at her friend squarely. "Level with me! Something's going on here that you aren't telling me."

            "Alright," said Julia. "Alright, but not here. Come with me to the tower! Dinner will keep a while."

            Kathleen climbed the winding stairs of the north tower and was surprised to find that Julia did not stop in any of the lower rooms or even at the room which had been her first office. Instead, she climbed to what had been the makeshift bedroom and opened the trap-door to the widow's walk. As Kathleen stepped out onto it, she thought of Matt Dawson and his tragic end and hoped desperately that this would not be a repeat performance. However, Julia still seemed to be more-or-less herself, so she resolved to trust her even up here in this lofty place.

            Julia leaned on the railing of the narrow catwalk and sighed.

            “I was thinking about last night,” she said, not looking at Kathleen but down over the cliff-heights to the churning sea below. “I remember a dream I had on my first day here.”

            “Yes,” said Kathleen. “I remember that as well. Something really frightened you!”

            “Well, the dream was frightening to me, but it might not have been to others. It was about this house. I was floating in the air and I watched a procession of figures coming up from the shore. They were dressed in seventeenth-century clothing. They filed in and I went with them, and then I was next to a young woman who seemed not to be a part of the scene. She seemed to be like me, invisible to the other guests.

            “Well, she took me away to a private place and warned me about the man who had led the guests in. This was Jacques Eloi des Mondes, and when she left me, he was there. He could see me for some reason, and he offered me a bargain. He would help me with my Cancer if I would agree to take up residence in the mansion for the rest of my life.”

            “That was the whole bargain? Why on earth did you accept? You’re usually more sensible than that.”

            “I know,” said Julia, “but he got into my head somehow. It’s like he made me accept it, I guess, but that’s not all. By the next day, the fogginess had begun. I don’t know how I did it, but I must have retrieved the portrait from where you left it, and from then on, the periods of fog have increased and increased. I’ve often woken in the night with that bloody locket around my neck and dressed in those gaudy clothes, and I’ve found myself shaking and sweating.”

            “What about now? How do you feel now?”

            “Ever since I found myself lying on the floor of the hall this morning,” said Julia, “I feel much better! I do remember more about last night as I said, and if it was all real as you tell me, then that woman you seem to know was the same woman from my dream. How can that be?”

            “Oh,” said Kathleen, a faint smile playing across her face, “the Conjure Woman is no ordinary person.”

            “She told me to trust her if I met her again,” said Julia. “She tried to warn me, but I was so upset about the prognosis I had been given that I didn’t really hear what she had said!”

            “Well,” said Kathleen, “one thing’s for sure. Jacques Eloi des Mondes is not the only spirit in this house. It’s not him who’s possessing you. He and his partner have plans for you, and,” she continued after a long pause, “for me as well.”

            “What do you mean?” Julia now confronted her.

            “I found a Voodoo doll in my room on the night you conducted me here. It was dressed like me and there was a pin lying next to it.” She saw Julia’s shocked expression and the tears in her eyes, but she knew that she had to be relentless. “There was another doll there as well. It wore a builder’s uniform like Bill Temple often did. It had a pin through its heart.”

            “No! No!” Julia’s screams echoed across the island and Kathleen thought that she heard a slight pause in the sounds of the workers’ equipment, but perhaps that was just her imagination.

            “Julia,” she said, taking her friend by the shoulders and leading her away from the railing. “I don’t hold you responsible for this, but you’re in too deep here. Will  you admit that at least?”

            “Alright,” said Julia. “Alright. You’re right. Even now, I can feel that presence licking at the edges of my mind, wanting to find a way in. I want to keep it out. It seems somehow worse than Jacques, like some kind of animal!”

            “But how did it get in in the first place? Don’t you have to consent?”

            “I think that once I said yes to Jacques,” said Julia, “the other just found its way in.”

            “Well, from what I know of that spirit,” said Kathleen, “it is cold and malicious. It has killed before now.”

            “How do you know all this?”

            “I have my sources,” said Kathleen. She did trust Julia, but she wanted to keep her friends from becoming targets of the evil influences now working through her for as long as possible.

            “Well, if your friend Stephen really is a priest,” said Julia, “then perhaps he can help us.”

            “That’s what I’m hoping,” said Kathleen. “I got an email from him today saying that he and Barrett will be ready to come here in three days. He will be assisting Barrett with his research and they may be bringing another.”

            “You should go and get them, Kat,” said Julia. She sounded incredibly tired. “I’m glad to host them. There will be enough rooms ready by then, but I don’t know if I’ll--if I’ll be myself.”

            “Alright,” said Kathleen. “Alright, Jules. Now, let’s go get that dinner!”

            “That’s the best suggestion I’ve heard all day,” said Julia, and she managed to smile, though it looked more like a grimace to Kathleen.

            The dinner proceeded in a leisurely fashion, and by the time they had finished, Julia was actually laughing out loud. They reminisced about old days and toasted their friendship several times, and by the time they were both ready for bed, Kathleen actually felt that the house was almost cheerful for once. As she walked to her room, she thought back upon the words that the Conjure Woman had said when she had broken down in her cabin.

            “There is always reason to hope,” she had said, and she had spoken about Kathleen’s love for Julia and how that would overcome the evil. She did find herself hoping that Vangie was right, and for the first time, her hopes were stronger than her fears. Now that Julia knew, she thought, perhaps she would be able to fight against the force that wanted to possess her. Still, she knew that Julia could not fight it alone, and not even all the love in the world could prevail against the coldness and cunning of that demonic spirit. However, she remembered the glow on Vangie's face as she had imparted strength to her, and she thought that here at least was a match for this evil, and as she lay down to sleep, she prayed that the next three days would go by quickly and without incident.

Chapter Seventeen

            Bishop Oliver French's home, Stephen decided upon first entering it, was an anthropologist's haven. There were cabinets ranged around his spacious drawing-room containing ritual masks, Voodoo dolls, carved representations of nature deities and even some specimens of ancient weapons, including a bone knife like the one that he had seen carried by the Conjure Woman's guardian Michel. He hoped that this richesse of ceremonial art and artifacts indicated a man who was open to the uncanny ideas which seemed to float on the fitful winds of these islands, but as the Bishop himself entered, his hopes were dashed almost entirely to pieces.

            "So," he said. "you're a Jesuit."

            "Yes, Your Grace," said Stephen.

            "And you're an anthropologist as well?"

            "Yes, Your Grace. I was admiring your collection here."

            "Oh that! I inherited it along with the residence. My predecessor was quite interested in the ancient rituals practiced in these parts, and in these days of tolerance and political correctness, I thought it best to keep them around. Besides, they make wonderful conversation pieces."

            As Bishop French showed him to a wing-chair, Stephen regarded him for a moment. He was a tall, bony sort of man with white hair and beard, aquiline features and a stern look in his green eyes, and he moved around the room as quietly and gracefully as a cat.

            "Now, Father," he said, taking a seat across from Stephen. "What have you come to see me about?"

            "It is rather a delicate matter, Your Grace," said Stephen, trying to figure out a way to approach his request carefully. "I know that I am not under your jurisdiction, Your Grace, but you are the local Bishop here, so I thought I should come to you."

            "Alright. Go on, please!"

            "Well, during my time in these islands, I have come to learn of the island of Maljardin."

            "Ah yes," said the bishop dismissively. "That piquantly-named place! What about it?"

            "Well," Stephen said, "you are aware of the death of a man at the Port French Leave Hotel recently, I think?"

            "Yes. I believe he was working for Miss Julia Desmond on her own hotel project on the afore-mentioned island. It was very unfortunate."

            "It was indeed," said Stephen. "I was the priest who administered the last rites."

            "Yes," said the bishop. "I recall hearing that. It was very good of you."

            "Well, Your Grace," said Stephen, "on that occasion, he told me that he had been murdered, and he said that there was evil on Maljardin. I also had an experience as he was dying. I felt a chill which could not have been caused by the temperature of the room. It felt evil, spiritually evil, Your Grace."

            "I see," said the bishop. "And?"

            "I met Julia Desmond some days later, and I saw her looking at me at one point, and there was something strange in her eyes. I can only describe it as conscious malice."

            "I must tell you, Father," said Bishop French, "that I do not like where this is going."

            "Well, then I suppose I'll just get to the point. I would like permission to do an exorcism on Julia Desmond and perhaps a blessing of the house she is rebuilding."

            "Do as many blessings as you like," said the bishop, "but there is no way that I can sanction an exorcism. If any of this were to be picked up by the media, it would be disastrous not only for the church, but for tourism in these islands and for the reputation of Julia Desmond and her family. The Desmonds have always been very good to the local arm of the church down here, and we don't want this beneficent fountain of funds to suddenly dry up."

            "I understand," said Stephen, trying very hard to control his anger.

            "I'm not certain you do," said the bishop. "There are other reasons that would lead me not to sanction this. You really have not brought me any proofs of possession except your own experiences and a second-hand account of a man's dying words. Where are the supernatural manifestations of power? Where are the proofs of a change in behaviour? You yourself state that you did not meet Julia Desmond until she had been allegedly possessed."

            "That's true, Your Grace, but there is this letter." He took from his pocket a print-out of an email and handed it across to the bishop.  "I got this from Miss Kathleen O'Dell, Miss Desmond's personal assistant. It testifies to Julia's strange changes of mood." Stephen had managed to procure this letter from Kathleen during the last two days, and he had thought it would carry some weight.

            The bishop perused the letter intently, but from the dismissive way in which he laid it aside, Stephen could almost guess what he was going to say.

            "This letter does contain some startling facts: her change of dress, her strange manner and her obsession with a portrait which she had seemed to hate on first seeing it, but there is not enough here to warrant such a drastic step. Besides, this letter is not from anyone qualified to judge these things. You know that no exorcism can be performed without a psychiatric assessment on the allegedly possessed individual."

            "I know, I know, but there just isn't time!" Stephen knew that his temper was getting the better of him, but he found that he did not care in the slightest.

            "As far as I'm concerned," said the bishop, "the man who died had a heart attack. That was the cause of death. This, I think you'll agree, means that no supernatural force was involved."

            "But what about the passage in the letter where Miss O'Dell talks about the Voodoo doll that was dressed in workman's clothes with the pin through its heart?"

            "I simply do not credit it, Father Dawson," said the bishop. "These islands have been riddled with this kind of thing for long enough. They're like worm-eaten apples. They look clean on the outside, but inside there is only corruption and stupidity. If you're asking me to give you permission to fight a non-existent fantasy of a religion by using time-honoured Christian rituals, I'm not going to do it."

            "No, Your Grace," said Stephen, biting his lip to keep his voice steady. "With all due respect, I believe the Voodoo spell was a means to an end, and I believe that there really is a demonic influence in control of what goes on over there."

            "As I say," said the bishop, "bless the house. Do what you can, but don't bring exorcism into it! Now, I have no more time to argue this point with you. Please, go into the library. Martine will have tea for you there. I myself have business to attend to. Good day, Father."

            "Good day, Your Grace," said Stephen. "Thank you for seeing me."

            As Bishop French left, Stephen still sat in his wing-chair and looked at the ritual objects surrounding him. He wished that he could buy them all from the bishop and could present them to Vangie or to Barrett, or, perhaps, even keep them for himself. Any home would be better than this man's study in surface-meanings. Here was a chance for him to be a real priest at last, to confront something real and hopefully find new faith in himself and in Christ, and the bishop's red tape and regulations stopped him.

            "Father?" Stephen jumped at the melodious voice of the young woman who had just entered the room. "I'm sorry I startled you, Father, but your tea is ready in the library. Will you come with me?"

            "Thank you," said Stephen.

            The library was as much of a treasure-trove of books as the drawing-room was of artifacts. Stephen scanned the stacks greedily, finding many leather-bound and gilt-bordered first editions that would be the envy of any serious collector. He even found copies of Barrett's books there, likely also acquisitions of the famed predecessor of Bishop French, whoever he was.

            "I don't think what you want is there," said Martine, placing a tray on a small table, "but I can get it for you."

            Stephen was perplexed.

            "What do you mean?"

            "The book with the exorcism in it," she said. "I heard what you said to His Grace, and I'm sorry he treated you the way he did. The fact is that my mother was housekeeper to the old His Grace, and there's a reason he kept all these books around. He respected the ways of our people."

            "Your people?"

            "Yes," said Martine. "We believe that there is a devil over there on that evil island, and if you want to help to get rid of him, then I want to help you do it. Now, just drink your tea, and I'll be back in a minute."

            Stephen drank the tea which had been liberally sweetened with honey and pondered what Martine could be planning. It was true that he had not brought a copy of The Roman Ritual with him, the only book she could have meant, but how could she have known that? He wondered if she was as open to impulses and vibrations as Vangie Abbott, and then he wondered if he would ever be back in the world that he knew: the world of academic debate and simple interaction with life through his five senses.

            "Look," said Martine, coming back. "Here is the book you should have. Please take it with you. His Grace won't miss it."

            "But I wasn't looking for that book," said Stephen. "I was just looking at the books."

            "Oh," said Martine, "trust me. You were looking for that book, or rather someone you know wanted you to have it."

            "I wondered if she had a hand in it," said Stephen.

            "She told me that if you showed up here, I was to give you the book. Do not refuse it, Father! I don't know everything about what you and the Conjure Woman are planning, but I know that you can help her."

            "Martine," said Stephen, "how did you come to work here?"

            "Well," said the girl, laying the book beside his teacup, "I applied for the position."

            "Yes," said Stephen, "but I mean, well--" He wasn't sure how he should continue.

            "You mean that because I am a practitioner of the Conjure Faith, how did I end up working in a Catholic bishop's residence? It's simple!" She laughed. "I'm a Catholic as well. I attend church. Most of us do, actually."

            "Right," said Stephen. "I should have guessed. I really don't know why it's any of my business anyway, but I will take the book."

            "Bless you, Father, and may God be with you!"

            Stephen finished his tea and picked up the heavy book. Here, within these pages, were the words and rituals which he would use to combat that creeping evil which sought to destroy everything sane and normal around him. This was actually how he had come to think of it. He had made it personal, and though he knew that this was a dangerous thing to do, he felt it necessary in order for him to be strong enough to do what had to be done. This evil had disrupted his life. It had killed his uncle and had deprived Stephen of knowing him. It was endangering the lives of Kathleen and Vangie, and he did not want to see either of them destroyed. Last of all, it had crept under his radar and had murdered a man under his very nose. He had seen the pain and agony in Bill Temple's eyes, and he could not forgive the torture that this man had gone through. In short, he was determined to do whatever was necessary to avenge all these misfortunes. If it was true that he was picking up where his uncle had left off, then he was going to see things through to the end, no matter what the cost.

            That evening, as the fire again burned brightly in the cabin of the Conjure Woman, Stephen told her the outcome of his conversation with the bishop.

            "I thought that he would react that way, the pompous fool," Said Barrett, who sat with them. "I'm just glad that Martine was there to help you."

            "Indeed," said Vangie. "She is a very trustworthy girl. Now, what is the plan for our departure?"

            "Well," said Barrett, "after conversing with Miss O'Dell, I have made arrangements for her to meet us at the marina with the sea-plane. You'll have to travel in street clothes, Evangeline."

            "I've done it before," said Vangie. "I can do it again."

            "You're going as my secretary."

            "Very well," said Vangie, "but if Miss Desmond recognizes me, I'll tell her who I am, and I certainly cannot disguise myself from Jacques Eloi des Mondes."

            "No," said Barrett, "but I think we'll be able to get more accomplished by quiet observation than by going in with guns blazing."

            "I think he's right, Conjure Woman," said Stephen. "I'll carry my priestly things with me, but I'll not be going as a priest. I'm simply helping you and Barrett with his book."

            "Very well," said Vangie.

            "So," continued Barrett, "we will meet at the marina at noon tomorrow, and we will allow Julia to see to our needs while we observe the climate in the house, and then we'll plan what is best to do first."

            "I do have one question though," said Stephen. "In my uncle's journal, it speaks of the extreme stress that Jean Paul Desmond's guests were under, and that included you, Vangie. How will you protect yourself from it?"

            "I cannot deny that it will be difficult," said Vangie, "but I have learned much in my time as Conjure Woman, and I intend to bring all my powers to bear in order to keep myself above it all, and to help all of you to do the same."

            Stephen gazed at her face with the firelight dancing on it, and in her eyes he caught the glint of something hard and unyielding. It was, he realized, determination, and the intensity of it frightened him. She must have noticed him staring, for all at once, her eyes rested on him in the same direct manner and she asked:

            "Well, what is it you see, Stephen?"

            "Oh," Stephen said, uncertain of how to continue. "Oh, I don't know. It's just that you look, well, fierce, I suppose."

            "The battle that is coming," she said slowly, "is not for the faint of heart, but we have no means of trying our strength before it comes. So, it is not ferocity that you see, Stephen, so much as resoluteness. I left others to face this thing on their own once. I do not intend to do so again."

            "And again, my dear," said Barrett, rising from his chair and going to stand near her, "what about you? What about the prophecy?"

            "It is words, Robert." She turned to him and Stephen saw an unmistakable look of tortured concern in the old man's eyes. "I do not pretend that I am not subject to its import," Vangie continued, "but neither can I run away from it."

            "Responsibilities lightly taken bear the seed of death," Stephen found himself saying almost without meaning to.

            "And where, dear Dawson, did you hear that little gem?" Barrett was upset and this made him sarcastic. Stephen recognized the attitude as one which he himself often shared.

            "My uncle liked it and wrote it down. I'm sure you can guess who said it to him," was all his reply.

            "Yes, Robert," said Vangie, "and do not forget that you too have a responsibility. I made you a priest because you seemed sincere. Are you?"

            "I will do anything I have to in order to fight this evil," said Barrett, "but I see no reason why you have to put yourself directly in its path like this!"

            "Are you sure you do not?" Vangie was standing now and facing him, and she gently took his hand in hers as she continued speaking. "I know how you feel about me, Robert. I know what happiness we have brought to each other during these past few years, but it is not your job to keep me from my appointed destiny, any more than it is my job to keep you from yours. Our paths are laid, and it is for us but to tread them to whatever end they may lead. I would not have you go on this journey in your condition, but I know that you would do so anyway, even going against the authority of her who is the Conjure Woman." She gave one of her gentle laughs just then, and Barrett bowed his head in token of the reasonableness of what she had said.

            "Very well," he said, resuming his seat. "We're all going, and we'll all be forced to eat of whatever bitter fruits we will find in the garden of evil."

            "That's the spirit," Stephen said now, and for some reason, he began to laugh uproariously. "What a jolly lot we all are!" he said finally.

            "Indeed," said Vangie, still composed as ever. "I never dreamed that it would come to this, but so long as the bonds between us are strong, we'll be able to fight the power of that island and defeat it once and for all."

            "But I'm going to do an unsanctioned exorcism with a book I stole from the house of a bishop," Stephen said, laughing again. "Don't you see how absurd this all is?"

            "One might even say 'foolish,' mightn't one?" Vangie smiled at him. "Come now, Stephen! It will all work out. Somehow and finally, all will be well."

            "You have more faith than I do, I'm afraid," said Stephen, "but I'll trust in your faith if you'll trust in whatever it is that I have."

            "Robert calls you 'one of the good ones,'" said Vangie.

            "High praise indeed," said Stephen. "He never likes anyone if he can help it."

            "That's true," said Barrett. "I'm not, for instance, looking forward to dealing with La Julia whether she is possessed or in her right mind."

            "You are capable of being a gentleman, though?" Vangie turned the most winning smile upon him that Stephen had ever seen her wear.

            "Well," said Barrett, "yes, when I have to be."

            "Good," said Vangie. "Then do it and don't complain." They all began to laugh at this, and Stephen and Barrett's shouts of mirth echoed as they wended their way back to the French Leave Hotel so that Stephen could get some much-needed sleep before the journey to Maljardin.

Chapter Eighteen

            Kathleen was almost in tears as she pressed the 'End Call' button on her cell phone. It was a day of golden sunshine and sparkling seas, but her spirits were anything but bright as she contemplated the ramifications of what she had just heard. The pilot of the sea-plane whom she had hired to carry herself and Julia back and forth between Maljardin and the main island had just told her that his plane, which had served her needs for six months and more since her arrival, was now in a state of extreme disrepair, and there was no way that he could make the trip they had scheduled for today. When she had asked how the breakdown had occurred, he had been cagey in his response, and she suspected that if she could find him, she would find the plane in perfect working order. Her suspicions were confirmed, when in answer to her probing questions, he had suddenly blurted out:

            "Look, Miss O'Dell! I just can't have any more to do with the doings over there. Alright? I'm sorry, but you'll have to find some other way."

            Now, as she stood on the Desmond dock still hopelessly waiting for the sea-plane that was not coming, she cursed her bad luck using some of her grandmother's best saintly invocations, and then, pulling herself together, she did the only thing she could. She called Stephen, whom she knew must also be standing and waiting on a dock, and told him the bad news.

            "Don't worry, Kat," he said. "We'll find a way. We're coming today, no matter what. Just a moment. Vangie wants to ask you something."

            Kathleen waited while Stephen handed the phone to Vangie, and she found herself wondering if the Conjure Woman had even used a phone like this before.

            "Kathleen," said Vangie's voice in her ear, "listen to me for a moment. I know you're upset and frightened, but I'm telling you that you're not alone in this. All three of us are coming, and we will be there today. Now, I need you to do something for me."

            "Yes?"

            "I need you to do exactly what you're doing now, and wait on the dock."

            "How did you--?"

            "I can hear the sounds around you through the phone. Don't worry. I'm not gazing into your mind or anything. Now, what I want you to do is to sit down, clear your mind, and be calm. We need to get a boat across the channel, and we can only do it if you are open to me and if I can use your presence as a kind of beacon. Do you understand?"

            "Yes," said Kathleen, "but what about--what about the spirit, the evil?"

            "We will do our utmost to keep you safe," said Vangie. "Will you trust that?"

            "I guess I have no choice," said Kathleen. "Alright."

            "Good," said Vangie. "The tide will be ebbing soon. We'll make the crossing when the whirlpool is at its lowest intensity. That should be in about fifteen minutes or so. Now, just stay still and be calm. Alright?"

            "Alright," said Kathleen. "I will," and they ended the call.

            Kathleen sat on the upturned hull of an ancient-looking dinghy and looked out into the sun-washed waves. Julia, she knew, was locked in her office. Ever since the day Kathleen had confronted her about the strange happenings here, Julia had seemed even more moody than usual, and now, she was positively distrustful of herself and thought that to isolate herself from the outside world was the only way to cope. Kathleen respected this, but at the same time, she wondered what Julia sat and thought about during those hours alone, and she felt deep in her heart that this was merely the calm before the storm. Something was brooding and waiting its chance to pounce; that much she could sense, but then, she thought, anyone who had spent any time in this house would have been able to sense that. Still, she hoped desperately that the others would come soon, because if she had to spend another day alone here with Julia and the ever-present construction crews, she thought she would go mad.

            She looked at the clock on her cell phone and realized that ten minutes had gone by since she had spoken with Vangie. Taking the cross in her hand, she tried to still her mind, and all at once, she felt a familiar impulse or vibration stirring deep with in it, and Vangie's voice seemed to echo off the walls of her skull.

            "Good girl," the Conjure Woman said in a tone of genuine approbation. Kathleen smiled to hear herself described as a girl, but she took the comment without offense. "Now, just stay like that," Vangie's voice continued, "and we'll be across to you in no time."

            Kathleen sat as still as she could, trying to focus on Vangie. She brought her image before her mind's eye, and that seemed to help her. At any rate, with Vangie's image on which to focus, it was less easy for her thoughts to go drifting away. However, she hoped that the crossing could be made quickly, because even while Vangie's presence seemed strong and sure in her mind, another thing was there as well, something cold and watchful, waiting just outside the mental perimeter that she had just erected and searching for a chink or crack through which to slither and invade. If that happened, Kathleen knew, then Vangie would be vulnerable. She didn't care what happened to her, but she would not let the Conjure Woman be hurt because of her own carelessness. So, she sat and waited, keeping her mind firmly fixed and watching the moving of the water along the rocky shore.

            Suddenly, she fancied that she heard the sound of a small motor, and soon, her fancy was proven fact when, chugging slowly and purposefully into view, a little motor boat which she recognized as belonging to the hotel moved out from the shadow of the main island's marina and began to beat its way across the channel. As the boat got closer, she could see the tall form of Barrett seated in the bow, and behind him Stephen knelt, but in the stern was a figure she didn't recognize at first. It was only as the boat came closer to Maljardin that she knew it for Vangie, though to be sure, her look had changed since the last time they had been together. She now wore a flowered skirt and blouse, and there were pince-nez perched upon her nose. One hand gripped the tiller of the small, outboard motor, and she wore an expression of focused intensity. Suddenly, the boat gave a violent lurch, and at the same time, Kathleen felt that cold presence making an assault on her mind. However, as she looked at Vangie, still sitting calmly and guiding the boat with a steady hand, she seemed to gain new strength, and gripping the cross more tightly, she built her mental walls anew and this time, she sent imaginary soldiers out to repel the invader. This seemed to work, for soon, the boat came alongside the dock, and Stephen jumped out to make it fast while Vangie switched off the motor, and, none too steady on her legs, stepped out. Barrett was the last to clamber out, and when she saw him in the light of the brilliant noon sun, Kathleen was alarmed. His face was deadly pale and his eyes seemed sunken and dim. She could tell that the crossing had been taxing for him.

            "Are you alright, professor?"

            "I'll do, thank you," was all his answer, but Kathleen saw Vangie's evident concern for him as she leaned down into the boat to retrieve his staff.

            "It looks like a steep climb to the house," said Stephen, who had been appraising the cliff-path.

            "It is," said Kathleen, "but we can go slowly."

            "Not yet," said Vangie suddenly and harshly. "I need to sit down for a while," she continued, softening her tone. "Thank you, Kathleen, for your help. Between what Robert knows about the seas around here and my ability to use your presence to guide me, we managed the trip. I don't know if we will be able to manage another one back, but--" Her voice trailed off, and everyone looked at her, all sharing the same thought. It was Kathleen who voiced it, however.

            "You were going to say that we might not need to go back," she said. "Weren't you?"

            "Yes," said Vangie, sitting down beside Kathleen. "I'm sorry to be so morbid, but it is something we have to face. Kathleen, why don't you and Stephen go on up to the house. Robert and I will join you soon."

            "I really think that I should be with you, Miss Abbott," said Stephen.

            "I'm not as feeble as all that yet, old boy," said Barrett. "We'll be fine. There is a path after all, even if it is steep."

            "Alright," said Kathleen. "Stephen, it's this way."

            As the two of them began to climb the cliffs, Kathleen noticed Stephen looking at her in a strange way.

            "What is it?"

            "I just hate seeing you so tense," he said. "Have things here been really awful?"

            "Well, you know what I told you in my emails," she said. "Julia may be free from that spirit, but if she is, she's afraid of it coming back, and so she's hiding away and refusing to talk to me. She says she's protecting me, but I just don't know." She bit her lip to keep from crying.

            "Well," said Stephen, "I hope that our presence will help things. Vangie really is something, and Barrett's no slouch either."

            "What about you? Did the bishop say you could do an exorcism if it's needed?"

            "No," said Stephen, "but I'm going to do one anyway."

            "Well, if you need someone to say the responses," said Kathleen, "count me in. I've never seen the exorcism rite, but I know all the standard things to say."

            "Good," said Stephen. "Still, there will be other things done here as well. I don't know much about what Vangie's got planned, but I'm sure it's big."

            "Yeah," Kathleen said, smiling. "She doesn't seem to do anything half-way, does she?"

            "No," said Stephen. "She's the real deal," and Kathleen caught something in his voice which she could not name.

            "Why Stephen Dawson," she said. "Something happened between you two."

            "What. Are you psychic now too? Has Vangie been teaching you behind my back?"

            "No, but I am a woman. We tend to notice these things."

            "Well," said Stephen, "whatever you've noticed, keep a lid on it, and note for the record that I never confirmed any of your suspicions."

            "Ah," she said, "but you also never denied them," and the two of them began to laugh.

            "I've missed you, Kat," said Stephen.

            "I've missed you too," she said. "It's been so strange over here. I'm glad you're here now."

            "Me too," he said, and they climbed the last slope and stood together in front of the massive chateau.

            "So this is where it all happened," he said quietly.

            "I guess so," said Kathleen, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to come here like this, Stephen."

            "Well," he said, "as I've been told several times on this journey, I suppose that it is my destiny."

            "That's what he--your uncle--said. Do you remember?"

            "I do," said Stephen. "He was never so certain about his calling in his life as he was on that day when he decided to try exorcising the woman known to all as Erica Desmond, and now it may be my job to do the same to a Desmond descendant."

            "Did I hear the name 'Desmond'?" Julia had appeared on a balcony over their heads. "You know what they say," she said in that breezy tone that Kathleen had come to loathe. "Speak of the devil and he shall appear!"

            "Those words are a little too on the nose, I think," said Stephen, "what with all that has been going on here lately."

            "Ah! Mr. Dawson! How lovely to see you here! Kathleen said you would be coming."

            "The pleasure is mine, Miss Desmond," he said, but with no real feeling in his voice, and Kathleen could see, if Julia could not, the way in which he was trying to keep himself in check.

            "Well, Kathleen," said Julia, "won't you bring your guest inside? Or, oh yes! There are others coming. Professor Bartlet and his scribe. Is that right?"

            "His name is Barrett," said Stephen, "and yes, he is bringing an assistant with him. I too am assisting him as he and I have worked together before."

            "Oh yes," said Julia. "You're interested in the lore and history of my island. Well, work away! I'm more than happy to have guests about, but just be careful. We wouldn't want any accidents to befall any of you, and parts of this house are still uninhabitable."

            With that, she retreated inside, and Kathleen and Stephen stood speechless for a while. In that silence, Vangie and Barrett appeared on the scene, and at once, Vangie seemed to sense the tension, for she asked:

            "What has happened? You both look uncomfortable."

            "That," said Stephen, "is because we are. We believe that Julia is not Julia now, and I think she threatened us, all of us, mind you, just now."

            "It was done in a very charming way, of course," put in Kathleen, "but she basically told us that an 'accident' could happen at any time if we are not careful."

            "Well then," said Vangie, "we'll have to be careful. How does The Bible put it? We must be wise as serpents?"

            "Yes," said Stephen. "They are the subtlest beasts in the field, after all."

            "Then I'm glad that it is the Great Serpent that I serve," said Vangie, a half-smile playing across her fair face.

            Kathleen looked at her more closely then. She seemed strong and resolved, but Kathleen felt that there was an undercurrent of fatigue or perhaps uncertainty lurking just beneath the surface.

            "Well," she said, to cover her own fear, "I suppose you all would like to freshen up. There are some rooms ready for you, though you have only my ministrations to contend with, and I am not a professional housekeeper."

            "A bed and water is what I want," said Barrett decisively.

            "Alright then," said Kathleen, "then that is what you shall have. Come with me!"

            She led them into the house through the front doors, and as they entered the great hall, she saw Vangie suddenly take Barrett's hand and stand motionless, her eyes slowly moving to rest on the portrait.

            "There is a power here," the Conjure Woman said, "which is beyond me. I know now that what I have seen in vision and found in ancient books of Desmond lore is true. Still, I will do what I can to aid the one who can rid this house of the evil that possesses it."

            "Will you now, Miss Abbott?" The portrait had spoken again. Kathleen almost fainted with surprise and shock, but Stephen caught her.

            "We will not leave here, Jacques Eloi Des Mondes," said Vangie, "until you and your dark master are banished."

            "Did that thing just speak?" Barrett seemed dreadfully put out by the event.

            "I know, Robert," said Stephen, "but I heard it too. You're not imagining things."

            "More's the pity," said the venerable professor. "I must confess that I wish this were all a dream. Let's go, Evangeline. Don't engage him. Isn't that what your books say, Stephen?"

            "It's true," said Stephen, "that they tell us not to get too involved with the demons."

            "Ah, Mr. Dawson," said Jacques's portrait, "but you are involved. You're personally involved, just like Miss Abbott here."

            Kathleen admired Stephen at that moment, for he firmly turned his face away and refused to speak in answer. At this bold gesture, Vangie seemed to relax, and also averting her eyes, she moved slowly onward, Barrett following her.

            Kathleen ushered them into a corridor just off the great hall where there were some well-furnished rooms available.

            "The plumbing is only in certain parts of the house as yet," she said, "so I had to make due with something a little more old-fashioned."

            Each of the three rooms was equipped with a wash-stand and a basin, and there was a jug of fresh, warm water standing near.

            "How wonderfully quaint," said Barrett. "What next? Will fair young maidens in crisp uniforms bring us tea and toast in the morning?"

            "If you mean me," said Vangie, with an attempt at humour, "then that is completely out of the question."

            "The same goes for me," said Kathleen. "And now, boys, I'll leave you to fight over which one of you wants the view of the sea, and I'll show Vangie to her room."

            "It isn't necessary," said Vangie, but Kathleen would not take no for an answer.

            "Are you sure you're up to this?" She and Vangie were now sitting on the bed in what was now Vangie's room.

            "I appreciate your concern," said Vangie. "I truly do, but in some ways, it doesn't matter whether or not I'm up to it. The thing has simply got to be accomplished, however we go about it."

            "What did you mean about the stories you had heard being true?"

            "I'm sorry?"

            "You were facing the portrait just now," said Kathleen, "and you said that the stories about Jacques that you had heard or read somewhere were true. You knew that now."

            "I'll tell you, Kathleen, but only when we're all together. We'll try to call a council every day. Alright?"

            "Right," said Kathleen. "We can meet in my room. It functions as both a bedroom and an office, and Julia never comes near it if she can help it. She really was better, you know, after you did--well--what you did for her."

            "I know it," said Vangie. "Something's troubling you, Kat. May I call you Kat?"

            "Yes," said Kathleen. "All my friends do." At that, she saw a serene smile light up Vangie's face.

            "Thank you for using the word 'friend,'" she said. "It means a lot. But please. Tell me what's wrong! Perhaps I can help."

            "I'm afraid--" said Kathleen, fighting back tears, "that I caused the--the relapse."

            "I doubt that very much," said Vangie, "but what makes you think so?"

            "A few days ago," said Kathleen, "I confronted her about Bill's death and about all the strange things happening here. At that time, I was reasonably certain that she was herself, but I'm afraid that I made her feel so badly about herself that she just sort of gave up."

            "Oh Kat," said Vangie. "It seems to be your task to bear the burden for all of us. You're the closest person here to Julia Desmond, so that anything that happens to her seems to affect you to a greater degree than it would any of us, but I can assure you that Julia has not given up yet."

            "How do you know that?"

            "She's a Desmond. Their wills are of adamantine strength! She may be under the power of that spirit now, but she's not lost yet.

            "I hope not," said Kathleen. "I really hope not. I just feel responsible for it!"

            "That's what it wants," said Vangie. "It wants us to give into our emotions, to let them come between us. We four must be strong, and Julia too must be strong when she is able in order for us to achieve our goal."

            "Well," said Kathleen, "I suppose you're right. You always seem to know the right thing to say."

            "Only pray that I know the right thing to do when the time comes," said Vangie softly. "Now, I suppose I really should freshen up."

            "Alright," said Kathleen. "Dinner will be at six o'clock, oh, and if Professor Barrett wants a study, the library has been finished, though there are no books in it yet."

            "Thank you, Kat," said Vangie. "It's strange to be here again, but it somehow feels right too."

            Kathleen walked slowly out of the room, closing the door behind her. As she moved in the direction of her own room, she found herself wondering just how they would proceed. Vangie had said that they would meet every day and discuss their plans and accomplishments, but Kathleen wondered if any of them really had a plan. She was still pondering all this when she reached her room, and there, sitting behind her makeshift desk, was Julia herself, dressed to the nines in velvets and satins, and again wearing the blood-stained locket at her throat.

            "Well," she said as Kathleen came in. "Are your friends well bestowed?"

            "Yes, thank you," said Kathleen.

            "Good. I just thought I would see what you were up to in here."

            "That is your right, of course," said Kathleen, hoping desperately that Julia had not found the letter she had written for Stephen to show to the bishop. "Is all to your satisfaction?"

            "Well," said Julia, "you know how much I trust you. Everything looks wonderful, and I know the workers like you very much."

            "Alright," said Kathleen, "but you waited here to see me for a reason. Hadn't we better get to it? I still have work to do before dinner."

            "Of course you do," said Julia. "Well, I just wanted to say this. I am glad that your guests have come, but I do not intend to meet them myself."

            "Why ever not? You spoke to them from the balcony, after all."

            "I know," said Julia, "but I find that I have much to occupy my time lately, and having to entertain them would place too much of a burden on me just now. So, I leave them in your very capable hands."

            Kathleen nodded her assent, and Julia got up and made to leave. Just then, however, a spasm of pain seemed to cloud her features, and Kathleen felt her wrist gripped in a viselike tightness, and then Julia was herself, tears streaming down her face and words tumbling over each other in her haste to say them.

            "Don't listen, Kat! Don't listen to that--that thing! I'm getting weaker, Kat, and it's hard to focus, but I'm telling you that the spirit wants to keep me away from all of you!"

            "Julia! My God!" Kat looked at her friend's face, which had turned a very sickly colour, and she saw that her eyes were far too bright as well. "You need a doctor, Julia!"

            "Even if I could have one," Julia said with great effort, "I don't think he could help me," and with that, she fell unconscious to the floor.

Chapter Nineteen

            Stephen stood on the balcony of his room. It was he who had won the view of the sea, but he suspected that Barrett had given it up so that he could be next door to Vangie. The sun still sparkled, though the shadows had begun to lengthen in the afternoon light. On one level, he was glad to finally be here, but on another level, he really did not know what was going to happen when, and this annoyed him. He did not like waiting at the best of times, and in the state he was in now, it was pure torture to be forced to simply observe and take note of things around him. All he really wanted to do now was to act, to go in with guns blazing, as Barrett had said. He had been thinking like this for some time, and in the back of his mind, he heard a voice, sounding remarkably like Vangie's, telling him to leave off these dark thoughts, but he couldn't do it. The moving sea seemed to hold him transfixed, and he felt a heavy dullness creeping into his mind which made him slow and stupid.

            All this was broken, however, by Kathleen's voice and footsteps coming down the hall outside his door. In an instant, he had shut the doors to the balcony and had exited the room, only to find Barrett and Vangie already standing by their own doors and wearing the same expression of concern which he knew must be on his own face.

            "Kat," said Stephen, going to meet her. "What on earth?"

            "It's Julia! She's unconscious! She's--oh--I can't tell you. You'll just have to come."

            "Come, Stephen," said Vangie. "You and I will go. Robert, stay here with Kathleen."

            "I have some brandy," said Barrett. "You really should calm down if you can."

            Stephen didn't stay to hear the rest, however, because Vangie was almost running down the hall.

            "Wait! How will we know where Julia is?"

            "In the north tower," was Kathleen's shouted response.

            "I know where that is," said Vangie, and they made their way there as quickly as they could.

            Once they found the tower, their next task was to find the room where Kathleen had her bedroom and office, so they ascended slowly, stopping at every room until they found the one in which Julia lay, eyes wide and staring, on the rug in front of Kathleen's small desk.

            "There's a pulse," said Vangie, as she bent down to touch the other woman's wrist. "That bodes well at least."

            "She looks fevered or something," said Stephen.

            "Yes," said Vangie, considering. "Something is definitely physically wrong with her. Still, she's breathing and she has a pulse, so though Kathleen has been frightened, I don't think it's as bad as she feared. I'm going to see if I can reach her. Please take my other hand, Stephen. I'll need a grounding influence."

            Stephen did as he was told, though he really didn't know what it all meant. As they sat in silence, Stephen holding Vangie's hand and Vangie touching Julia's corresponding and seemingly lifeless one, he found his eyes drawn again and again to Julia's face. As had happened back in the French Leaf Cafe, he found his thoughts being suffused with the sound of her voice and the scent of her perfume. This was not an entirely pleasant sensation, and he could only compare it with the moment that he and Vangie had shared in her cabin. That had been natural and tender, and his subsequent thoughts about it were sweet and light, comforting as the sudden appearance of the sun from behind a rain cloud. However, when this other thought intruded upon him, it did not feel as though he was thinking it, but as though he was being overwhelmed by it, as though it was a living thing that was trying to smother him with its cloying presence. He wondered if Vangie sensed the struggle going on inside him, because he all at once felt a brief squeeze from her hand as though she was trying to get his attention, and as his mind snapped back into focus, he looked at her kneeling beside him and realized that whatever she was doing was taking a huge effort. He cursed himself mentally for getting caught up in that strange spell which Julia seemed to cast upon him and, in order to counteract it, he began praying.           As his mind settled into the rhythm of his prayers, he saw Vangie relax somewhat, and was grateful that he could be of some help to her.

            Suddenly, after about ten minutes of concentrated silence, Vangie began to speak.

            "Julia Susanne Desmond," she said in a commanding but gentle tone, "can you hear me?" Stephen saw Julia's limbs twitch, but she said nothing.

            "Julia," said Vangie again, "I want you to let go now."

            "What?" The word was out of Stephen's mouth before he could think.

            "Do not speak again, Stephen," was Vangie's response, and she turned her attention back to Julia.

            "I want you to make a place in your mind where you can go. It should be a peaceful place. You'll be able to see what your body is doing from that place. Do you understand?" Stephen could tell that Julia was trying to indicate that she did understand, but she still seemed unconscious.

            "I know that this means letting the other spirit have its will with your body," said Vangie in that same gentle but deliberate voice, "but it is the only way to prevent your body from using up all of its strength. I will keep talking to you when I can, Julia. You will not be alone, and when you are again in control of your body, all this will seem rather like a dream. Alright?"

            Stephen saw Julia relax, and just as her eyes opened, Vangie tried to pull away, but Julia seized her hand in an iron grip.

            "You're very clever," she said now in Erica Desmond's tones. "Do you think I will not be able to tear down the wall you've built?"

            "Only time will tell us what will happen," said Vangie, seeming to relax into the grip but at the same time causing the thing in control of Julia's body suddenly to release her.

            "For now," said Vangie, letting go of Stephen's hand and standing up, Julia is in a place where you cannot intrude, but know this! We will see you banished from her body and from this house as soon as we possibly can!"

            "Will you? What about you, Stephen Dawson? Will you remain true to your purpose?"

            She was sitting up now, and she looked into his eyes. Again, his mind was clouded with thoughts of her beauty and of her voice, and it was all he could do to keep them out.

            "You are a demon," he said now, "but Julia is a free soul made in the image of God. You will not destroy her if I can help it!"

            "I do so love a challenge, you know," said Erica with Julia's voice. "Now, I think you both have done enough mischief for one day. Till we meet again!"

            Stephen stood up and moved to Vangie's side, and the two of them watched in silence as Erica's spirit made Julia's body get to its feet and walk away to some other part of the house.

            "Should we follow her?" Stephen desperately wanted to know what she was going to do, but at the centre of that desire lurked the mindless, instinctive lust that he had been feeling, so he shook his head to clear it.

            "I think you have been in her presence enough for one day," said Vangie. "If she is going to do that to you every time we battle her, then you will be of no use to us."

            "I know," he said, pounding Kathleen's desk with his fist. "I've never experienced anything like it before! It was like something out of the sayings of the desert fathers! Those men went to the desert to escape all the lusts of the world, but they found that the demons assaulted them even in the desert."

            "Well then, perhaps you need to find a way to take a mental cold shower when that begins to happen," the Conjure Woman suggested. "I'm sorry," she said after a moment. "I didn't mean to joke."

            "No," said Stephen, "you're absolutely right. I have to strengthen my prayer life and have one always ready to hand."

            "Good. Now, I'd like you to come with me," she said, all joking put aside for the moment.

            Up the stairs she led him until they came to a door at the top. This led into a round room which looked as if it had been recently used as an office. Across from the door giving onto the main staircase was another door which Vangie opened and which led to a smaller one. Up this they went until they came to a small room right under the eves of the tower. There was a trapdoor in the ceiling of this, and using a workman's ladder which leant against the wall, the Conjure Woman pried it open and beckoned Stephen to join her on the widow's walk.

            "Up there," she said, pointing to the roof above, "was where your uncle stood face-to-face with Erica Desmond on that last night, and from that roof was where I saw him fall. I thought it appropriate for you to know this, Stephen."

            "I wonder what made him choose that spot?"

            "He wanted to shield others from the harm she might do to them. I'm sure that's why he chose it."

            "Still, it was a strange thing for him to do! He should have had help!"

            "Indeed he should have," said Vangie. "He should have had my help. His death and the deaths of all the others which were caused by Erica are on my conscience, and I intend to avenge them if it is possible."

            Stephen gazed in silence up at the roof and he felt a chill go down his spine despite the warmth of the day. For an instant he saw himself in his uncle's place, confronting Erica and trying to banish her with all the prayers he knew, but it was all to no avail. Erica was too strong for him and down from the tower he saw himself falling, pushed by her fair and bejeweled hand.

            "Well," said Vangie, breaking the spell of this vision and snapping him back to reality, "we had better go and see how Kat is doing."

            "I wish I had my incense with me," said Stephen, "but it's in my suitcase. I would cense this office and sprinkle holy water around. I can still feel her here!"

            "Yes," said Vangie. "She's everywhere in this house. The longer I remain here, the more certain I am that she has been here brooding ever since Jean Paul left and growing angrier by the year. That makes her even more unpredictable than she was before, I'm afraid, and without knowing her ultimate plans, we can't do anything to stop her yet."

            "All I know," said Stephen as they made their way back to their wing of the house, "is that I wish I could do the exorcism now!"

            "Well," said Vangie, "being the resident religious authority around here, I would certainly advise against it. If Julia's body is too weak for her to fight against the invading spirit right now, then surely it is too weak for you to do so as well."

            "I know," said Stephen, "and I hate it. I hate waiting!"

            "I've seen evidence to that effect," said Vangie with a gentle laugh. " Don't worry, my friend. We'll have a lot to do to prepare. There's still a lot we need to learn about this island and about the reason why Jacques and the power that he serves are doing this.

            "The power that he serves? Do you mean Erica?"

            "No indeed," said Vangie. "I mean no one more or less than Lucifer himself. It's your devil as well as ours that we're facing. Never forget that."

            "And I thought there was only one."

            "Well, perhaps there is. That kind of knowledge has not been given to such as myself, and yet," she paused at the entrance to their corridor, "I feel as though I am moving toward something, some great change. The Wheel of Fortune has been my constant companion when I have read the cards of late."

            "Should we consult the cards about all this?" Stephen could hardly believe he was asking this, but he did not take it back.

            "We will," said Vangie. "First, however, you will have to cense and asperge Kat's office. That is to be our meeting-place. Every day after dinner we will have a council, and both you and I will make that office a place where no ill spirit will dare to venture. I think that tonight, it should be your task to bless the house, or as much of it as you can safely get to, and I will come with you if you like. You drummed for me in my ritual, and I will, if you wish, say the prayers with you in yours."

            "I'm honoured," said Stephen.

            "Well," said Vangie, "I know that Kat would like to help you too, but I don't want her to be at the mercy of that spirit's whims, and if I can help to shield her from it, then I will. I intend to be with her as much as I can, and you should as well I think."

            "Well," said Kathleen herself as she emerged from her room, "I hope you'll enjoy looking at computer screens, Miss Abbott, because that's what I do all day."

            "As to that," said Barrett, "Vangie will have to look at a few computer screens of her own if she is going to truly act as my assistant."

            "I suppose so," said Vangie, "but I do find the things quite a nuisance. How are you feeling now, Kat?" She took the other woman's hand briefly to check her pulse.

            "I'm alright, but what about Julia?"

            "That will take some explaining," Stephen began. "I think we should do the talking over dinner."

            "I'll go and get it," said Kathleen. "I thought we'd have a picnic out on one of the balconies."

            "The one off my room has the sea-view," said Stephen.

            "Alright," said Kathleen. "You all go and wait there and I'll bring the sandwiches and such."

            Dinner was a rather silent affair, apart from the necessary explanations of Julia's current condition which Vangie and Stephen did their best to provide. No one felt much like talking, it seemed, and Stephen for his part was ravenous, so that most of the energy which he would have expended in lively conversation was instead taken up with shoveling the largest amount of food into his mouth in the shortest amount of time. Vangie, he noticed, ate sparingly, but with evident gratitude. He thought it would have been she who would be hungry, given the trying afternoon she had spent, but though Barrett was very solicitous and tried to coax her with foods that he knew she liked, she only ate vegetables and fruit and, where the others partook of wine, she drank water.

            "Please don't think me ungrateful, Kat," she said after all was finished. "I need clarity for the days ahead, and too much food roots me too firmly to my body."

            "Yes," said Barrett, "but there is a fine balance."

            "Who do you think you're talking to, Dr. B.?" Stephen smiled slightly. "If she doesn't know what's best for her, then I don't know who would."

            "And besides," put in Vangie, "you really should stop speaking to me as though I were your daughter or one of your students. You know that it is I who have the seniority in our relationship."

            "He's only worried," said Kathleen, "and so am I, if it comes to speaking plainly. What exactly must we do? When can we get that thing out of Julia?"

            "First," said Vangie, "we need to bless the house, or as much of it as possible. If I'm correct, the prayers will be painful to the spirit of Erica Desmond, and she will go as far away from them as she can. However, the ritual should bring clarity and relief from the dullness of mind which seems to suffuse this house."

            "Will we all be participating?" Barrett asked.

            "Yes, Robert," said Vangie. "We must all help Stephen to do a thorough job."

            "Well then," said Stephen, "let's begin in half an hour. We'll meet in our corridor."

            "Alright," said Kathleen. "I'm going to go and put the dinner things away."

            "I'll come with you," said Vangie, and the two women went out through Stephen's room, each carrying a tray of dirty dishes.

            "Barrett, old man," said Stephen uncertainly after the women had gone, "do you know anything about Vangie's ultimate plan? I mean, do you know anything that she hasn't told me?"

            "No," said Barrett, "I can honestly say that I don't. I know that under the pretense of compiling research for a book, I am supposed to hunt up every bit of island lore that I can find, and I think she wants to search the coral caves under the house for something as well, though I don't know what. It seems hardly likely that she would look for pirate loot, but that's all I know about what might be buried in those caves."

            "Well," said Stephen, "once we bless the house, I suppose we'll have a council and talk things over."

            "I suppose we will," said Barrett, rising stiffly and moving through the glass doors into Stephen's room. "I hear the womenfolk returning," he said as he reached the door onto the hall, "so I suppose I should be chivalrous and greet them."

            "Alright," said Stephen. "I'll just get into my uniform."

            "Forget all that," said Barrett. "Just bring the incense and holy water."

            "Alright," said Stephen, "though it feels strange."

            "I think you should let him do as  he thinks best, Robert," said Vangie, coming up. "He needs to feel confident in his task tonight."

            "Alright," said Barrett, "but if I trip over your cassock and break my leg, I'll be very unhappy."

            "I will too," said Stephen. "Cassocks are expensive, and I don't want this one ruined."

            The two of them began to laugh then, and Barrett put an arm around Stephen's shoulder in a gesture of friendship and solidarity for which Stephen could not help but be grateful.

            "I'll leave you to your robing, then," he said, and went out to wait with the others.

Chapter Twenty

            Kathleen could not believe her eyes when Stephen emerged from his room. All of a sudden, he seemed not like her friend and companion of so many days, but like a real priest. She felt an instinctive awe as she regarded the crucifix he wore and the priestly-looking book in his hand.

            "Well, Father," said Vangie solemnly, "we are all at your disposal. Show us what is to be done."

            "The ritual itself is fairly repetitive," said Stephen, "so just follow my lead. I think all of you have had some exposure to our services before now?"

            They all nodded.

            "Good, then let's get started."

            Stephen handed a candle to each of them and lit the charcoal in the small hand-censor he carried. Then, taking a pinch of incense, he put it on and wafted it around until the scent was all-pervading.

            "We'll start with the rooms here," he said. "Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean."

            "Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow," the others responded, and Stephen asperged and censed Vangie's room first, then Barrett's, and finally his own, all the while repeating the psalm verses.

            They then moved through other parts of the house, and Kathleen watched in that same awe as he blessed even the great hall. This time, the portrait seemed to be silenced, though as they passed it, Kathleen noticed a strained expression on Vangie's face. When she asked if everything was alright, Vangie only nodded silently and kept walking, repeating the responses indicated by Stephen's prayers in a strong, clear voice.

            The last room to be blessed was Kathleen's own, and when they came near it, Kathleen was surprised that Vangie suddenly took her hand. She was, however, grateful for this, because as they drew near, she felt something cold and clammy trying to suffuse her mind and the words of the customary responses faltered on her lips.

            "Purge me with hyssop," said Stephen, entering the room, in a strong and steady voice, "and I shall be clean."

            "Wash me," they all responded, "and I shall be whiter than snow."

            "O Lord, Hear my prayer," said Stephen.

            "And let my cry come unto thee," they responded, and Kathleen thought to herself that never had those words been more appropriate than right now, for despite feeling Vangie's strong hand in hers, she felt utterly alone in this strange house.

            "Courage, Kat," Vangie whispered now. "This room will be safe for you and for all of us soon," and at those words, Kathleen did feel the chill ebbing somewhat, and when Stephen had finished his prayers, she found that she was able to think clearly again.

            "Well done, Father Dawson," said Vangie, snuffing out the candles at Stephen's request.

            "I wish all my services could go that well," he said. "I felt like you all were supporting me. Usually, I feel as though I am alone with the sacraments and that no one in the congregation really cares about or trusts in what I'm trying to accomplish."

            "There is an understanding in my faith," said Vangie, "that everyone must be completely present in the ritual for it to be effective, but even that understanding is waning somewhat in these changing days. Ah well, I suppose that is how life goes. Now, I suppose we should talk before we adjourn for the evening."

            "Yes," said Kathleen, "and I want to know how we're going to help Julia."

            "First," said Vangie, "I think it necessary to tell you some things which I have learned over the past forty years about the origin of this evil."

            "Yes," said Barrett. "I thought you mentioned something about that earlier, when that--that thing spoke."

            "Well," Vangie began, looking slowly around at each of them in turn, "this is what I know. First, Jacques Eloi Des Mondes was already an evil man when he came to this island."

            "Well," said Barrett, "he was a pirate to be sure, but really evil?"

            "Yes," said Vangie. "It was in France when he first became involved with the black arts. His was not a faith such as mine. His was a set of practices, a whole collection of spells intended to help an ambitious man to gain whatever he wanted in life, and thus it was that he found his way to the devil."

            "How did he learn of these practices?" Kathleen was intrigued.

            "There were books and manuscripts floating around in those days," said Vangie, "and he did have help. His housekeeper, Madame Lanoire, showed him some of her own practices, but soon he was the leader in their partnership. He managed to get her to have his innocent brother Philippe condemned to the stake on charges of witchcraft in his place, and soon afterwards, the two of them escaped from France altogether and made their way here."

            "Madame Lanoire came here? I've never heard of her."

            "Have you not indeed?"

            "Before he died, my father told me of her true nature. Till then, I knew her as one of us. I knew her, Kat, as Raxl."

            "Raxl? So she was not one of your people?"

            "She was, and yet she wasn't," said Vangie. "She came to us at Jacques' request, thinking that she would find allies for him, but my father, realizing what she was, bound her to us by blood and by heart, so she no longer remembered her old life with Jacques. He even took from her her former name and gave her one of ours. She was, for all intents and purposes, a true daughter of the priestesses of the serpent. My father and the last of those priestesses made sure that this is how she would think of herself."

            "So," said Stephen, "when you were with her here, you knew all this about her?"

            "I did," said Vangie, "but I did not dare tell her. I was frightened, however, that the longer she was exposed to Jacques' influence, the spell that our people had put upon her might be broken."

            "What would have happened then?" Kathleen was becoming involved in the story in spite of herself.

            "Raxl, as we will now call her, was the bearer of a strange and terrible curse. To go into detail about it would take too long, but suffice it to say that one of the reasons she became involved with Jacques in the first place was to pass this curse onto someone else so she might be free of it. It has been called the mark of death. It forces the one who bears its sign to kill against their will. It was the price that Raxl paid to have immortality."

            "So she didn't go through that ceremony that you went through?"

            "Actually," said Vangie, "she did. However, our magic was not enough to combat the older pact she had made, and so, whenever she left Maljardin to serve a Desmond not on this island, she fell prey to it again."

            "You mean she killed?"

            "I do not know the details, Kat," said Vangie, "but I believe that something like that happened."

            "What about Quito?"

            "Who on earth is Quito? It's a fantastically evocative name," said Barrett.

            "He was Jean Paul Desmond's man-servant," said Kathleen. "He never spoke."

            "He once did speak," said Vangie. "He was going to be the next Conjure Man after my father, but he fell under Jacques' spell and assisted him to kill his wife, and later, her younger sister. My father made him what you might call a zombie. He would have shared Jacques' own fate, except that he repented."

            "Why did he have to be punished at all?" Stephen asked.

            "It was our way," was all Vangie's explanation. "I don't think I would have treated him so, but I was not Conjure Woman then. It was because Quito could no longer follow him that my father decided to perform the ritual that would help him and a few others gain longer life in order to be sure that Jacques and the powers that he served would not waken again."

            "So," said Barrett slowly, "what you're saying is that we are dealing with an actual devil?"

            "No," said Vangie, "I am saying that we are dealing with the actual devil. Jacques and the spirit of Erica Desmond are planning something. Of that I am certain. They have had free reign here for forty years, though till now, they've had no human agents through whom to bring their plans to fruition."

            "So," said Kathleen, "how do we find out their plans?"

            "We observe," said Barrett.

            "Yes," said Vangie, "but there are other things we can try," and with that, she drew out the Tarot cards and laid them out on Kathleen's desk.

            "I must confess that I've never been one for these things," said Barrett, "but you do have a gift with them, Evangeline."

            "Let us hope so," said Vangie. "Kat, I'll need you to help me to read."

            "Like in the cabin?"

            "Just like that. Lay your hands over mine on the pack and think about Julia. Gentlemen, be silent please."

            Kathleen laid her hands on Vangie's hands, and there was an electric tingling which ran through her fingers and up her arms. She knew from this that Vangie was bringing all her powers to bear on this reading, and she resolved to help her as much as she could. She thought of Julia and brought her image fully before her mind's eye, but try as she might, she could not see her as she used to be. She could only see her dressed in the ballroom finery of Erica Desmond. Still, Vangie seemed to approve of her efforts, so she kept them up.

            "Now," Vangie whispered, "let go," and Kathleen did so, and watched in awe as the Conjure Woman shuffled the cards. They danced and moved in the light of the desk-lamp and when they were still, a group of them lay face-up on the blotter on which her laptop usually rested.

            "Now, Kat," said Vangie, "what do you see?"

            In a flash, it was as though they were again in the cabin, and for a moment, even the presences of Stephen and Professor Barrett seemed not to be there. Now, there  was only herself, the Conjure Woman and the cards. Ever since that night in the cabin, Kathleen had felt her connection and kinship with Vangie growing and deepening, and after today's brief joining of minds while Vangie drove the boat across the channel, that feeling was even stronger.

            "It's clearer this time," she said. "I seem to see them differently than I did back in the cabin."

            "I wondered if that would be so," said Vangie. "Now, don't be frightened. Say what comes to you."

            "Is that how you do it?"

            "It is indeed," said Vangie, "but I do remember what it was like the first time I began to see behind the images. I was frightened of getting something wrong."

            "Well," said Kathleen, "we of course have the King of Wands reversed, and the Nine of Swords. The Queen of Wands is here too, but now she is reversed as well."

            "Erica," said Vangie.

            "That's what I thought too," said Kathleen. "She and the King look rather chummy, but above them and connected to them is a card I had forgotten about. The Empress!" Kathleen pointed to the image of a regal-looking woman seated on a throne amid a splendour of fruits and flowers.

            "And she is reversed," said Vangie.

            "Yes," said Kathleen. "Strange. It makes me think about Matthew Dawson's journal, and about how there are beautiful-looking plants all over this island which are nonetheless deadly."

            "Lush fertility that is dangerous," said Vangie. "Yes. I get the same sense."

            "That sounds like Cancer," said Kathleen quickly, "when you put it like that."

            "Yes," said Vangie, "but I don't think that is all we're seeing here. They're looking for a way to beat off death. That much seems evident."

            "Would they know anything of that ceremony for granting long life that you went through?"

            "No," said Vangie. "That knowledge died with my father and with the last of the ancient priestesses of the serpent."

            "But might they think that you had the knowledge?"

            "They might, but they know that I would rather die than help them. At least, they should know it. If I had died when everyone thought I had, Holly Marshall would have been as Julia is now. The release of my spirit would have given Erica enough power to possess her. While I made some mistakes, I'm at least grateful that Holly was not made Erica's tool."

            "But she still wanted her," said Stephen, breaking in. "She still needed her youth."

            "She needed from her what she would have gotten from me," said Vangie. "At least Jean Paul realized what Erica was in time and helped Holly to escape."

            "Yes," said Barrett sardonically, "by almost burning her up in a fire. Now what are these cards saying exactly?"

            "Their truth is veiled somewhat," said Vangie, "but it is there. There's only one way to gain clarity, but it involves a journey, and tonight is not a night for journeying. I think it's time we got some sleep."

            Both the men seemed grateful for the suggestion, and it only took them a moment to say their farewells and head for their rooms. Vangie lingered a while, putting the cards away and gazing out of the high window at the cliffs below. The moon was out tonight, Kathleen noticed, but it was thin and sickly-looking.

            "This night is not over yet," said Vangie.

            "What do you mean? You just said that we all needed sleep."

            "And so we do," said Vangie, moving away from the window and seating herself on Kathleen's bed, "but I feel very strongly that something is going to happen tonight."

            "Is there anything we can do to stop it?"

            "No," said Vangie with a deep sigh. "The wheels have already been set in motion. The one who is vulnerable will be even more vulnerable tonight, and I think, somehow, that what is coming tonight is ordained."

            "Vangie," said Kathleen, "should you be alone when you're--when you're in one of these moods?"

            "It's kind of you to be concerned, Kat," said the Conjure Woman, "but I'll do well enough."

            "But you look so tired! Why don't you just sleep here? I could stay with you. I couldn't sleep if I wanted to anyway."

            "I think you'll sleep," said Vangie, "and I have enough strength to get myself to my room before I too collapse gratefully under the covers. However, I'll stay with you till you sleep if you like."

            Kathleen was grateful for this, and in tacit acknowledgement of the fact, began to undress and get ready for bed.

            Vangie moved the desk-chair beside the bed, and when Kathleen had lain down, she sat there and again took Kathleen's hand in hers.

            "Tonight will be a very active one," she said softly, "on a psychic level, I mean. I want you out of it as much as possible. So, I am hoping that you will sleep well and have pleasant dreams."

            "Well," said Kathleen, "anything you can do to help would be appreciated."

            "I can't control your dreams," said Vangie, "or more precisely, I would never try, but I will give you what is mine to give," and again Kathleen felt that tingling sensation move through her fingers and up into her arm, and soon, she felt her breathing slow and her pulse take on a deeper rhythm.

            "Goodnight, Kat O'Dell," said Vangie, and Kathleen looked into her eyes and saw the light of love burning there, and she knew that whatever was going to happen tonight, Vangie was protecting her from it at great cost to herself.

            "You're very special, Vangie Abbott," she said sleepily.

            "Be well until morning," Said Vangie, letting go of her hand and quietly leaving the room.

            Long after she had gone, Kathleen felt Vangie's presence strongly in the room, and this lent a peaceful air to her surroundings. She was able to sleep very soon, and the last thing she thought about as she was sliding away into dreams was Vangie's assurance that love would win the day, that if the four of them could but stick together, they would overcome the evil now in control of Julia. She could believe that after the house-blessing, for in that moment she had known that all their minds had been concentrated on supporting Stephen in his task. Still, Vangie had said that someone was vulnerable to the evil influences in this house tonight. She hoped desperately that it was not the Conjure Woman herself, but even as she found urgency and fear creeping into her mind, that woman's calming influence seemed to drive it away, and before long, she was in the arms of a truly blessed and deep sleep.

Chapter Twenty-one

            Stephen parted with Barrett at the door of his room and, grateful to have the house-blessing over and done with, rapidly changed out of his robes and into something more pedestrian. He intended to sleep long and well tonight, no matter what oddities happened around here. Also, he privately thought at the back of his mind, it would allow him to escape into dreams for a while. Lately, they had been sweet and sensual, entirely filled with the voice and face of the Conjure Woman, and while it was his duty as a priest to keep a guard over his mind and his heart, he found himself unable to do this where Vangie was concerned, and, moreover, utterly unable to care about this lapse on his part. He wondered why this was, but he found it curious that his dreams were in no way lustful. In fact, apart from embraces and kisses, there was no sexual content in them, and yet upon waking, he always felt as though they had exchanged something, had participated in some sacred and secret communion. He wondered if Vangie was having similar dreams, but he knew that he could never ask her that question. It would be too embarrassing. All he wanted to do now, though, was fall into one of those dreams again. So, after saying a rosary or two, he climbed into the well-appointed bed and promptly fell asleep.

            The dream began as they had all done over the past few days. Stephen stood in Vangie's cabin and it was night. A fire burned merrily on the hearth, and Vangie herself was seated on her usual low stool. It was as though Stephen had just entered, for he stood near the door and waited. Vangie then beckoned him forward, and at that signal, he came closer to her and knelt beside her.

            "You're here," she said, and there was deep satisfaction in her voice. "I've waited for you for so long!"

            "I know, My Lady," Stephen said, "but I'm here now."

            "Indeed you are," said Vangie, only now there was a strange and hungry note in her voice, and when she had risen and taken him into the embrace which always happened at this point in these dreams, there was a roughness to it that he did not like. Silently, she conducted him to her bedroom, and with no words exchanged between them, she made him take off his clothes while she did the same. Only now, where Vangie had been there was a woman that he did not know. She was a little like Julia, and indeed he thought he had seen her somewhere before, and now he remembered. The blood-stained locket was a dead giveaway. This was Erica Desmond. But how could she be here? What had happened to Vangie?

            "I'm sorry," said Erica now, "that I had to trick you like that, but your affection for our dear Miss Abbott was so evident that I could not ignore it."

            "But this is a dream," he said.

            "If you like," was all her answer, and she looked deeply into his eyes.

            He felt himself drawn by her gaze, and before he could stop himself, he found that he was in bed with her, and what was worse, he found that he was enjoying her presence. They lay together and she began to whisper endearments into his ear, and then he knew that she was not talking to him, for his mind had become untethered from his body, and what was in control of him now was something else, something other, and then, as he seemed to observe the scene between himself and Erica from a great height, he heard her pronounce a name which would have made his blood run cold, if raw intellect or soul or spirit or whatever he was now had blood, of course.

            "My darling Jacques," she said. "I have waited to be with you like this for so long!"

            "Come now, dearest love!" he heard his own voice saying. "Let us be merry while we have the chance! This one won't let me stay here forever."

            "You've got that right," Stephen tried to say, but it was as though he had no voice and was a being made up of pure thought. Again and again, he tried to approach his body, but he was repelled by some unnamable force each time, and he felt himself growing weaker with each attempt.

            Suddenly, Jacques took Erica in his arms, and he was forced to watch in silence as they made love, if you could call it love. There was something raw and animalistic in it. Even despite her strength, it was almost as though Jacques were raping her, and as though she were letting him do it. Again and again he thrust himself into her, and again and again she allowed it, though on one level, Stephen knew, she was being overpowered by him. Still, when all was over, they again professed their undying love for one another, and Stephen suddenly found himself floating toward his body and falling into it. Sitting up, he looked around, getting his bearings, and he realized that Erica was gone. He had not seen her go, but she was gone, and just as he thought that this was one of the strange twists that a dream can take, he looked around him more carefully. He was no longer in the cabin of the Conjure Woman, but in a palatial bedroom with tapestries hung upon the walls and torches mounted in brackets. He knew that this had to be a dream, but he also did not want to remain here anymore, so he got up and walked out the door.

            The corridor was in darkness, but as his eyes grew accustomed to it, he found himself disoriented again, because he knew that corridor for the one in which his own room lay. Instantly, he knew what he had to do. He had to see Vangie, no matter how late it was and no matter how tired they both would be the next day. He didn't know now if he slept or waked, and only she could help him now. Only her honest presence could clear away the fog of this fantastic dream. So, without further deliberation, he walked to her door and was about to knock when it opened. There, solid and real, was the Conjure Woman, looking as though she had not slept at all but seeming strong and steadfast to him after his strange and unsettling experience.

            "Come in," she said, and he did so without a word, closing the door softly behind him.

            "You look as though you've just escaped from the lions' den," she said. "What happened?"

            "A dream," he said. "A dream to end all dreams."

            "It's not for me to pry into your private thoughts, Stephen, but I think you came to me for a reason. Please, sit down!"

            Stephen felt himself reeling to and fro and was grateful for her offer of a seat. They sat together on the bed and he tried to collect his thoughts and to decide what to reveal and what to keep hidden. Only a few hours before, he had sworn not to tell her about the dreams he had been having about them both, but now it seemed that he would be forced to do so.

            "Alright," he said, taking a deep breath. "First, I have to tell you something that I hoped I'd never have to tell you. Since that night--since the kiss, I mean--I've been having dreams about you, Vangie. They've been very good dreams, filled with something--something very special."

            "I know what you mean," said Vangie, looking at him profoundly, and all at once, he understood that she did know. She'd been having the same dreams of him.

            "Well," he said, "I had another dream tonight. It started out with you and I, and then--then it changed. Erica was there, and she wanted me to make love to her, but just when I thought she was going to force me, I was ejected from my body somehow, and Jacques was there. They--they were together, and I had to watch, and to be honest, I don't know if I'm dreaming or awake right now."

            Vangie suddenly turned to him and took him in her arms and he found himself embracing and kissing her, and there was none of the animalistic quality that there had been in the dream.

            "Well," she said after the kiss had ended, "what do you think now? Are you dreaming or are you awake?"

            "I hope I'm awake," said Stephen, and as he looked around the room, he saw a corner of the ceiling which had apparently suffered some damage from the fire. There was a dark spot in the whiteness, and he thought that no dream, no matter how detailed it was, would contain so real and mundane an element as that.

            "The real question before us is whether you were truly dreaming then," said Vangie, seeming to bore into him with the keenness of her gaze. "I fear that there was more to this than a simple nightmare, but we can know nothing for certain tonight."

            "Have you slept at all?" He suddenly found all concern for himself wiped away in his solicitude for her.

            "I have and I will," said Vangie, "but not until I know that you're alright."

            "If I was really possessed by Jacques," he said, "then I don't know what I did. I saw Erica, but was I with Julia? Was I with someone real or someone imaginary? God! It's so sick!" He suddenly rose from the bed and began pacing back and forth. "This has all got to stop!"

            "I know," said Vangie, still remaining seated and looking as composed as ever. "I know it does, but raging about it is not going to help anyone. I think you should go back to sleep now. I don't think you'll have any more trouble tonight."

            "How do you know?" He was angry and impatient, and he hardly listened to what she was saying.

            "I think they have what they want from you," was all her reply, and this vagueness further exasperated him.

            "Will you say what you mean, for God's sake?"

            "I wish I could be more direct," said Vangie, "but I am as much in the dark about all this as you are. All I can sense is that they're finished with you, for now at least. Now please go back to your room. You'll sleep well now. Of that I'm sure."

            "Alright," he said, looking at her and his anger suddenly melting away. "I'm sorry to be so moody."

            "I would be surprised if you weren't," she said with one of her gentle laughs. "Goodnight, Stephen, and sweet dreams."

            "Goodnight, my lady," he found himself saying.

            "Is that how you see me then?"

            "It's from the dreams I've had," he said. "It seemed fitting to say it now, I guess."

            "It is a title of honour reserved for a high priestess," said Vangie. "No one uses it nowadays, nor would I likely accept it from just anyone, but from you it makes sense. Goodnight, then."

            Stephen found that he could say nothing in response. All he could do was look at her as she sat on the bed and stand in wonder, feeling shy and bold at the same time and wanting nothing more than to lie entwined in her arms. However, he mastered himself, nodded to her, and went out, closing the door behind him.

            The night passed uneventfully enough, Stephen thought afterwards, but his sleep was not unbroken. Every time he woke, he thought of his earlier encounter, whether in dream or in reality he could not be certain, with Erica Desmond. She seemed so strong and self-assured, but when she was with Jacques, she seemed content to let him have his way with her. He wondered if it had been this strange love or obsession which had motivated her to murder so many people, including his uncle. Vangie had said that she was looking for a way to remain alive, to be immortal, and she had tried to find that immortality through Vangie and through his uncle's reason for being here in the first place, Holly Marshall.

            He had thought a lot about Holly Marshall over the years, but he had not been able to gain news of her. According to Kathleen, she had escaped the fire with Jean Paul Desmond, but Kathleen herself had never known her or even heard of her in connection with the Desmonds over the past forty years or so. He noticed that whenever Vangie talked about her, there was a peculiar note in her voice, as though the Conjure Woman thought that Holly was something very special indeed. She must have been, Stephen thought, to make Matthew Dawson leave his pulpit in search of her, but all he could discover from the journal was that Matthew was truly in love with her, and that Holly was an angry young girl who found it difficult to trust people. So what had been so special about her, and what did Erica want with Julia or with him now? By the time morning had come, he still had no answers, and he had more questions than ever.

Chapter Twenty-two

            Kathleen woke to the sound of a light tapping on her door and the sight of the morning sun pouring through her window. She did not remember dreaming, which was for her a relief, since the last few nights had been filled with disturbing dreams of being chased relentlessly through dark woods and being pursued by faceless enemies. Now, as she heard the light knock and opened her eyes to see the bright morning light, she found it difficult to believe that she had even slept, so uneventfully had she passed the night. Still, her limbs felt strong and refreshed, and her whole body seemed suffused with a truly rich sense of well-being which she had not known for years: not indeed since she had been a girl and had spent summers with her aunt and uncle on their farm in the hills of County Down. Even despite all the worry and danger, she felt that she could handle whatever was about to happen, and she realized that this was because she was not alone. There were others here to share the danger and to fight the darkness, and until their coming she had not realized how lonely the last few days had truly been.

            The knocking came again, slightly more insistently this time, and she finally sat up.

            "I'm not dressed," she said, thinking it might be Stephen.

            "Well, will you let me in anyway?" It was Vangie's voice.

            "Yes of course," she said, and went to the door to open it.

            the Vangie who greeted her as she made way for her to enter was not the same Vangie who had left her so peacefully last night. Her eyes were wild with a strange intensity and her face looked drawn and haggard.

            "My God!" Kathleen gasped and quickly ushered her companion to a seat. "What's happened?"

            "I'll be alright, Kat," said Vangie. "Last night was--difficult."

            "Did you even sleep?"

            "I'll be alright," was all Vangie's reply. "Now, if you would get dressed and washed, I need your help with something."

            Kathleen dressed quickly and cleaned herself up, and all the while Vangie sat unmoving, regarding her in silent contemplation. Yet, she felt that beneath this stillness lurked something manic, something barely controllable. Something, she thought, had thrown the Conjure Woman badly off balance, and she was trying desperately not to surrender to simple, human fear.

            "Alright," she said once she was dressed. "What on earth is the matter? I've never seen you like this!"

            "Please come with me," said Vangie, and she moved quickly out of the room, Kathleen moving with her, trying with all her resolve not to be alarmed by her manner, though all she really wanted to do was to break down and cry. To see such a self-possessed woman as Vangie  shaken so badly rocked her very confidence in this venture, and as the woman in front of her raced through the halls of this great house, she perceived that it was fear to which she had surrendered, and she longed to surrender too. Still, that sense of well-being was with her, and she found herself remembering when Vangie had lain unconscious on the path behind the French Leave Hotel and she had braved her fear of the tall Michel to insist that the Conjure Woman be brought to her own room to recover. Even then, she thought now , she had felt something for this woman, some feeling of protectiveness. This was probably transferred from Julia, because she could not be with her friend at the time, but now there was something more. Vangie had always been there, had saved her from Erica, had tried to save Julia, and now something had happened to make her frightened. This angered Kathleen beyond measure, and she resolved to help this woman in any way that she could.

            This fierce loyalty was tempered, however, by the direction in which Vangie was leading her. She saw the familiar archway and a deep revulsion rose up in her.

            "I--I--can't go there," she said.

            "All that lies here is death," said Vangie, turning and speaking in a strained voice. "Come, please, Kat!"

            "Alright," she said, and she steeled herself for the trip into the crypt. There were the coffins in their niches, and there was the ruined capsule sitting where she and Julia had left it to rest on top of the portrait of Jacques. Kathleen reflected that it had failed to keep Erica imprisoned just as it failed to confine the portrait and its mysterious and malicious power. She was standing transfixed by this strange relic of a stranger obsession when Vangie suddenly grabbed her arm.

            "Further on," was all she said, but it was said in such a commanding fashion that Kathleen had no choice but to turn from the capsule and to follow the Conjure Woman to the alcove which Julia had shown her on her first night back on the island.

            "Quito once slept here," said Vangie, in something like her normal voice. As Kathleen looked, she saw the sleeping form of Julia lying there, her face deathly white and her eyes wide and staring.

            "Erica is weakening," said Vangie in a gentle tone. "I'm going to speak with Julia. It's taken a lot of power for me to keep her body asleep, but so long as it is, Erica is powerless to interfere."

            "Is that why you're so--so nervous?"

            "I'll tell you everything soon," said Vangie, "but I have to confirm a few things first."

            "What am I here for?"

            "She'll feel safe if she knows you're here," said Vangie. "Take my hand and I'll take Julia's." Kathleen was surprised to feel how chilled was Vangie's hand, but she decided not to comment on it.

            "Julia," said Vangie now. "Will you speak to us? Kat is here as well."

            Slowly, Julia's mouth opened, and her eyes began to focus. Kathleen was alarmed, thinking that Erica was reasserting herself, but Vangie gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and she relaxed.

            "She's down there somewhere," said Julia thickly. "She can't see me now. Thank you!"

            "It's what has to be done," said Vangie. "Now, I need you to tell me about last night. Did she do anything unusual?"

            "Kat," said Julia. "Your friend, the professor or priest or whatever he is. She--she--she raped him I think. I mean, well, something happened. He was Jacques I think, and--well--Oh God!"

            "I'm going to talk to Erica now," said Vangie, in an exceedingly soft and apologetic tone. "She'll be under my power and will only answer what I ask her. Alright? Go back to your sheltered place, Julia."

            "No, wait!" said Julia. "You have to know something first. They talked--Erica and--and--him. Jacques. They want you destroyed! You have to be careful, Miss Abbott. You tried to warn me in the dream, and I didn't listen to you! I'm so--so sorry!" For a moment, Kathleen thought Julia was going to cry, but Vangie simply stroked her forehead quietly and suddenly, Kathleen knew that Julia was not with them anymore. The eyes had resumed their fixed stare and the breathing had slowed down considerably. Then, slowly, Vangie began to speak, and all gentleness was gone from her voice.

            "Spirit from the void, you who name yourself Erica Desmond, you will speak to me."

            "I hear," said Julia's voice but with Erica's inflection and with a slow and thick diction.

            "Good," said Vangie. "What are you planning? What is Jacques planning for the people on this island? What does he want?"

            "A new body. He wants a new body," said the voice. "I, this body I mean, we are to give it to him."

            "And what has he promised you?"

            "To dwell with him forever. He wants us to live as you have lived. He wants us to be immortal."

            "And how does he plan to achieve this?"

            "Like before," said Erica. "The mark, the sign, the curse. This world, this time, he says is perfect for him. No one cares anymore. No one will stop him, because he will be exactly what they think they want, but then it will be too late, he says. They will be his people, his slaves and slaves to the other, the one who truly brought me back from death."

            "When you wake," said Vangie, "you will believe that you have dreamed this. You will not remember it clearly. Is that understood?"

            "I hear," said Erica again, and Vangie let go of the hand which fell limply to the sheet.

            Kathleen watched as the Conjure Woman got slowly to her feet and, seeing that she overbalanced slightly with the effort, caught her quickly around the waist.

            "Look," she said, as the two stood swaying a moment and she gazed into Vangie's tired eyes, "whatever you're doing, whatever you have been doing to keep her like that," she pointed at the bed, "it's too much for you! You've got to stop it!"

            "I will," said Vangie. "I will, but I want you to tell me something first. How did  you sleep last night, and how did you feel when you woke up this morning?"

            "I slept well," said Kathleen. "I had no dreams that I can remember. I woke refreshed and more clear-headed than I've been in--" She stopped, and looking again at Vangie's drawn countenance, felt like kneeling before her in shame and gratitude.

            "I can't believe it," she said, dropping her eyes to the ground. "You had the dreams? You endured all that--for--for me?"

            "Let's get out of here," Vangie said, and the two, on a shared impulse, linked arms as though they were school-chums and walked out of the crypt, up the stairs and out through the large front doors of the house into the bright, late-morning sunshine.

            The first thing she noticed was the fact that Vangie had relaxed a great deal once they were out of the house, and the second thing she noticed was the quiet and the absence of construction equipment. Indeed, she saw men taking pieces of it down the cliffs in preparation to transport it off the island.

            "They weren't scheduled to leave yet," she said half to herself.

            "I'm sure she means to have them back when she has--" Vangie paused meaningfully, "dealt with us. Now come, and let's enjoy the day."

            Kathleen followed Vangie to a stone seat set in what used to be the Desmond garden. A dry fountain in the shape of a great, coiling and winged serpent sat near, and Kathleen regarded it with some interest.

            "That," said Vangie, "was an attempt by one of the Desmonds to pay homage to the islanders' beliefs. It was a misguided attempt, but at least he tried."

            It looks very old," said Kathleen.

            "I think it dates from the eighteen-hundreds," said Vangie. "Raxl could have told you who built it."

            Kathleen looked at the fountain again. The water would have sprayed from the serpent's open and tooth-filled mouth and would have filled the basin around which the rest of the creatures long and intricately-carven body was twined. All in all, it was a grand piece of decoration, and, she thought, not out of keeping with the gloomy opulence of this strange paradise in which Julia had now made her home.

            "Well," she said after a silence of about five minutes had passed, "I'm glad to see you looking better, Vangie."

            "I wanted to keep you safe from her advances," said Vangie. "Erica, I mean. She wants to trap you. Can you not feel it?"

            Kathleen thought back to yesterday's boat-trip across the channel, when she had helped Vangie to guide the boat through the treacherous currents and eddies between here and the main island, and she thought also of the time in her own office while Stephen was blessing it. She had felt a creeping darkness trying to suffuse her mind and she had hated it.

            "Yes," she said now. "I have felt it, but you can't protect me forever."

            "No," said Vangie with a sigh, "unfortunately, I cannot. I found that out last night. You'll need to learn to protect yourself, and it's this that I want to try to teach you."

            Kathleen hated the thought of laying her mind open to anything nowadays, even to Vangie's comforting presence. She was afraid of the other thing, the darkness which kept reaching out to touch the edges of her mind with what felt like cold and slimy fingers. She did not want to let this thing in or even to give it a chance to find her, and least of all did she want to open Vangie's mind to it, knowing what she had inadvertently done by letting Julia handle Matthew Dawson's cross for even a short amount of time. Still, she knew that whatever had to happen here in order to drive the evil influences away from this house would require all their strength combined, and so she knew that she had to let Vangie help her if they were to have any chance at all of winning this fight.

            "Alright," she said. "What can you show me?"

            "Actually," said Vangie, " you know how to do it already. You've done it before. Yesterday, when I was guiding the boat across the channel, you managed to block a very powerful presence from doing harm to all of us."

            "But well, at first, I knew it had--had touched you." Kathleen cast her eyes to the ground in shame. "I'm--I'm sorry."

            "No, no," said Vangie, taking her hand. "You performed admirably when it counted. Can you tell me how you did it?"

            "Well," said Kathleen, "I imagined my mind as though it were a castle." She looked at the great house as she said this. "I knew that the enemy was at the gate, and so I thought about soldiers. I thought that it wasn't enough to build the walls. I had to have soldiers to defend the battlements."

            "This is better than I could have hoped!" said Vangie. "You fought back. You didn't just shield yourself, but you actively fought against the presence."

            "I also," said Kathleen, "I also--uh--thought of you, Vangie. I found that by focusing on you, I was able to calm myself, or well, to be calmed, I guess. I wasn't sure if you were helping me, but I did feel a calming presence with me."

            "As it was, I did try to help you," said Vangie, "but most of my mind was bent on guiding the boat. It wasn't only wind and wave with which I had to contend, as you know."

            "Yes," said Kathleen. "What was--is that thing? It feels so cold and dark, so empty and yet so evil!"

            "That is the power behind all this. Stephen would call it Satan or the devil. It is pure evil, more evil even than Jacques and Erica. They seek immortality. This immortal thing seeks death, the death of the soul of humanity."

            "And it wants--it wants me?"

            "It wants all of us, Kat." Vangie's voice had become very soft, and Kathleen saw tears in her eyes.

            "Vangie? What is it?"

            "It's this island," said the Conjure Woman. "It has lost its heart, it's soul. It lost it a long time ago, long before Jean Paul Desmond decided to bargain with the things of the dark. There used to be huts along the beaches down there, and the Temple of the Great Serpent was whole and undefiled. Fishermen fished and weavers plied their trade. Children were born and old men and women died peacefully here. It was not always named Maljardin. The people of the Serpent conquered this evil, or so we thought, but we were not vigilant enough, and now it is awake again, and this time, it wants to finish what it started all those years ago."

            Kathleen listened spellbound to Vangie's words, for it was clear that she was not just recounting history, but was actually remembering the life which used to teem upon this island and the people who fished in its waters, and all at once, she too thought she could see the huts and a path which led into a deep and hidden cave. Through the cave the people seemed to travel, until they entered a labyrinthine set of tunnels, and these were filled with traps and pitfalls which only the priest and priestess knew how to negotiate, and soon, she saw the temple itself, a vast and firelit space with a great altar in the centre, and on the altar the coiling form of a serpent molded from some lustrously green stone. Then she saw another thing which chilled her to the bone. Set to the side of the altar, under the serpent's head, was an ornately-carved basin, and into it blood was being poured. She gave a sudden scream and clapped her hands to her head.

            "You saw the temple," said Vangie. "You followed me that far!"

            "Followed? What?" She was fighting hard to control the impulse to vomit. "Tell me, Vangie. What did I just see?"

            "I'm not exactly certain myself," said the other woman. "I was thinking about the ancient temple, and there was blood in the sacrificial basin, but the rest was hidden from me."

            "What I saw was--was unbelievable!" Kathleen raised her face and looked directly into Vangie's eyes. "I saw the blood being poured, and it was--" She hardly knew how to continue, but Vangie's direct gaze demanded nothing less than the truth.

            "It was," she began again, "your hand that poured it, and then I saw--I saw something else."

            She stopped, remembering the sight she had seen just before she had screamed.

            "I saw my own body," she said slowly, and her voice seemed to come from a great distance. "It lay still on the altar, and it was--uh--drained. It was completely drained," and with that, her head reeled, the world's up and down seemed to change places, and she fell silently into the dark.

Chapter Twenty-three

            The moment Stephen walked into the Desmond library, he shuddered. The spectacle of the empty shelves ranged from floor to ceiling around the walls made him think of skeletons, of old piles of bones lying among broken shards of pottery and other odd refuse left by ancient humanity. Somehow, this library in its bookless state was redolent of decay and disuse; and yet, as he moved further into the room, Stephen realized that he was not its only occupant. Barrett sat in a large director's chair, papers and books littering the table in front of him and a long-forgotten cup of coffee by his hand. He was making notes on a page and seemed not to have heard Stephen's approach. He cleared his throat softly but he was surprised when even that small noise made Barrett tense all over, and when the older man raised his face to the light, it made him mortally afraid, for what he saw in it was nothing less than death itself. The dark eyes were filmed over with fatigue and the pale cheeks were hollow, the forehead was deeply furrowed and the smile that he showed to his former student in greeting was rather more of a grimace, as though he were battling with some pain or other of which Stephen had been unaware till now. Now, however, the cracks in the facade were showing, and here, he thought, was the real Robert Barrett, unmasked and unguarded.

            "Well," said Barrett, sounding as much like himself as ever, "what brings you here, and have you seen my secretary lately?"

            "I haven't seen her since last night," said Stephen, "and as for what brings me here, well, I'm bored. Nothing's happening yet, or nothing good anyway."

            "Well," said Barrett, putting down his pen and sighing, "I suppose we should find a way to keep you occupied. First, why don't you start by sitting down and explaining that last remark you made. If nothing good has been happening lately, then what has been happening?"

            Stephen took the chair across from his mentor and put his head in his hands for a moment. How was he going to explain the events of last night without revealing his own vulnerability? How was he going to be able to confide in Barrett while at the same time admitting to him that he loved the woman who had brought such happiness to his old friend for the past several years? The truth was best, he reflected, and so, raising his head to meet Barrett's haunted gaze, he began:

            "I had a dream, or I think it was a dream anyway," and he recounted the details of the dream and of his frantic visit to Vangie's room in order to find some sanity. "You see," he said in conclusion, "I love her, old man, and she loves me. There's something between us, Barrett. I don't know what it is and neither does she, or if she does, she's being secretive about it as is her way, but it was unexpected and totally out of the blue."

            "Dawson," said the professor, taking a sip of his cold coffee, "are you trying to apologize to me for something? I know that Evangeline could never love me the way that I do her. I haven't lived this long without knowing people. It's not my business to intrude into the emotional matters of my priestess unless they affect her work, but I will say this. If she had to fall in love with anyone, I'm glad it's you."

            "Glad? I'm a Catholic priest, Barrett! What am I supposed to do about this?"

            "I can't answer that for you," said Barrett. "I really can't. Still, we should think about this strange dream of yours. You say that the room you were in seemed ancient, with torches and tapestries and such?"

            "That's what it looked like," said Stephen, "but when I opened the door and went out, I was standing opposite Vangie's door, and I don't remember waking up."

            "I think you were forced to vacate your body for a time," said Barrett. "There are many documented cases of astral projection as you know, but the only difference here is that you were forced into doing it by something--something else."

            "If the dream is to be believed, that is," said Stephen, getting up and pacing through the room, his footsteps muffled by the carpet but his breathing echoing in the vast and mostly-empty space.

            "What did Vangie say about all this?"

            "Nothing," said Stephen. "She knew nothing more than I did, and now I have no idea where she or Kathleen may be. I think I'm going to go outside and look for them. Could you use a break from all this?" He indicated the seemingly disordered pile of papers on the table.

            "Well," said Barrett, "I am getting a bad case of writer's cramp, and if Vangie is shirking her secretarial duties, then I intend to show her this aching claw and to reproach her with it." He smiled again, and this time, Stephen knew beyond a doubt that he was engaged in some inner struggle, for the smile did not reach his eyes.

            "Alright then," said Stephen. "Why don't you look through the house again while I look outside."

            "I think I'll come with you, Stephen. I need some air."

            "Very well," and the two men walked out of the library and into the great hall. As they passed the portrait, Stephen saw Barrett grip his staff with whitening knuckles and he wondered if this was the source of his troubles. Indeed, as he looked at the portrait himself, he saw something strange in the painted eyes; it was as though the eyes were alive with some nameless and gnawing hunger, some dark avarice which would as soon swallow the whole world and everything in it if it could not gain the one thing which might satisfy it. Then, when he turned back to Barrett, he realized that the same hunger dwelt deep in his eyes as well, and he resolved at once to keep that hunger from wakening at all costs.

            "Are you coming, Dawson?" Barrett was standing at the great front doors.

            "Yes," said Stephen," and he followed Barrett out into the sunlit grounds.

            The two men wandered back and forth through the grounds and were surprised to see the dismantling of the scaffolding and other construction equipment even though the house was quite obviously not completed yet. Stephen was about to suggest that they attempt to climb to the high and precarious headland behind the house to see if Vangie or Kathleen might have gone to look at the view when Barrett seemed to spot something.

            "Come on," he said. "I think they're in what remains of the garden, and I think something may be wrong!"

            Stephen hurried after Barrett and was amazed at how fast he could go when he chose to, and after fighting his way between tangled branches and trailing fronds, he found Vangie sitting on a seat near to an old and no-longer-working fountain in the shape of a large serpent, and as he got nearer, he saw Kathleen slumped beside her and utterly motionless.

            "It just happened a moment ago," said Vangie as she took note of their approach. "She was--frightened by something." Stephen caught a hint of self-blame in her voice but he chose to ignore it for the moment.

            "Is there a pulse?" He asked, for Vangie had been holding Kathleen's wrist and had now let it go.

            "Yes," she said. "I think she can be moved safely."

            "Well," said Barrett, dropping his staff, "we can at least make her more comfortable," and as Vangie stood up, he and Stephen carefully moved Kathleen's unresisting body into a sleeping posture. Then the two men stood back again and watched as Vangie knelt over her, looking long and unmoving into her eyes, which, they realized, were open in a fixed but unfocused stare.

            "Come now, Kat," Vangie said softly. "We need you to come back to us. We're all here: Stephen, Professor Barrett and myself. You're safe with us. Hear me, Kathleen O'Dell!" Stephen heard the command in that last statement and he knew that she was not just speaking to Kathleen as a concerned friend. He knew that it was Vangie the priestess who was calling to Kathleen's very spirit, and if it were possible, he loved her even more in that moment than he had before.

            After some minutes, Kathleen's eyes began to move slowly, and Stephen saw the life stirring within them. However, she still lay motionless, breathing slowly and deeply.

            "Kat," he said, hopefully. "It's Stephen."

            "The serpent," said Kathleen in a strange and far-away voice. "Watch out. It hides in plain sight. It will bite!" At these words Stephen was struck dumb, because in Kathleen's eyes he saw raw hatred reflected, and her gaze as he watched it fell on Barrett who stood leaning against the serpent fountain with his serpent staff gripped firmly in his hand. Stephen looked at Kathleen again, trying to decide what kind of hatred this was, and what he saw was something cold, almost impersonal, a hatred devoid of humanity and somehow made clean because of this. This, he thought, was the sort of hatred humans were supposed to feel toward evil, and he knew in a flash that Kathleen had somehow seen what he had seen in Barrett's eyes in the great hall,: a dangerous and unpredictable hunger.

            "Stop looking at me," Barrett suddenly burst out. "Damn you! Stop looking at me!"

            "What?" Kathleen was now properly coming to, and seemed unaware of having spoken a moment before. "Where did you come from?" She addressed this question to Stephen, but it was Barrett who answered.

            "The house," he said. "We came from the house to look for you! Much good it has done us, too, because everything's mad here. We're all here in this mad place because of you!"

            "Robert," said Vangie, stepping between Barrett and Kathleen as though to shield her from him, "what is all this talk?"

            "Didn't you see how she looked at me just then?"

            "I did," said Vangie, "but I also know that she did not do it consciously, so please! Don't take on so!"

            "Well," said Stephen to Kathleen in order to break the ensuing awkward silence, "how are you feeling now? What made you faint?"

            "It was--it was a vision," she said. "Vangie and I were talking, and she was showing me how to protect myself from--from the darkness around this place, and I saw something that frightened me, and I suppose I fainted."

            "What did you see?"

            "That doesn't matter, Stephen," said Vangie quickly. "What does matter is what Kat and I have found out. You both should hear this, if, that is, you're up to having a council now, Kat." She regarded the other woman with a healer's eye, and Stephen did not need to see her approving smile to realize that Kathleen was on the mend. Her colour was returning as they talked, and after a while, she sat up and let Vangie sit beside her. Stephen and Barrett seated themselves on the stone base of the fountain and the group resolved itself into a strange and soberly-expectant silence while Vangie seemed to collect her thoughts.

            "Kathleen and I have spoken with Julia," she said finally, "and we have found out that the experience you had last night, Stephen, was not a dream or an illusion. It was horribly true, I'm afraid, and we have learned something of the reason for it."

            "I half-suspected that it wasn't a dream," put in Barrett.

            "You told him then, Stephen?"

            "I did," said Stephen, "but please! Can you tell me what you've learned?"

            "Julia," said Kathleen, "or should I say Erica, told us that Jacques Eloi des Mondes seeks to be reincarnated, and it seems that he and Erica have used both you and Julia to achieve this end. He wants a child to possess and to turn entirely to his own whims."

            "And not only his whims," said Vangie, "but the influence of the power which moves behind him in the shadows. That power is neither more nor less than Satan himself; I know that now."

            "Satan? Really, Vangie!" Barrett looked at his priestess through narrowed eyes. "Isn't Satan just something we make up to justify the evils of our most complicated nature? Don't you even believe that, Stephen?"

            "It's true," said Stephen, "that the notion of a literal devil has been less popular among Christians lately than it once was, but I've seen too much to deny it! Whatever really happened last night was something unholy and corrupting. It was evil, Barrett, and whatever you call it, it's real!"

            "We've all been touched by it now," said Vangie. "We're all bound to its fate. We have all sworn to see it driven from this place. Are we all still resolved on this?" Stephen saw her looking at Barrett for a long and terrible moment, and all at once, he knew exactly what she was seeing, for a flicker of deep concern crossed her face and she looked quickly away as though his gaze had burned her.

            "If any of you cannot bear to continue," she said now, a faint quaver in her steady voice and her eyes shifting to Kathleen for a moment, "it is no shame to admit it."

            "But what exactly are we continuing?" Stephen heard Kathleen's voice and it sounded very, very tired. "So far, we've said a few prayers and read a few cards, and the rest of the time we've talked. What about the action? When do the bell, book and candle make their appearance?"

            "She's right, you know," said Stephen. "Anyone can see that none of us will be able to last much longer like this. I'm of a mind to go in right now and find Julia and perform the exorcism on her without any further discussion."

            "I'm not convinced that exorcising Julia would accomplish our larger goal," said Vangie. "The reason that the devil walks here and has done so for so long is that the island itself has become a place of corruption and death. I do intend to save Julia, but that isn't all that I am sworn to do by my vows as Conjure Woman. We have to find a way to save the whole island, to rid it once and for all of the evil spell which has lain upon it for so long."

            "That sounds as though it's more in your line of work," said Stephen.

            "I agree," said Vangie, "but I can do nothing without a place to work from, a way to focus the power to which I have access. There is an ancient temple in the heart of the island. One entrance to it was connected to the house and is rather inaccessible now, but there is another entrance somewhere within the coral caves under the cliffs. This is the ancient temple of the Great Serpent. Your uncle, Stephen, visited it once."

            "Really? It wasn't in his journal," said Stephen.

            "No," said Vangie, "but Quito told me later that he had seen the temple. Raxl brought him there once so that they could have a secret place to talk. Alas, though, it was destroyed by Erica Desmond. Still, perhaps there is something which can be done. If we can restore the temple, then perhaps it will be the starting-point to restoring the island."

            "You talked about this last night, didn't you?" Kathleen was looking wide-eyed at Vangie. "You knew about it. You knew we would have to go to--to the temple. You discussed a journey."

            Stephen was not sure why Kathleen was so fearful, but he knew that something was terribly wrong.

            "There's no reason for you to have to go there," said Vangie soothingly, "but at the very least, I must go there, and Robert must be with me."

            "You know I'd follow you anywhere, Evangeline," said Barrett, "but I may be too old for subterranean exploration."

            "Wait," said Stephen. "I still don't know how this is going to help us or why Kat is so frightened. What did you see before you fainted, Kat?"

            "I saw the temple," said Kathleen hesitantly, "and I saw myself being sacrificed there. I saw myself dead, Stephen, and--" She cast her eyes down and almost mumbled the rest of the sentence., "it was--it was Vangie's hand which seemed to have killed me!"

            Stephen found himself growing angry. How could Kathleen accuse Vangie of doing something like that? He was about to protest his beloved's innocence when he realized that this was a vision and not reality, and was immediately apologetic and cast his eyes down in shame and chagrin.

            "I'm hoping it was not a true vision," said Vangie, "but an evil trick to throw her off balance. Still, Kat, I'm not expecting you to enter the temple bounds if you don't want to do so."

            "When would you plan to make this journey?" Barrett's question recalled everyone to the main subject of their discussion.

            "I think that tomorrow should be the day," said Vangie.

            "Alright then," said Barrett. "Perhaps Stephen and Miss O'Dell can stay in the house and look to see if Julia suspects us of anything."

            "That makes some sense," said Stephen.

            "Alright then," said Vangie. "That's settled. Above all, we have to keep the evil influences to a minimum down there, so if you two will help by keeping Julia, whether possessed or not, in the dark about all this, then so much the better. The fact is that I hardly know what will happen when we get to the temple. All I do know is that I need to stand within its walls again."

            Stephen looked at her just then and realized that she was beyond tired.

            "Well, whatever happens tomorrow," he said, "I think you, Vangie, need to sleep for today."

            "At the very least," said Vangie, a tired smile on her face, "I need to relax. I vow that until tomorrow, I will not read a card or conjure a vision or do anything to contact a spirit unless it is absolutely necessary."

            "Then what about joining me in the library?" Barrett seemed to have recovered his usual manner, but Stephen was still puzzled as to the battle he seemed to be waging within himself. It seemed to be more than just a fight with the pains of his weakening body, but he could not be certain of anything right now. Still, what he had seen when Barrett had looked at the portrait in the great hall had unnerved him, so it was with an eye to relieving Vangie of some unknown yet potential stress which made him say hastily:

            "Oh really! After all that's happened today, old man? You want to go back to those books of yours? Look. At the very least we should all eat something first."

            "It is past noon," said Kathleen. "Alright. I'll go and find something for us."

            "I'll come too," said Stephen. "Should we eat out here?"

            "The less I see of that house today," said Kathleen," the better. Is that alright with you two?" She looked from Barrett to Vangie as she spoke.

            "Yes," said Vangie. "I think the sun and fresh air will do us all some good."

            "Alright then," said Stephen. "Consider me your head waiter. Point me to the food!"

            Stephen followed Kathleen along a winding path which led through what must at one time have been a kitchen garden. He could smell the pungent scent of herbs long ago gone to seed and allowed to run rampant and to overwhelm the many stakes and trellises which had been erected in order to direct their once domesticated progress, and he found himself idly wondering what all these plants, some heavily-scented and some delicately-sweet, might be and whether the biologists at his university would have knowledge of them.

            "Do you think," he said to Kathleen as they made their way through the foliage both living and long decayed, "that Raxl used this garden?"

            "I'm sure she did," said Kathleen, "for cooking and for other things too, perhaps. I wonder what Vangie might make of the things growing here?"

            "Who knows?" Stephen found himself smiling at the thought of Vangie rooting through the leaves and bulbs to cull herbs for a tea or some other mysterious brew, and then he looked at Kathleen's face. He could have been mistaken, but it seemed that there was a flicker of fear when she mentioned the Conjure Woman's name. He decided to pass it off.

            "Barrett says that the natives here have medicines that can do things that our doctors have never even seen before," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

            "I'm sure that's true. Well," said Kathleen, "here we are at last!" As the door opened into the kitchen, Stephen felt a sudden chill envelop his whole body, and for a moment, it felt as though some dark presence was keeping him from entering. A touch on his arm made him jump, and then he realized that it was only Kathleen giving his arm a gentle tug.

"Are you alright? You're white, Stephen!"

            "I'm alright," he said, "but don't you feel the chill in here? It's a hot day, but in here it feels like--well--like a tomb."

            "Let's get the food," said Kathleen. "I've had enough dark portents for one day."

            "But wait," said Stephen. "Explain to me that vision you saw. I don't quite understand it."

            "What do you want to know?" Kathleen's back was to him as she said this, and as she prepared chicken salad sandwiches from the stores in the fridge and cabinets, Stephen sat on a chair near the door into the overgrown garden. He felt it important to be as near to an exit as possible.

            "Anything you can tell me, I guess."

            "Well," said Kathleen, "I don't quite know how I ended up having the vision. Vangie says that I--well--followed her somehow, but I don't know what she means. Anyhow, when I saw the blood and--and Vangie pouring it, and when I saw my own body lying dead and white on the floor of that--that place, I was frightened, and then I suppose I fainted."

            "But that doesn't make sense! I don't see you as being squeamish, Kat!" It was true. He thought he was a good judge of character, and in all her conduct and demeanour there was nothing to suggest that she would faint at the sight of blood.

            "No, you're right. I've lopped off the heads of chickens before," she said, turning to him with a glint of pride in her eye. "You know, now that I think of it, it wasn't fear or squeamishness. It was something else. It was as though something had--had pulled me away from the sun and warmth and Vangie's real presence into a dark place where everything was upside-down, and then it was as though I was fighting through cold water to find the air again."

            "You'd better tell this to Vangie," said Stephen, as he took the paper bag full of sandwiches which she handed him.

            "I will," said Kathleen, "but I have a hunch that she already knows something of it. There isn't much that gets past her."

            Stephen suddenly found himself thinking of Barrett and the strange inner battle he was waging, and he hoped fervently that Kathleen was right and that this too would not escape Vangie's notice.

            "Kat," he said after a pause, "do you remember when you were first coming around? You seemed to look at Barrett and to say some strange words."

            "What did I say? I'm afraid I don't recall it."

            "You said something about the serpent hiding in plain sight and that it would bite. I thought that perhaps you were just looking at the serpent fountain and dreaming of something."

            "Should there be any other cause? What aren't you telling me, Stephen?"

            "Kat, I don't know. All I know is that for a moment, you had a look in your eye as though you hated Barrett or hated some presence that you sensed. It wasn't like usual hatred though. It was--it was as though an angel wanted to do battle with a demon. An angel doesn't hate the way we do, if, of course, an angel can hate at all, that is. However, I think that an angel would have an aversion to whatever was its opposite, and that's what I saw in your eyes for an instant."

            "Well," said Kathleen, "packing another bag with bottles of lemonade and water, "I don't know about that, but I do know that this island is making us all jumpy. I really do hope that tomorrow will finally get things moving, because I don't know how much more of all this I can take! Now, let's get back to the others," and with that, she moved past him to open the door and they went together into the bright sunlight.

Chapter Twenty-four

            After the meal of sandwiches taken in the open air, Kathleen beguiled the rest of the day with working on projects related to the design of some of the as-yet-unfinished portions of the house, and she was grateful for the mundanity of such a task. Her computer was easy to understand. It required nothing more from her than simple instructions and it did as she willed. There was no mystery, no madness, no terror for her here, and yet, behind the words and images which flowed across the screen as she worked, she felt the chill of which Stephen had spoken some hours before. She knew that she could not stay cooped up here forever, and as the sun went down, a knock on her door forced her to admit this fact to her overtaxed body and mind.

            "Yes," she said in a none-too-courteous voice. "Come in." Then, all at once, she thought of who might be on the other side of the door and regretted the offhand way she had spoken. If Julia came in now, still being controlled by Erica's spirit, she would have no defense against her.

            "Are you sure I won't be disturbing you?" The voice was familiar, but it was not that of Julia. Kathleen let out a sigh of relief when she realized that it was Vangie Abbot's voice, and she got up from her desk and opened the door.

            "I hoped I would find you here," said The Conjure Woman as she entered. "We were going to have some dinner. Did you want anything?"

            "I suppose I should have more than just a sandwich," said Kathleen, "but to tell you the truth, I was happy in my state of utter oblivion to the world outside this little room."

            "I can certainly understand that feeling," said Vangie, "but none of us should be alone for long, I think. Will you come to Stephen's balcony? We thought we'd eat there again tonight."

            "Just let me shut down this computer," she said, "and I'll be with you right away."

            "What is it you're working on here?" Vangie moved closer to inspect the screen. "Ah," she said. "designs for the library! It does look a little bare now. I was in there today with Robert and I couldn't stand all those empty shelves."

            "I really thought you'd be against what I'm doing here," said Kathleen, raising her eyebrows.

            "No," said Vangie. "I cannot be against anything which will bring life and warmth into the world, and if this restoration project can be redeemed from its evil purpose, I'm quite content to have the house brought back, but now, it is being restored for purposes which are all too clear and all too evil."

            "I suppose," said Kathleen. "By the way, how is professor Barrett? He looks unwell!"

            "He is unwell, Kat," said Vangie, "and I know it's not merely his age which is causing it. Still, I don't know how to help him."

            "You could give him strength like you did to me that night in your cabin." Kathleen remembered with awe the strange and mystical light which had been on Vangie's face and hands and the thrill of electricity which had passed into her own body in that moment. "Surely that would help him."

            "Perhaps you're right," said Vangie, "but I--I don't know. Anyway, whatever I do will not be done tonight. We all have to take things easy before the journey tomorrow."

            "I hope we're permitted to do so," said Kathleen as she shut down her computer.

            "As do I," said Vangie, and she held open the door for Kathleen to exit the small office.

            The house was very silent as the two women meandered their way through passages and corridors to the wing which held the guest rooms. Though the incessant pounding of hammers and thumping and whirring of machinery had annoyed her, Kathleen now missed it as though it had been some well-loved and reassuring sound. As she pondered this feeling of loss, she realized that with the sounds of the construction gone, so had gone the last trace of the outside world, the world of real life, the world where mysterious evil did not hold sway and where she herself was a force to be reckoned with rather than a simple, scared woman.

            "I hate this place," she found herself saying as she and Vangie turned a corner.

            "I'm sorry you feel that way," said a lilting and honey-toned female voice from some way ahead, and suddenly Julia stood in the passage in front of them, though in her eyes was the same cunning look that Kathleen had learned to recognize as that of Erica Desmond.

            "My dear Kathleen," she continued, coming closer, "I wish you would tell me how I can make things better for you. I'm sure your friend here--Miss Abbott is it?--I'm sure she doesn't share your feelings. After all, this house is well known to you, is it not, dear?"

            "It is indeed well known to me," was all Vangie's reply, but Kathleen suddenly felt her hand squeezed reassuringly.

            "So then, Kathleen," Julia's voice continued in Erica's tones, "do you truly hate this place so very much? It is my home, and you are my guest--nay--friend! You should not be feeling uncomfortable here, dearest!"

            "I'm just tired, Julia," Kathleen returned.

            "Ah. Tired. And what about you, Miss Abbott? Are you tired as well? Has your day been a trying one?" Kathleen heard the mockery behind the concerned questioning and longed to extricate Vangie from the situation. However, the other woman seemed equal to the task of dealing with Erica's derision.

            "No," she said now in a hard and clear voice. "I feel strong and well, thank you, Miss Desmond."

            "Ah good. I'm very glad to hear it! Now, I really must be going. Till we meet again," and with that, Julia glided away through another corridor and Vangie let out a long sigh.

            "Erica's spirit is gaining strength, Kat," she said quietly. "I thought she was weakening this morning, but it appears that I have been much mistaken."

            Kathleen noticed a drawn look pass briefly over the other woman's features to be replaced as quickly by her habitual expression of calm repose.

            "What about Julia?" was all that she could think to ask.

            "She is still safe for the moment," Vangie said, "but we will have to make our plans and put them into action as soon as we possibly can. Come now. Let's go to dinner."

            The evening was calm as Kathleen stepped out onto Stephen's balcony. The sun was setting in a great glory of crimson fire, and not a breath of breeze passed across the sea to bring relief to what was rapidly becoming a very humid and heavy night. The sea moved sluggishly as the very sky seemed to press down upon it from above. Still, no cloud had yet appeared to darken the horizon, and the scents of the night-blooming flowers growing in lush profusion all over the island added a sweetness to the atmosphere of waiting stillness which seemed to hang over the little group as they ate and drank and spoke in hushed tones. Despite the quiet talk, however, the dinner was a jolly affair. Vangie, Kathleen noticed, was eating more than she had eaten the night before, and she even took a little wine for once. It was Professor Barrett this time who seemed to have lost his appetite, and he sat quietly and listened as the others talked lightly about themselves and each other.

            "You know, Vangie," said Stephen, "I recall you telling me that you had studied parapsychology at some point. Did you do this formally?"

            "I did indeed," said Vangie. "I attended an obscure college in New England and during my fifth year, I was fortunate to be hired as the assistant to one of my professors. His name would not be known to you now, but he was a man who prided himself on the hands-on field research that he did. He was, in short, a ghost-hunter, and once he knew about my ESP, he treated me as one of his favourite tools."

            "That doesn't sound pleasant," said Kathleen, trying hard to keep her mind on the conversation at hand and not to think about the vision of Vangie in the temple.

            "Well, at first it wasn't," said Vangie with one of her lovely smiles, "but as we worked together, he realized that I was not just a walking ghostometer and he began to think of me as a protégé. He had always felt that if he had had 'the gift,' as he called ESP, he would have become famous as a hunter and tracker of ghosts and spirits. Now that he was aging and ready soon to retire, he hoped that I would follow in his footsteps, and when I told him that I needed to return to my father, he was very disappointed."

            "What made you give all that up to come back here?" Kathleen felt that a life spent in hunting for ghosts in old houses would have been more adventurous than returning to become a waitress at a cafe on one's native island.

            "Even then," said Vangie, "my father knew that something was in the wind here on Maljardin. It was true that I protested against my return to Port French Leave for as long as I could, but despite our differences of opinion and belief, I loved my father very much and could not leave him simply to satisfy my own whims. Also, the longer I remained away from these islands, the more surely I knew that I was beginning to age. IN five years spent among the changing seasons of New England, I seemed to age ten years. Till then, I had retained the appearance of the eighteen-year-old girl I had been when I went through the ritual to extend my life."

            "About that ritual," said Barrett, suddenly coming to life, "you say that no one knows how it was performed nowadays, but you surely must remember something about it." Kathleen wanted to know about it as well. In fact, she wondered if it was this ritual that she had seen in the vision, though if it was, she didn't understand how she could have seen her own body being sacrificed.

            "It involved very deep levels of trance, Robert," said Vangie, looking at him strangely, "and I do not remember very much of it at all. I've told you this several times." Kathleen caught a hint of impatience and perhaps anger in the other woman's voice, and she also found herself wondering if Vangie was telling all the truth about how much she could remember.

            "Right," said Barrett. "Right. I just thought I'd ask."

            "Look Vangie," said Stephen, suddenly becoming serious, "would you and Kathleen take the dishes away and come back here in twenty minutes or so?"

            "Alright," said Vangie. "Let's Go, Kat."

            "No," said Kathleen. "I don't think any of us should leave right now." She didn't know why she had said this, but it was an unalterable conviction within her and she couldn't take it back.

            "Well, I at least will deal with the dishes, then," said Vangie, and before Kathleen could stop her, she began gathering things up and putting them on a tray."

            "Alright," said Kathleen. "You can't do all of this yourself. I'll come too."

            "What has you frightened, Kat?" The two women were standing in the kitchen and washing the dinner things: Kathleen with her hands in the hot and soapy water and Vangie moving back and forth with a towel, drying dishes and putting them away.

            "I don't know! I don't know! I just know that something is coming, something bad is going to happen, and then, well, then there's Barrett. There's something not right about him. it's not just that he's ill!"

            "I know, Kat. I know."

            "And now we've left Stephen alone with him!"

            "Stephen is his friend," said Vangie. "He'll be safe enough. Did you wonder why he specified twenty minutes for our time away?"

            "He wants to have it out with Barrett? He has suspicions too?"

            "Exactly," said Vangie. "The forces in this house want us to be frightened, and they will use any one of us or anything they can to accomplish that goal. If we're frightened enough, they figure that we'll turn on each other, and that's what they want above all else. It's what they wanted before, and they succeeded, or very nearly. We can't let them succeed this time, and Stephen is trying his utmost to keep Barrett with us, though I fear that he will not be successful."

            "But what's happening to him?" Kathleen finished washing her last knife and placed it next to the sink. "He keeps looking at me with a hardness in his eyes that I don't like."

            "I've seen that too," said Vangie, "but I do not think that it is exactly him. Something is trying to get control of him."

            "And what about you? Is someone trying to control you?" Kathleen couldn't stop herself from saying the words and immediately regretted them as soon as they were out. Still, now that she had asked the question, she had to continue. "What about that vision? I trust you, Vangie, but that vision was so--so--" She burst into helpless sobbing.

            "Kat," said Vangie, taking the wet cloth from her hands and pulling her into an embrace, "please believe me when I tell you that I have no idea why you had that vision. Perhaps we will find the answer, but I believe that it was meant to make you suspicious of me."

            "But you said that I had followed you somewhere. What did you mean exactly?"

            "Well," said Vangie, drawing away now that Kathleen's sobs had quieted, "I was remembering the temple, and I could feel you sharing my memories. Though I didn't see anything but the blood in the basin, and strange as it may seem in these modern times, blood in the basin was a common enough occurrence in the time of Jacques Eloi Des Mondes. It's true that most of the time it was animal blood, but it is also true that people were sometimes sacrificed to appease The Great Serpent in times of great need."

            "Look," said Kathleen. "I've read The Golden Bough, or at least parts of it. I understand how this kind of thing works, but it doesn't mean I like it or trust it."

            "I know," said Vangie, "and that's why you were given this particular vision. This dark force wants the trust built up between all of us over the past few weeks to be eroded by any means necessary, and one sure way to achieve this will be to play on our primal fears. All I can do now is tell you that I swear by my ancestors that I will do whatever it takes to see that your vision does not come true."

            Kathleen looked into Vangie's eyes and saw the gleam of tears.

            "What is it? Vangie?"

            "Nothing," said Vangie, turning away. "Nothing at all. It's time we should be getting back to the others, I think."

            Kathleen opened her mouth to say something, but no words would come out, so she helped Vangie put away the remaining dishes and the two of them went back to where the others were waiting,. At least, one other was waiting. As Kathleen stepped onto the balcony, a low peal of thunder reverberated across the otherwise quiet sky, and in a flash of lightning, she saw Stephen lying still on his back amid a litter of overturned chairs and spilled wine. He didn't move when she ran over and shook him, but after checking his pulse and laying her hand on his chest, she realized that he was only stunned and would likely come to in a while.

            "Please stay with him, Kat," said Vangie, a stern look coming into her eyes. "I've got to find Robert."

            Just then, Stephen stirred and tried to look to where Vangie was already moving away, but an apparent spasm of pain made him wince and close his eyes.

            "Wait," he said through a swollen lip. "Wait, Vangie! He's not--he's not him! Be--be careful!" He tried to stand up and follow her, but Kathleen knew well that he should stay still until his head cleared, so she made him lie down again.

            "You warned her, Stephen," she said. "She'll be careful. Now, just lie still and let me look at your head."

            "No, Kat," he said. "No! You don't understand!"

            "then help me to understand," she said. "Tell me what happened while we were gone."

            "Well," said Stephen as she examined a rising lump at the back of his head, "I wanted him to tell me what was going on with him. I wanted him to open up. He began to tell me that he had felt something dark in the corners of his mind almost ever since he had first come to these islands, but he didn't think anything of it, or tried not to. He said that he was drawn to Maljardin but that he had never set foot upon it until now, and when he heard the portrait of Jacques Eloi Des Mondes speak, he was shocked to realize that it was his voice which had followed him through waking and dreaming for the past several years."

            "Alright," said Kathleen. "Your head's not bleeding and I hope nothing worse has happened than a bad headache. So now tell me how you got this bump. I think you can try to sit up now if you want."

            "Well," said Stephen as she helped him to a sitting position and got him some brandy from a bottle which had not been damaged in the apparent scuffle, "he actually started to cry and begged me to find him a way off the island. He was afraid of hurting us if he stayed, but most of all, he was terrified of hurting Vangie. He was like a man who knew he had a monster inside him, and I think, Kat, that that's exactly what's going on."

            "But then that means," said Kathleen, almost dropping the glass that she was holding for him, "that Vangie's in danger if she finds him!"

            "I'm afraid you're right," said Stephen, "because as Barrett was begging me to help him to leave the island, suddenly it all became very still and he straightened himself up, and he--well--he changed. He looked at me as though I were nothing more than a bug beneath his boot, and though he said nothing, from him came--well--a force, a power. I stood up and made the sign of the cross, not knowing what else to do, and then I found myself flying backward, and the next thing I knew, you were shaking me and Vangie was telling me that she was going to find him."

            "And what if he finds Julia--Erica?" Kathleen was shaking all over. "What if they team up? Vangie told me that she thinks that Erica's spirit is getting stronger. We've got to find out where Vangie went!"

            Just then, as though to confirm their worst fears, a long and terrible scream rang out through the house.

            "Where do you think that came from?"

            "It sounded like the library," said Stephen, "but it's hard to know in this place." The scream came again, and this time, Kathleen caught words in Vangie's unmistakable tones amid the cries of pain.

            "Robert, please! Fight him! Remember who you are!"

            "That's it!" said Stephen. "I don't care if I have a concussion. I'm going to find them!"

            "I'm coming too," said Kathleen, "if only to keep you on your feet," and supporting Stephen, who was in truth rather shaky on his legs despite his manly determination, she went as fast as she could in the direction of the shouting.

Chapter Twenty-five

            Stephen's head was spinning, and not only due to the lump which was rapidly swelling and painfully throbbing on it; his mind was in a whirlwind of confusion as well, and as Kathleen fairly dragged him through the house in search of Barrett and The Conjure Woman, he tried to get things clear. If Barrett was really possessed by an evil force, would he kill Vangie? Could this dark thing have the power to make a mild if slightly misanthropic anthropology professor act like a deranged psychopath? All common sense would answer this in the negative, but Maljardin, he reflected, was not a place of common sense. It was a place on the very edge of reality. It seemed to sit on some imaginary border-line between rationality and insanity, and as he could more than attest, that boundary was not a fixed thing. The line had already blurred several times since his arrival, and now, it was rapidly fading away, and he feared that if either Barrett or Vangie died tonight, it would never return again.

            "Come on," Kathleen barked in her Ulster brogue. "Don't you faint on me, Father!" He realized that he had been swaying on his feet, and somewhere through the pain in his head and the pangs of fear in his heart, he heard Kathleen's voice, high and strained, and her use of his clerical title. He knew what that meant. She had reverted to her Roman Catholic upbringing and was looking to him as a priest in an hour when he felt as though he was anything but! Still, he thought, he was a priest, even in the face of the enemy, and this had to give him power against whatever was waiting for them, so he stood up a little straighter, walked a little faster and began to pray silently as they went.

            There were more cries of pain from Vangie and even some anguished sobs from Barrett which seemed torn from his deepest soul, and by these gruesome sounds he and Kathleen were led at last to the cavernous and unbook-filled library which looked, when they entered it, even more gruesome.

            "My God!" Stephen heard Kathleen's sharp intake of breath as she surveyed the destruction, and he thought that she too was praying rather than simply cursing. Tables were overturned, chairs lay shivered in pieces as though they had been used in some ill-conceived furniture-jousting match, and the glass from half a dozen display-cabinets littered the luxurious carpet,

            "Your God? Your God? Certainly not, my dear!" Barrett stood in the middle of the room, striking a jaunty pose which was totally unlike him and wearing a smile which looked more like the leer of a mad death's-head. The lines and angles of his skull could be seen through the flesh of his face, and it was only now that Stephen realized the full extent of the illness which must be ravaging his body. Yet, though he looked skeletal, he stood tall and strong, that same force that Stephen had felt so recently still emanating from him in dark, electric waves.

            "Welcome to my party, Miss O'Dell, and you too, Father Dawson! I'm glad my little parting shot did not prevent your attendance!"

            "Stephen! My God! He's standing just the way the portrait is posed!" Now it was his turn to steady Kathleen when her legs began to buckle.

            "You're very observant, Miss O'Dell! No wonder my female descendant has kept you by her side for so long! Come in a little farther, please! Sit down if you like! You both look as though you could use a rest."

            Stephen and Kathleen stepped carefully through the debris to where the spirit of Jacques Eloi Des Mondes made Barrett's hand gesture. Here, two chairs were placed with their backs to the library door, and when they peered around their high and heavily-carven backs, the scene that lay before them made them clutch each other frantically for support. Vangie lay on her back just as Stephen had seen her in her cabin on the main island, her face contorted in a rictus of what looked like excruciating pain. Still, she seemed not to be in a trance. Her eyes were able to focus, though with a great effort, and Stephen knew that she saw him as he took the seat which he now understood had been appointed for him. Kathleen tried to go to Vangie, but she was prevented by some exertion of Jacques's will, and Stephen soon found her sitting beside him, just as though the two of them were about to watch the latest Broadway sensation, if, that is, that sensation was going to be the sight of a man covered in honey being bitten by thousands and thousands of fire-ants. Kathleen looked at Vangie with deep sorrow in her eyes, and Stephen swore that he heard the other woman whisper something encouraging, though he could not catch the words. Jacques, however, evidently did, for as he came around to take his place near Vangie, he said:

            "That's right, Conjure Woman, keep up your spirits! Do what you can while you can, for it won't be long now. You've stood in my way for far too many years, you and your father before you!"

            "You can't make him do it, Jacques," said Vangie through clenched teeth. "If you could, it would be done by now."

            "She's right, Old Man," said Stephen, suddenly wanting Barrett to emerge with every fibre of his being. "You've been through too much with her! Don't let him make you do anything!"

            "Are you really a priest, Dawson? Surely not! Your vow of celibacy has been broken! What good are you now?" This taunting was making Stephen angry.

            "Shut up," he found himself saying. "Just shut up!"

            "We can't engage him," said Kathleen in a whisper. "Remember?"

            She was right, Stephen knew, but all he wanted to do was to engage him. He wanted to punch his lights out for using his body and now Barrett's, but then he reflected that if he did punch Jacques, he would only be inflicting more pain on an already overburdened body. No, all he could do was try to get to Barrett the way Vangie had done.

            "Resist, Stephen," Vangie now said in a clear voice. "Resist, no matter what happens!" and as though in answer, some new torture was put upon her, so that she screamed again and Stephen saw a terrible spasm not unlike that which had gripped Bill Temple before he died. He felt the goose-flesh begin to creep up his arms and across his back, and he knew that it was not simply the sound of Vangie's screaming which had caused it, for suddenly he knew that he was being confronted by the same dark and chilling presence which had seemed to challenge him at Bill's bedside. What could he do? It was Vangie who had helped him to stand against it the last time, but she was clearly beyond helping him now. He tried to move to make the sign of the cross, but his arm seemed pinned where it was, his hand folded together with the other in his lap.

            "Ah," said Jacques in Barrett's voice, " you're unable to move? Very good! I can kill you just as my lovely bride killed your--your uncle, is it? Yes. Poor old Uncle Matt! So sad about his sudden demise!"

            Stephen tried to speak, but he felt an impossibly large lump in his throat which prevented him, but there was a sudden voice which said what he had been longing to say.

            "Be damned, Jacques Eloi Des Mondes! Be damned to the hell you created for yourself all those years ago!" The voice was strong and assured and had a very pronounced Northern Irish lilt, and suddenly, Kathleen was on her feet and confronting the grinning menace before her, all her former fear and weakness seemingly forgotten.

            "This is an interesting turn of events, Miss O'Dell," purred the demon. "Tell me how you've managed it?"

            "I will speak," she said in a voice like ice, "but not to you. I speak instead to Robert James Barrett! All is not lost, Robert! Come now and fight this darkness! We are all here with you, and we'll help you if you let us."

            "What stirring words, Miss O'Dell! Thank you for your rousing speech, now kindly sit down, if you please," and the creature tried to force her down by another strange exertion of his will, but nothing would make her acquiesce.

            "Robert James Barrett," she said again, "come back! Your priestess needs you!" and those words roused something in Stephen, for he found that he too was now able to stand, and he came to stand beside Kathleen and instinctively reached for her hand, which she gave him willingly.

            "Barrett," he said, fighting the lump in his throat. "The old words are the true words. Remember?" He himself was remembering Vangie in the depths of ritual saying that very phrase, and he now quoted the rest of her prophecy, while Kathleen squeezed his hand reassuringly.

            "The mild zephyr shall conquer the mist, and the cooling wind draw heat; bright light disperse the sirocco, quickening fire burn out the darkness, and clear water blow away the vapours. Remember, Barrett! For God's sake, remember, and come back! I adjure you by the living God, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit," and now he made the sign of the cross directly in the crazily-grinning face, and he felt a strange force coming from his own hand, and Robert Barrett, all traces of the thing which possessed him gone, crumpled in a heap to the carpet at the feet of the two who were confronting him.

            "Help him, Stephen," Kathleen said. "I'll tend to the Conjure Woman myself." Stephen knew better than to argue this plan with the Kathleen who had just been revealed to him, so even though all he wanted to do was to take Vangie in his arms and comfort her, he turned instead to his mentor and helped the sobbing man to his feet.

            "Let's go," he told him quietly. "I'll get you a drink and then we'll go to bed."

            "Is she--is she alright?"

            "Don't fear for me, Robert," said Vangie in a weak but determined voice. "I'll be fine. Go with Stephen, and I'll see you soon."

            Stephen took Barrett's arm and propelled him toward the door, but as they left, he could not help noticing a brief look of anguish pass over the older man's face as he looked back at Vangie, still lying on the floor with Kathleen kneeling by her side.

            "Well," said Stephen as the two men sat on the terrace outside his room again, Barrett with a drink in his hand, "what do you remember?"

            "Everything, Dawson," said Barrett, his voice taut with fatigue and disgust, "everything! It was as you said about your dream or whatever it was. I was just shoved aside in favour of that monstrous thing, and there wasn't a bloody thing I could do to stop it! What if I'd killed Evangeline? What if I'd killed you? How can any of you trust me again?"

            "First," said Stephen, "it's not a question of trust. I think you did all you could to fight against that--that thing, and the fact is that you didn't kill Vangie, so there's no point thinking about it anymore."

            "But I hurt her, Dawson! He made me hurt her and I couldn't stop him!"

            "Do you think she holds that against you, Barrett? Do you really?"

            "She could, you know. This has been going on for weeks, months even, and I--I never told her."

            "Well? What of that?" Stephen was puzzled. he would have kept something like this from someone he loved, even if that someone was Vangie herself, he thought.

            "You just don't understand," Barrett continued, reaching beneath his shirt and withdrawing something which hung suspended from his neck by a leather thong. "Look at this!" and slipping the thong over his head, he handed it to Stephen.

            "This is magnificent!" Stephen was looking at a pendant in the shape of a coiled serpent which looked to be wrought of fine gold and had tiny rubies for eyes and what looked like a pair of wings jutting out from behind its head. Indeed, as Stephen turned it in his hand, he realized that it bore a strong resemblance to the serpentine fountain down in the garden.

            "Surely you know what this is," said Barrett.

            "Well," said Stephen, "I suppose that it's an emblem of the serpent priesthood."

            "That's putting it with an anthropologist's usual sense of understatement!" Barrett rose to his feet in his agitation, assumed one of his trademark lecturing poses and continued speaking. "The thing which you're holding in your hand is one of the last surviving and continuously used symbols of a faith which dates back at least hundreds of years before Christianity and perhaps longer. It may even have links to the Minoan serpent faith of Crete! It's not something to simply be dismissed as a mere emblem! It means something! The only other person to bear this emblem is Evangeline, and it was Evangeline who deemed me worthy to share the office of which that pendant is a sacred and secret sign!"

            "Should you have shown this thing to me?" Stephen was alarmed. He did not want to intrude upon the mysteries of this faith too far, but he kept being drawn into them at every turn.

            "That doesn't matter now," said Barrett. "I have the authority to name my successor, and it is only him to whom I may relinquish the pendant. It's yours now, Stephen. Evangeline will need a priest, and I have shown myself unworthy of her trust. You see, I should have told her when I first felt the presence hovering around the edges of my mind. We could have stopped it together. Maybe none of this would have happened if I had told her."

            "Look," said Stephen. "We're going a bit too fast here! How can you just give all this up?"

            "Because I'm too old, Stephen. I don't have Evangeline's gift of youth, and this latest incident has damaged something fundamental inside me. I can feel it both in my mind and in my body. If the presence comes again, I won't be able to stop it. I can't be a priest anymore, and I won't put you all in danger again."

            "But what will getting rid of this thing achieve?"

            "Nothing, exactly," said Barrett, sitting down and rummaging in the breast pocket of his shirt, but this will rid you of my vulnerabilities so you can accomplish your goal," and Stephen now saw that he held a small pouch in his hand, and from it, he now poured a bunch of dried herbs into his brandy glass, and before Stephen could question him further, he downed the glass's contents in one swallow and then leaned back, a look of grim satisfaction on his face.

            "Barrett, what was in that pouch?" Stephen absently put the pendant into his pants' pocket and moved to his former professor's side.

            "Get your oil, Father Stephen," was all Barrett's reply, "before it's too late."

            "But surely there's some way to stop this! Vangie must know--"

            "It was Evangeline who gave me this poison, Dawson. She gave it to me as a last resort if the pain of the Cancer I've been fighting got too bad. Did you wonder why I made you wait so long when you first came down here before I took you to see the Conjure Woman? The truth was that I was recovering at that time from what the doctors call treatment, which amounts to nothing more than a general chemical assault on the body in order to kill a few specific rogue cells. The day I came to take you to see Evangeline, I told her that they felt that there would be no point in continuing the chemo any further, and she never said a word, but only held my hand while I raged, fed me tea, and then presented me with that pouch of herbs and explained their use. She assured me that once I took them, there would be no way of turning back. So, I say again, go and get your oil and ask your questions. I'll answer them."

            Stephen felt very odd, both admiring what Barrett was doing and despising him for proving that he was, after all, simply human, but he knew what he had to do, so he went into his room and quickly dawned his cassock and returned to Barrett with the necessary equipment.

            "Robert James Barrett," he said softly, "are you sorry for having offended God by all the sins of your past life?"

            "Yes," Barrett said, "I am."

            "Then I anoint you in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit," said Stephen, tracing the sign of the cross in oil on Barrett's forehead, eyes, lips and chest. Barrett crossed himself in return, and then he got Stephen to help him into his own room where he lay down and closed his eyes.

            Stephen had no way of knowing how long it would take for the poison to take effect, and pretty soon, Barrett was past enquiry, lying very still, his breath slow and shallow and his face now bearing no trace of the physical and spiritual struggles which had haunted it for so long. So he simply sat by the bed, alternately praying the rosary and fingering the strange pendant which Barrett had given him, and wishing fervently that he was not alone.

Chapter Twenty-six

            As soon as Stephen and Barrett left the library, Kathleen felt all the strength draining from her. Indeed, from the moment she had walked into the room, something had been different. She had known a sense of urgency which she had never felt before, and during the time when Jacques was taunting both Stephen and herself and torturing the Conjure Woman, she had felt herself by turns growing more and more afraid and more and more angry. However, in the end, the anger had won out, and then something had happened, something had expanded within her and had filled her with indignation, and she had heard herself saying strange words and felt a strength flowing through her that was similar to the sensation she had felt in Vangie's cabin when the Conjure Woman had imparted some of her power to her. Now, however, as she knelt beside Vangie and felt her pulse, she suddenly felt like the same frightened woman she had been all along.

            "Kat," said Vangie weakly, "are you alright?"

            "Well, I have a raging headache," she said, "but I should be asking you that question, shouldn't I?"

            "Don't worry," said Vangie, moving slowly to sit up. "The things that were done to me can have no lasting effects. He paralyzed me, it is true, and if you had not been here, I don't think he would have been stopped."

            "What? Me?"

            "Yes, Kat. Didn't you know? You were able to find my mind in the darkness, and when you did, I was able to lend you some reserves of strength."

            "So you made me do what I did?"

            "No, Kat," said Vangie, looking at her straight and steadily. "All I did was lend you some strength. It was you that used it, both to challenge Jacques and to help to clear Stephen's mind. It is apparent to me now that you definitely have a very special gift, though I would almost wish you not to learn more about it. These things can be at best mixed blessings and at worst dreadful curses. Still, if you do not learn more about this gift, it will be a vulnerability for you in this place."

            "Well," said Kathleen after a pause, "all I know is that I got angry, and then everything went--well--strange. I heard myself speaking, but it was as though I was literally beside myself. Something--well--bigger than me was in charge, but I knew that I hadn't been taken over in the way that Barrett was or--well--like Julia."

            "Yes," said Vangie. "I think that you were a conduit for the power I lent you, and you had the ability to use what came to you, to direct it."

            "Is that what you do? Are you a--a conduit?" Kathleen found all this a little overwhelming, but her insatiable curiosity led her on.

            "At the best of times," said the Conjure Woman gravely, "I am a conduit, but it seems to be my lot in life to put myself at the mercy of great powers, to be used by them rather than to use them myself. Kat, my friend, I live in a world between what the five senses can perceive and what exists unseen in and around us. I am constantly in touch with pulses and vibrations, with forces and feelings which are very difficult to describe and even more difficult to shut out or to ignore. I have learned much since the terrible mistakes I made the last time I was in this house, and I can do what you did tonight, but only after years of training and a very strong dose of already-existing ESP. Tell me, until all this began, had you ever experienced anything like psychic ability or mental telepathy?"

            "No, but my Grandmother used to have--well--fits was what we called them. She'd sometimes be in a kind of trance like the one I found you in that night at the hotel on the main island. She used to say that the spirits from the other world were abroad when that happened. I always thought she was a little batty or that she had some kind of seizure disorder or, but now, well, I'm not so sure."

            "There are what are called places of power in the world," Vangie said musingly, "places where the earth's energy runs straight and true without a lot of human nonsense to get in its way. Ireland is certainly such a place, and if your Grandmother was a sensitive, then perhaps Ireland's particular brand of myth and mysticism called to her in a special way. You may have inherited that sensitivity from her, only it never had a chance to be awakened until now; for Maljardin is also a place of power, and power which is, to state what is painfully obvious to us all, very stirred up just now." Kathleen tensed as she saw a wincing look cross Vangie's features.

            "Really," she said now, "it's late. Shouldn't you be getting to bed?"

            "Yes, I suppose that would be the the right thing to do. Help me to my feet, would you?"

            Kathleen took Vangie's offered hand and let her pull herself up, but as she stood, swaying for a moment while she got her balance, Vangie suddenly let out a piercing cry.

            "No! No! Not now!" and Kathleen felt her hand caught in a grip like that of a drowning swimmer, and then Vangie began to run, heedless of the broken glass or of her companion's presence.

            "What? What is it?" Kathleen was trying desperately to loose Vangie's hold on her, but it was clear that the other woman was struggling with something beyond fear. Her face was pale and her eyes looked crazed and unfocused, and no matter how many questions Kathleen asked, no answers were forthcoming.

            Suddenly, at the junction of several different passages, Vangie stopped and tried to collect herself.

            "I'm sorry, Kat," she said. "but something terrible has happened. I think--I think that Robert may be dying, or perhaps even dead. I'm going to him. If you wish you may come, but I should not force you to do so. Again, I'm very sorry."

            "Vangie," said Kathleen, who knew better by now than to doubt these strange and sudden pronouncements, "I can't leave you to do this on your own! What kind of a person would I be if I did that? Come on!"

            "Just a moment, Kat. I want to say something before we go. I told you before that I haven't made many friends in my life, but I know a true friend when I meet one. Thank you for being a true friend!"

            "Vangie, I don't know what to--"

            "Ah! Have I stumbled upon a tender moment?" Kathleen jumped as she felt a hand on her shoulder and turning, saw Julia's form standing behind her, an unpleasant gleam in her eye.

            "It's nothing," she said, "really. Just let us go on our way."

            "Oh, in a moment," she said. "In a moment. I see that Miss Abbott is a little the worse for wear. Have we had a shock, dear?"

            "Please, Julia," said Kathleen, "let us pass!"

            "Yes, Julia," said Vangie quietly but firmly, "please let us pass!"

            "No," said Julia, her voice suddenly changed. "Kat, tell me what's happened! Your friend is clearly frightened. Did--did I--she--that thing do something?"

            "No, Julia," said Kathleen, and she was about to go on and tell her the whole story, but Vangie clamped a strong hand over her mouth.

            "Hush," she whispered. "That is Julia, it's true, but Erica may be allowing her to come out in order to get the truth from you."

            "Your friend is very cunning, Kathleen!" said Julia, Erica's cunningness returning to her voice and her eye. " You should listen to her, but be careful! She may not be all that she seems! Goodnight to you both!"

            "Goodnight, Miss Desmond," said Vangie. "We'll meet again soon," and Kathleen thought there was an encouraging tone in those words for Julia, who had once again been subsumed by the hateful presence of Erica or, she reminded herself, whatever stood behind Erica in the shadows, brooding over this entire island and poisoning all who set foot on it. It was, she thought, malice incarnate. It truly was the devil! After all, Erica Desmond was a poisoned soul herself. She had once been a lively and happy woman with her whole life ahead of her, and now, only faint and twisted traces of that woman remained. Would Julia end up the same way? Would any of them get out of this house alive? Looking at Vangie's barely-controlled terror and at Erica's assured stride as she made Julia's body walk away, she found herself despairing, and it was with grim resolve that she took Vangie's hand and turned to walk down the passage which led to Barrett's room.

            The door stood ajar, and as they approached it, they saw Vangie's worst fears realized. There, in a chair by the bed, sat Stephen in his cassock and fingering a rosary, while on the bed itself lay Professor Robert Barrett, his eyes closed and his chest barely moving. Immediately, Vangie went to his side to assess the situation, while Kathleen shook Stephen, who had actually fallen asleep over his beads.

            "My God!" she said quietly. "What on earth happened here?" Then she saw some drops of oil sprinkled upon Barrett's forehead, and she knew what Stephen had done.

            "You gave him the Last Rites," she said. "Didn't you try to save him?"

            "I--I couldn't save him, Kat," said Stephen. "He said there was no antidote."

            "Antidote? What?"

            "He--he took something. I couldn't stop him! I swear I couldn't! Oh God! God, I'm sorry!" and suddenly, Stephen broke down and sobbed, his head in his hands.

            Kathleen stood behind him, frozen between sisterly affection and something which she could not name. This man had been through hell and back tonight, and now here he was, sitting beside his mentor as he lay dying of a self-inflicted poisoning, while she and Vangie had been busy discussing psychic abilities and conversing with a possessed woman.

            "Stephen," she said, "I'm sure that none of this is your fault. Come on, we should go."

            "No," he said fiercely. "He wanted me here. He said I should--that Vangie and I should--be here when he died. I just--I just need a drink," he said, and Kathleen, given a mission at last, hurried to get him a glass of brandy.

            When she returned, Stephen had composed himself enough to take the glass from her, downing its contents in a few swigs.

            "Thanks, Kat," he said, giving her shoulder a friendly squeeze. "Thanks a lot," and she watched as he turned his attention to Vangie and Barrett, though she noticed that his eyes were really only for the Conjure Woman, who was apparently doing her ritual office. She had taken Barrett's hand in hers and was blessing him with her other hand while whispering something. She caught the word 'peace' amid the muttered syllables, and suddenly she knew that her presence was no longer required or even wanted, because she saw Stephen gazing at Vangie in an utterly unmistakable way. He was smitten with her. Kathleen understood that now beyond any doubt, and as Vangie turned from the dying Voodoo priest to look at the living Christian one, Kathleen knew that there was a reciprocal feeling in her and that there was something between them which she could never have with Stephen, or indeed with Vangie. She and the Conjure Woman might have a bond of trust and even friendship, and she and Stephen might be able to laugh and joke and count on each other in a pinch, but here was a communion which was emotional and spiritual, something secret and sacred in which she could not join; but then why not? After all, not only did they share some inexplicable bond, but now they were watching together as their mutual friend, a mentor to one and a partner to the other, lay losing his life. This of all moments, she reflected, was not for outsiders, and she, though she loved both of them and respected Barrett,  was an outsider here. Besides, it was time something was done for Julia, and Julia was her friend, so it was up to her to help her, whatever Stephen and Vangie had planned. Quietly, so as not to disturb them, she picked up Stephen's empty glass, turned on her heel and slipped quickly from the room.

Chapter Twenty-seven

            When Stephen felt the hand on his shoulder, he expected it to be Vangie who stood beside him. He had been dreaming of her again, even amid all his worry and grief for Barrett, and he thought that the touch he now felt was still a part of that dream. However, as soon as he opened his eyes, he remembered where he was, and though Vangie was now here, standing at the other side of the bed across from him, he knew that her first duty was to her priest who now lay dying. He looked at her as she appraised the situation and took Barrett's limp hand, and though Kathleen was beside him and asking him questions, it was to Vangie he was speaking when he answered them. He wanted to assure her that he had tried to stop Barrett from doing this, but he found himself overcome with self-reproach. Somehow, he thought, he was responsible for all of this. If he hadn't come down here, if he hadn't answered Barrett's summons, he decided, then none of this would have happened. He began sobbing in spite of himself, but Kathleen was there, steady and strong as ever, and he let her console him and then asked her to get him a drink. What he really wanted now was something steadying, and he knew that if she touched him, he would be beyond the ability to support Vangie and to fulfill Barrett's dying wish that they both attend him. He had managed The Last Rites, but now, without the familiarity of form and ritual to comfort him, he was only a man watching another man die, and the fear of the cave was on him again. Death was the last mystery in life, and it was instinctive, he knew, for humans to fear it, but he needed to rise above that fear, and the only way he could think of to accomplish this goal was with the help of some liquid courage.

            As Kathleen left, he looked again at Vangie, herself enveloped in the armour of her office, and yet he knew that inside, her heart was breaking. She must know, he thought, why Barrett had done this, and as he saw her begin to recite a whispered invocation or blessing of some kind, he felt bitter resentment that she would not be able to speak with him before his death. Although, he realized, perhaps she was able to speak with the dying man on some other level. Still, he knew that he would have to explain the sequence of events to her, and he found this a very daunting task. He suddenly wondered if she had found it just as daunting to tell her own story to him, even going so far as to admit that she had made mistakes. Well, he decided, if she could do it, then so could he, and with that, his sobbing ceased and he became a little more peaceful, so that by the time Kathleen returned with the glass of brandy, he was able to take it from her and to thank her sincerely for her help.

            The drink went down smoothly and he felt his strength returning to him. Finally, he felt equal to the task of sitting a death vigil, or as equal to it as anyone could ever feel, he thought, and he turned his eyes to the Conjure Woman again. He watched her for some time, and he was about to turn to Kathleen to ask her how things had gone in the library, but when he looked to where she had been standing, he realized that she was gone.

            "She left a little while ago," Vangie said in a dead tone. "I'm sure she just needed some sleep."

            "Are you--are you finished, then?" He was unsure of what to say or whether he should even speak at a time like this. He could still see Barrett's chest moving and hear his breathing now coming in laboured gasps, so he knew that the end would not be long.

            "There's nothing more to do," said Vangie, now coming to stand where Kathleen had been, "until all is finished."

            "Here," said Stephen, getting to his feet, "take the chair. I've been sitting for long enough." He took her hand and guided her to the chair, but she pulled her hand away as soon as she was seated.

            "Please, Stephen," she said. "If you touch me now, I'll go to pieces. Please let me maintain what little composure I have left. This moment is very important, and I have to be--available to Robert if he requires my guidance."

            "What? Guidance?"

            "A part of my office is to act as what you would no doubt refer to as a psychopomp, a guider of souls across the barrier between life and death. Usually I only observe, because souls generally know what to do, but there are times when I must be available to meet them and to show them the way beyond this life."

            "Oh God! It's all so--so different! How can he have--have--" His voice trailed off into silence, and then he remembered the serpent pendant in his pocket.

            "He gave me this, though God alone knows why," he finally said, withdrawing it and placing it in her hand. "I can't be his successor! I just performed a ritual designed to reconcile his soul to God, and now you're performing your own ritual and preparing to guide his soul across some barrier? Are you talking about long dark tunnels and bright lights?"

            "I promise that I'll tell you about all this at another time, but for now, take back the pendant. He gave it to you; it was his right to do so. Let's just be silent for now and wait till the end. Alright?"

            Stephen realized that she was correct, and when he saw her take Barrett's hand, he decided to go around to his other side and to do likewise. She gave him a strained but approving smile when he did this, and he knelt where he was and began to pray again, saying only three words to himself over and over: "Dona nobis pacem! Grant us peace!" Then, after about five minutes, there was a deep rasping in Barrett's throat, and suddenly, everything was still.

            "Go well, Robert," said Vangie quietly.

            "Rest in peace, Professor," said Stephen at the same time. "You're free now. No one can touch you!"

            "We'll make sure of that," said Vangie, meeting his gaze with her tired but determined eyes. "First, we must wash his body. Please bring the pitcher from your room, Stephen. I'll use the one here to begin with."

            Stephen returned soon with the water and found Vangie already hard at work, and he marveled when he saw Barrett's body unclothed, for it was marked from head to toe by tattoos and other tribal art.

            "He really was well-traveled," he said, "and this is the proof!"

            "He told me many stories," said Vangie. "Please take the pitcher over there and do as I'm doing."

            Stephen went to where she indicated and followed her movements. He watched her dip her cloth and wring it out, and he did the same, but he had to fight a knot in his stomach in order to touch the body, even with the wet cloth between his hand and the dead flesh. He hated himself for this, and it was this hatred which hardened his resolve. He was here to do a job and to fulfill his mentor's dying wish, and he was going to do it, no matter what primal fears took hold of him.

            "Well," he said when every inch of Barrett's body had been washed, "what do we do now?"

            "Bring me a sheet," said Vangie, "and Stephen went to the closet where some extra sheets and blankets were kept.

            "We'll bury him at dawn," said Vangie. "It's too dark to risk it now, but we'll wrap him in this sheet and leave him here till then."

            "Leave him here? Just--well--leave him? Shouldn't we get him back to the main island?"

            "I think you know that the journey would be impossible. We won't be permitted to leave until we finish our task, and besides, there is an ancient burial ground of our people here. It is where Quito was taking me when I pretended to be dead. For now, I need some air, and so does this room. Shall we go?"

            "Alright," said Stephen, "if that's what you want," and Vangie, having rapped the sheet expertly around Barrett's body, opened the French windows and allowed the night-scented breeze to flow in.

            Barrett's balcony overlooked the garden and the overgrown interior of the island. The night had turned clear, and though it was still balmy, the air was no longer oppressive. Vangie and Stephen found two wicker chairs and collapsed into them, sitting silently for a long time and just staring at the star-dappled sky.

            "So," said Vangie at length, "can you tell me what exactly happened? Why did he do it?"

            "He thought he had betrayed you," said Stephen. "He said that he had felt that presence trying to get to him for a long time, but he hadn't told you in order to protect you. He had thought he was doing the right thing, but he realized now that he had betrayed you by not telling you, and he was afraid of hurting you or killing you if he were attacked again. He said he felt weak and then he gave me the pendant and told me--he told me that he wanted me to take his place as your--as your priest! It was only after he took the herbs that he told me what they were. I would have stopped him if I could, Vangie!"

            "I know," she said, taking his hand in hers. "I know. He engineered this situation so you couldn't stop him. I don't blame you, Stephen, but I do need your help. I will need you to take his place, but only you can choose what is right for you to do."

            "But I know nothing about your beliefs except a few drum-beats! I'm trying to be a priest in my own right, but I seem to be failing miserably so far. How could I be of any help to you?"

            "You haven't truly been tried yet," said Vangie. "You are strong, Stephen, and your vocation is to be a priest. I have to tell you something about Robert. He was a sincere man, and he learned a lot from all the societies he lived with, but he never truly believed in the rituals, or not as their true practitioners believed in them. He may have gone farther than many anthropologists did, but he never really stopped being one, not even here, though I think that here, he came as close as he ever would to believing."

            "But he was initiated into so many faiths! Surely he had to have some belief in what he was doing!"

            "He tried, Stephen. He really tried, but he found it hard to see beyond the reasons he found for the rituals he experienced. He never told this to me, you understand. I simply knew it after I had been with him for some time."

            "Do you regret initiating him?"

            "No. He was of great help to me. It was just that whenever he came up against a bit of true spiritual reality, he tended to hide from it rather than confronting it. He was an anthropologist first, Stephen, but you, I think, were a priest before you became an anthropologist."

            "I always had a sense for evil, I suppose," he said, "but I was ordained a priest after I had got my bachelor's degree in Anthropology."

            "A true priest or priestess needs ordination or initiation only to give him or her the authority to practice, but he or she is born for it. It took me a very long time to discover that my father was right when he felt that I had been born for it, and I can now see what he must have seen in me, because it is in you."

            "Well," said Stephen after a pause, "I suppose you're right, and I suppose that I have to do this in honour of Barrett, so, alright," and without another word, he slipped the pendant on its thong over his head and tucked it beneath his cassock and shirt.

            "Good," said Vangie, "and now I think we should both try and sleep for a few hours."

            "Alright," said Stephen, "but will you come to my room?"

            "I will," said Vangie, and together they walked through Barrett's room and shut the door, and as soon as they came to Stephen's room, he pulled her inside, shut the door, and began to remove his clothes. She stood silently while he did this, and then, when he was naked, she came to him and kissed him long and deeply.

            "I know what you want," she said, "and I'm ready to give it. Indeed, it is the appropriate way for us to pledge our union as priest and priestess. However, I have to know that you won't regret this later."

            "I was raped last night, Vangie," he said, anger momentarily blurring his vision. "I was raped both physically and spiritually. I want to forget that. I want to forget the darkness for a while! Barrett's dead but I'm not, and I'm sick of keeping a meaningless vow which simply doesn't make sense down here, and also, and most importantly, I love you and want you!"

            "You know how I feel already," she said. "I just do not want to take advantage of you!"

            "You won't, Vangie. You can't! now please!"

            Vangie didn't reply but let her clothes fall to the floor around her and suddenly, he was looking at what he had longed to see for what felt like an age and more, and now they were together, moving toward the bed and locked in each other's arms, and soon, he had what he wanted. He had her and was inside of her, and strangely, she was also inside of him. While he was spending his sexual energy on her, he felt her mind touching his in an intimacy that he never would have guessed was possible, and while he was forging a physical bond between them, he knew that she was working to strengthen the spiritual union that he already knew to exist. He couldn't believe that he had once accused her of murdering his uncle. He now regretted every harsh word he had ever said to her, but soon, all his regrets were swallowed up in a rush of pure release, and he felt his body give way and hers respond in kind, and then they lay, spent and breathless, still entwined in body and in soul.

            "This was meant for us, Stephen. Never forget it, whatever happens!"

            "I won't, Evangeline," he said, whispering her full name for the first time and savouring its sound. "I won't!" and almost immediately, he fell asleep as her hands caressed him with a tenderness he had never known in his life.

Chapter Twenty-eight

            The house was very quiet as Kathleen walked through its corridors; though she had noticed the absence of the workmen during the day, it was only now, when the dark of night had crept in, that she realized just how much the flood-lights and machinery had become a part of life here on Maljardin. She suddenly thought that this silence and darkness must have been the true state of things in this house ever since it had been built. The weight of the massive outer walls pressed in upon her, and though there were lights spaced at intervals in the more finished parts of the structure, she found that their beams did not penetrate into every corner or niche, so that she encountered shadows at every turn and found herself longing for the return of the pounding and drilling, if only for the universal illumination that the work-lights provided by shining in at every chink and keyhole.

            As she walked, she mused. What could she do to help Julia? She knew that her friend was possessed by a spirit. Too much had already happened for her to doubt this idea, but she herself was not equipped to deal with spirits, or perhaps the self she had been was not so equipped, for the fact was that now she had become someone different. Ever since that night in Vangie's cabin when the Conjure Woman had given her some of her own reserves of strength as a kind of protection, Kathleen had felt in touch with more than what her five senses could perceive. So, what did this mean? Could she not go to Julia and force Erica's spirit to leave her body? Vangie kept advising against this confrontation, but Stephen had come prepared to do an exorcism. Still, it seemed as though Vangie was calling the shots, but Vangie, she thought, wasn't Julia's friend. How could she truly know what was best for her, or how could she know better than Kathleen? Besides, Vangie and Stephen were busy dealing with the apparent suicide of Professor Barrett. She could not abide the sight of death. She wanted to bring life back to this house.

            So, she thought as she descended the grand staircase into the great hall, what could she do? Vangie had talked about places of power when they were in the library. She had said that Maljardin was a place of power, and as Kathleen stood in the great hall, she felt her eyes drawn to the portrait of Jacques Eloi Des Mondes, and it was as though she heard his voice in her mind continuing her thoughts. Or was it only in her mind?

            "You seek power, do you, Miss O'Dell? Well, what do you think is the source of the power here on Maljardin?"

            "I suppose you would say it was you," she found herself saying, as though she was addressing a living man rather than paint on a canvas.

            "No no, even I know that I am merely a servant, and what I serve is not, strictly speaking, native to this earth. Come now! Put those Cambridge-educated brains of yours to better use and think!"

            "The temple," she said. "The temple of the Serpent! Vangie told me about it!"

            "Did you know that there is a door to that temple in this house? Just go to the crypt and look for it. I'm sure you'll find it if you look."

            Kathleen couldn't help noticing that the voice--if it truly was a voice and not her own imagination running away with her--was choosing its words very carefully.

            "I don't think you know where this door really is," she said.

            "Perhaps I do and perhaps I don't, but someone in this house definitely does. I suggest you go back to the library and look at the venerable professor's papers."

            "And why should I do anything that you suggest?"

            "Do as you please," said the voice, "but if you want to save your friend, you're going to need access to some very special power indeed. Remember, I don't play fair!" and a peel of mocking laughter rang through her mind, and for a moment, she found her eyes locked with the eyes of the portrait and she stood, rigid as a poker, while a montage of visions came thick and fast and the darkness threatened to envelop her again.

            She saw Julia and herself as young girls at Cambridge. They were at an annual formal dance, and she saw Julia in the arms of a dashing young man, but his face was hidden from her view. However, during a vigourous twirl in their dancing, the face came clearly into focus amid the crowd, and she saw that it was the face in the portrait. Just as the horror of this was washing over her, this vision was replaced by another. Here, Julia was not present, but she saw herself, dressed in some sort of servant's uniform, bringing a tray to a woman lying in a luxurious bed. She had finely-chiseled features and her skin was the colour of rich mahogany, and she graciously took the tray from the servant-girl's hands and thanked her kindly. It was only after this vision had faded to be replaced by yet another that Kathleen noticed that the woman had spoken French but that she herself had replied in another language, something which sounded musical and lilting, but which she knew that her present self had never heard before.

            The next vision was again of the girl who had been carrying the tray, but this time, she was among a crowd of people at an outdoor ritual of some kind. Drums were pounding and people were dancing, and a priest and priestess, both dressed in green and wearing head-dresses of feathers, were bowing and blessing each other and the people. Then, she and another young girl were pulled into the centre of the circle and given a bitter drink. She swooned and was caught by strong arms, but the other girl stood straight and still, and began to speak, and now, Kathleen realized who it was. It was none other than the woman now known as Evangeline Abbott, speaking the prophecy which would come to haunt her whole existence.

            "I see the island there across the channel," she said, and she too used that lilting language, "and I know that it is there where I will meet my death. I will die on Maljardin!" Then, she fainted, and the other young girl who was somehow also Kathleen, now recovered from her own faint, went to her and took her hand tenderly.

            "Was I her friend?" Kathleen had never believed in reincarnation, but now, she wondered if it might really be something which her soul had experienced.

            People tried to pull the young servant-girl from her unconscious companion, but only one succeeded. She was a thin woman, dour and hard-featured and dressed in black, and the young servant-girl clearly recognized her as some sort of authority-figure.

            "Come with me, child," the woman said in French. "Leave the girl to her father. You have other duties now," and without another word, the young servant-girl followed the woman away from the clearing where the ritual was taking place.

            "Are you sure she'll be alright, Madame Raxl?"

            "Don't worry," said the woman. "That girl has been this way ever since she was born. Do you mean to tell me that you've never seen the Conjure Man's daughter have one of her turns?"

            "Oh yes," said the servant, "but I've never heard her make a prediction like--like that! Why should she die on Maljardin?"

            "Death will come to us all," the woman said. "What does it matter where it happens?" but Kathleen noticed the servant-girl looking hard at the woman, and she knew that the woman was trying to minimize the fear that she too had felt when she had heard that musical and lilting voice speaking those dreadful words.

            "Sophie," the woman now said, "you are to forget what Evangeline said in the ritual. Do you understand? You're to forget it!"

            "I'll try, Madame Raxl," the girl Sophie said. "I'll try."

            "And you're never to speak to her of it either, even if she is your friend."

            "Yes, Madame," and Kathleen saw the two of them walking away towards the shore where a boat was awaiting them. However, she did not see them board the boat, because the scene blurred and melted just then, and when it resolved itself, the girl Sophie was lying on the altar of the temple of the serpent on Maljardin and the Conjure Man's daughter was standing over her with a ritual knife made of what looked like bone. Suddenly, the knife was raised and though the girl looked at Evangeline with a beseeching gaze, the other woman stood coldly, her face set in a grim and emotionless mask, and after whispering something which Kathleen could not hear, plunged the knife into the girl's throat, caught the blood in a ceremonial cup, and poured cup after cup into the sacrificial basin which stood near. it was only now that Kathleen realized what she was seeing, and starting, she banished the vision. Before her stood the portrait, looking lifeless and inert, while her mind was anything but restful.  Here at last must be the truth of the vision which had frightened her only that morning, and she knew now that Vangie had been correct with all her talk of fate and destiny. She was here to take care of Julia, and she had said that she would give her life if it was necessary, but, she thought, she would not go the way her former self had gone. She would not die at the hands of the woman who had just that evening called her friend, for she realized now that Vangie was more than a mere woman. She was a priestess in a strange and terrifying faith, and she was capable of killing at need, and killing without emotion or regret. What if she felt that she had to kill again? Kathleen wouldn't let herself or Julia be made into an offering. Her only chance was to do what the voice of Jacques Eloi Des Mondes had told her to do. She had to focus on Julia now, and with her mind now open to the power that surrounded her, she was going to find something to prevent Vangie from betraying them all in the name of her people and her faith.

            A small part of her was unwilling to take any advice from the spirit who had started all this trouble, but if the voice had only been in her imagination, then she thought, she was only taking advice from herself. So, with unsteady steps and tear-filled eyes, she walked slowly from the hall, and as she left, she heard again the mocking laughter of Jacques Eloi Des Mondes. For a brief moment, all she wanted to do was to find Vangie and Stephen and to tell them all about the visions she had seen, but now, when she thought of Vangie, all she could see was that cold face looking down on her and the knife plunging into her throat. Vangie could not be counted upon, and now Stephen was caught in her web of mysteries. How could a Catholic priest fall in love with someone like her? Kathleen knew that she would have to work hard, but she was determined to free both Julia and Stephen, and to use whatever power was at her disposal to do it. Vangie herself had told her that she was able to direct whatever power came to her. If this was true, then it didn't matter whether she used power defined as good or power defined as evil. It was only power she wanted, power to match Vangie's own and to banish the evil presences from this house, but she was not going to bend to Vangie's will again. All that lay that way, she thought, was bitterness, blood and a sharp knife. She would solve this problem, she decided, as she had solved so many for Julia in the past, and she would do it without the help of the Conjure Woman.

Chapter Twenty-nine

            When Stephen woke, a stray bird had just begun its early morning canticle, and the woman he loved, he saw with relief, still lay beside him. He had dreamed several confused dreams during the night, but they all had one thing in common: they all involved Vangie being taken away from him in some catastrophe. She either fell from one of the chateau's towers, was drowned in the high tides of the channel, or was pushed by an unseen figure from the precipitous headland which faced the open sea, and plunged, screaming his name, to the jagged rocks below. Now that she lay warm and real beside him, he knew that they had only been dreams, but a part of him wondered if they were also warnings, so it was with a tone of urgency in his voice that he said:

            "Vangie! We have to get up!"

            "No," said the Conjure Woman sleepily. "No, Kat! Don't do it!"

            "Evangeline!" Stephen was frightened that she had fallen into a trance, but at the sound of her full name spoken with a priest's authority, she woke at last and immediately remembered the business they were to be about this morning.

            "I am going to wear my robes for the burial," she said. "You may dress as you will," and quickly dawning her street clothes, she hurried from the room without another word.

            Stephen debated with himself about what his duty was in this instance. Was he a Catholic priest, the Conjure Woman's partner in her faith's mysteries, Vangie Abbott's lover or Barrett's grieving friend and former student? He decided that it really didn't matter much what he called himself; the fact was that he was attending the burial of his friend, and that friend had asked him to attend him in his priestly office. So, the matter now settled, he dressed in full priest's garb, took his censor and crucifix, and found the prayers for a burial in his breviary. Then, he walked across the hall to Barrett's room, and there he found the door already open and Vangie waiting for him.

            "Requiescat in pace," she said, turning from the sheeted form on the bed.

            "I'm supposed to say that," Stephen managed with a tight smile.

            "Indeed you are, Fr. Dawson, but first, we two must turn pall-bearers for a time," and she cradled Barrett's head and shoulders in her arms while Stephen took his legs. He was surprised at how light the body was to carry, but, he reflected, Barrett had always been thin, and with the disease he had been fighting, he must have lost even more weight. Still, he found it difficult to think of his professor, the man he admired for going beyond mere text-book learning and for being a true spiritual warrior, as a weakened and feeble old man who had resorted to such a cowardly act as suicide. Still, it was what it was, he knew, and he now had no choice but to follow through with the burial, even though it might be against the tenets of the Catholic faith. Suicide, that faith said, was a mortal sin, and a person who had committed it could not receive Christian burial. However, Stephen remembered, Barrett wasn't being interred in consecrated ground--or at least, not in ground consecrated to Christ. So, what did it matter whether he did the service or not?

            He was about to maneuver his half of the body through the bedroom door, when his eye fell on the serpent-staff in the corner by the bed.

            "Should we take that?"

            "No," said Vangie. "It will be passed to his successor," and here, she looked at Stephen very directly, so that he had to drop his eyes.

            The trip through the house was uneventful, and somehow, they managed to get the body part of the way down the cliff path leading to the dock without breaking any ankles or necks, and then Vangie directed them along another path which cut through some dense foliage along the top of one of the terraced cliffs. Stephen saw cave-mouths gaping in the cliff-wall above them, and he wondered if any of them led to the cave where Vangie had sheltered during her strange and wild existence after her false death. Soon, that cliff began to change into a lower hill, and there before them lay what must be the grave of the worshippers of the serpent. It was a plot of ground surrounded by a wall of living green, and they had to push their way through this mass of vines and creepers to enter.

            "Not much of the clearing is left," said Vangie. "Quito used to tend it, but now that he and Raxl are gone, I suppose it has been neglected. Now, lay the body here," and she indicated a spot at the far side of the clearing just under the side of the hill.

            "We'll need something to dig with," he said, straightening his back, being now relieved of his burden.

            "There's a small shed that the builders left," said Vangie. I'll go and see if I can find a shovel."

            Stephen watched as she forced her way through the vines and vanished on the other side of them. He hoped that she would return soon. He didn't like being in this place by himself. The masses of vines made strange shadows on the ground in this early dawn light, and though some birds were up and about, a hush hung about this place. Even the sea seemed muffled here. Death felt very near to him, and though the morning was not chilly, there was a chill in this place. He pondered what it could mean, but decided that it was not the chill of evil which haunted him this time, but the chill of years upon years, the chill of ancient and long-departed souls which seemed to crowd in upon him. There were no stones nor markers of any kind to indicate that this was a domain of the dead, and yet it was marked as surely as if it had been surrounded by a grove of yew-trees and a wrought-iron fence. This, he thought, was where Robert Barrett would be laid to rest, and as he pondered this momentous idea, he realized that it was right. No Catholic church would allow him to be buried within its graveyard walls, and Stephen couldn't imagine that fate for such a man as Barrett anyhow. His act of suicide might be classified as a mortal sin in his native faith, but Stephen knew why he had done it, and he thought that no act of love could have been more Christlike in that particular moment and in these particular circumstances. So, he would say the burial service without shame, but he would also try his best to be truly present for whatever burial rites the Conjure faith demanded.

            He jumped as the vines were thrust aside once more, and there was Vangie, leaning heavily on a spade that she had found.

            "There was nothing in the shed," she said, "but there is a small building buried in that overgrown garden. So, we now have everything we need. I'll dig the grave."

            Stephen looked at her carefully and noticed that she was extremely pale.

            "No," he said, "I think I'd better do it. Is something wrong?"

            "Our time is coming, Stephen," said the Conjure Woman, handing him the shovel and seating herself a little way up the hill. "The evil is growing, and we've all been through a lot this night. You're right. I can't dig the grave and still have energy to perform the rite of burial, but it is the custom in my faith for a priest or a priestess to dig the grave for his or her partner.

            "Well," said Stephen, "I hope your gods won't mind," and at her direction, he began digging a little away from where the wrapped form which once had been Robert James Barrett now lay. The soil was sandy and easy to dig, and it wasn't long before the blade of the shovel struck rock.

            "It's only three feet," said Stephen.

            "This island," said Vangie, "grew from a coral reef. Its bones are strong and must be respected. That rock will defeat you if you try to go any deeper. Besides, this will suffice," and with a great effort, she stood up and Stephen helped her to carry the body to the grave.

            "Well," he said as they laid the body down, "who should go first?"

            "You," she said, and stood back respectfully to let him work.

            Stephen began to recite the service, and though there were some moments when he felt overwhelmed, the words and gestures of the ritual took hold of him, and by the time he threw the ceremonial clods of soil into the grave, he felt every inch the priest. What helped him was that whenever a response or an "amen" was required, the soft voice of the Conjure Woman was there, and again he felt as he had when he had done the blessing of the house; the words and gestures had more meaning for him in this moment than they had in a long, long time.

            "Thank you," he said, wiping his hands on his cassock. "I feel that I've actually done something here."

            "Good, Stephen. Now, it's my turn, and now, you're going to see a ritual that few off-islanders have ever seen before! Robert has gone home to the Great Serpent, and it is an occasion of joy. If others of our faith were here, we would dance and sing. As it is, there will be no dancing, but..." Her voice trailed off and she went to the wall of vines and gathered some fragrant blossoms. Then, pacing slowly around and around the grave, she began to sing. Stephen could not understand the language of the song, but the voice was rich and warm, and the music was joyful if perhaps a little subdued: just like the singer, he thought, and found himself following in Vangie's wake, stepping in time to the lilting melody while the Conjure Woman threw flowers onto Barrett's sheeted corpse.

            "What does the song mean?" Stephen was filling in the grave while Vangie reclined on the side of the hill and gazed quietly at the brightening sky. "Can you tell me?"

            "I'll do my best," she said, and with a lilt in her voice, she began. "May you be free of the flesh that enfolded you! May you rest from the body's burdens and fly to the far and fair fields of forever! Human life is hard, but death is the dawning of a new day!"

            "That is beautiful! I didn't know you were a poet!"

            "Those words are very ancient, Stephen. I did not compose them. Death is the doorway to new life. Isn't that what your creed teaches?"

            "Yes, in a way," said Stephen, "but what do you mean by it?"

            "Partly, we mean that death is new life for the spirit which is freed from the body's clutching grasp. However, this is an ideal. We also believe that reincarnation is possible. A spirit may choose it for him or herself, or those greater than we humans can command that the spirit return to be perfected further."

            "Do you think Barrett will come back?"

            "I cannot see so far, Stephen. I only tell you what my beliefs teach."

            "So, we're really just going to leave him here?"

            "This is sacred ground, and he has been interred with the rites of two powerful faiths, and when we're finished here, he will be truly free, as will this entire island, of the curse we're fighting."

            "You really still mean to go on with this?" Stephen tried to bite his tongue rather than voice that thought, but it came rushing out before he could stop it.

            "The choice is out of my hands now, Stephen. Do you remember what Kat and I told you about the reason for what happened to you the other night? If Jacques Eloi Des Mondes becomes reincarnated in the world with the knowledge and powers he has gained by his league with the darkness, then his influence will spread far beyond this place. If I allow that to happen without trying my best to stop him, I will be forever forsworn as Conjure Woman, and I will have lived this long time in vain. You too are called to fight this evil, Stephen. Your uncle was destroyed by it, and now--now the one who summoned you here--"

            "Don't bring him into it, please! I'm not trying to run out on you, but Vangie, I've noticed your weakness this morning. What's going on?"

            "I'm not certain just what is the matter, Stephen, but something unexpected has happened. I simply can't see what it is as yet. I think we need to have a council."

            "You talked in your sleep this morning," he said, not wanting to press her but knowing that he could not relent.

            "What did I say?" Vangie seemed badly frightened, and her terror was contageous. Till now, he hadn't realized just how much her usual composure was helping him to remain as calm as he had been.

            "You were telling Kat not to do something."

            "I was--I was elsewhere last night. For me, dream is the doorway to truth, Stephen, and I didn't like the truth I found. However, you're correct. Kat may be in danger. I'd like very much to find her as soon as I can, hence the need for a council."

            Stephen blessed the grave of his friend and mentor one last time, and he and Vangie went slowly and without speaking back up to the house. After returning the shovel to where Vangie had found it, they searched the house and the grounds, but Kat was nowhere to be seen.

            "Her bed hasn't been slept in," said Vangie after coming from the tower room. "Did you find her in the garden?"

            "No," said Stephen, "but I was in the library, and something was odd. Do you recall the state of the library as you last saw it?"

            "Of course! It was all-but destroyed by that devil."

            "Exactly," said Stephen, "but just now, I found the furniture all righted, the glass restored to the cabinets, and piles of papers stacked neatly on a table. What do you make of that?"

            "I need to see it for myself! Come on!" Stephen did not want to go back into that room again, but as Vangie set off down the hall, he had no choice but to follow her.

            "This place smells of evil," were Vangie's only words upon entering the now neat and efficient room, but when she saw the papers on the table, she gasped and her eyes grew wide.

            "What? What is it?" Stephen was alarmed to say the least. "They're just Barrett's notes about the history of this house, aren't they? They talk about the fact that the current building is placed on the ruins of some ancient palace, I think."

            "That's correct," said Vangie, recovering herself. "The ones who lived in that palace were priest-kings, though by the time of my father and of Jacques Eloi Des Mondes, they had died out and the palace lay in ruins. Des Mondes learned of the legend that this was a seat of great power, though he never knew where the power lay."

            "That was it," said Stephen, moving to peer over her shoulder, "but there was speculation among these historians that a temple or sacred shrine lay under this house."

            "They were correct, as you know."

            "Do you think the caves are really the only way to get to the temple now?"

            "I told you that there was once an entrance connected to the house," said Vangie. "The whole truth is that this entrance was connected to the Desmond family crypt via a tunnel and a secret door. However, there is a lot of rubble down there. I can't see that entrance being very accessible."

            "You've been down there?"

            "I have, and so has Kat," said Vangie, with an enigmatic look on her face which turned his blood cold.

            "But you didn't tell her about this door, did you? And what makes you think that Kat would have read these notes? She didn't want to set foot in that temple after that--that vision she had. Right? You're not telling me everything!"

            "I'm sorry, Stephen," Vangie said with a sigh. "I'm not trying to hide things from you. I'll try to tell you what I'm feeling. I saw in a dream tonight that Kat was open to the influence of Jacques Eloi Des Mondes's spirit."

            "But she banished him before," said Stephen.

            "Yes, with my help," said Vangie, "but I may have led her to believe something that wasn't true. I began to tell her that she had the ability to direct any power which came her way, but I was not able to tell her that this does not mean that all power is good or even neutral. I fear she may seek power somewhere, and that Jacques Eloi Des Mondes wants her to be under his influence even more now than he did before."

            "Does he want her to kill herself like--like Barrett?"

            "I only wish I knew for certain, Stephen. All I do know is that she knows that the temple is the source of great power, and judging by the state of this room, I think she'll have some help to find her way through the blocked door. Whatever is going on, I think that you and I should go down to the crypt and see what is going on for ourselves."

            Stephen had never yet seen the Desmond family crypt, but he had read about it in his uncle's journal. It had been the site of a strange funeral service which was not, in fact, a burial, because the corpse in question was never committed to the elements.

            "While I have officiated at services where the corpse was to be entombed in a crypt or a mausoleum," he wrote, "I have never done so where the corpse was being preserved against the normal effects of death. I may have recited the 'ashes to ashes, dust to dust' passage, but I knew that there was at least one person in the room who challenged both its physical truth and its spiritual comfort. Jean Paul Desmond intends to resurrect his wife himself, and he has admitted to me that the only reason he wanted me here at all was so that his sister-in-law Alison's  concerns about giving Erica Christian rites of burial would be mollified. I have begun to hate that crypt, and for more reasons than I can write here. It seems to hide more than it reveals or displays, rather like its owner."

            "My uncle wrote that he hated the crypt," said Stephen, as he and the Conjure Woman descended the stairs from the great hall. "Do you know why?"

            "We all began to hate the crypt after a while," was all Vangie's answer.

            "Well," said Stephen as they approached the archway at the bottom of the age-worn steps, "after you, I suppose," and Vangie went ahead of him with a flashlight she had found among the tools in the old garden shed.

            "Something is very wrong here," she said with a gasp, and Stephen came forward. "There are coffins and rubble," said Stephen, looking around the walls and floor, "and is that--?" He looked at a metallic box which he thought would fit a human being standing upright against a wall. "Is that the capsule?"

            "It is," said Vangie, "but it has been moved. What is more, the rubble that was where it stands now would have been impossible for a strong man to move without special equipment."

            "And the only other people in this house are women," said Stephen. "This thing looks very heavy. I don't even think that you and I together could move it very far."

            "No," said Vangie, "but we would have to move it if we were to access the door to the temple. Though it used to need Quito's strength to open it even if we could."

            "So what are we to make of all this? Has someone blocked us from getting to the temple?"

            "I fear it's worse than that, Stephen. Someone has gone into the temple and has stopped us from following them."

            "But why?"

            "That's what we're going to find out. We'll have to go through the caves after all," and casting a final look at the squarely-solid form of the capsule as though she might melt it, Vangie turned and walked away, the beam of her flashlight casting her shadow behind her like a black cloak.

Chapter Thirty

            Kathleen stood in the vast and vaulted chamber which had once been the ancient Temple of the Great Serpent. Ever since she had conceived the idea of coming here, she had heard the ominous pounding of a great heart thumping in her ears, and it had seemed to call her to this place despite whatever fears she professed. She had been shocked to see the library newly-restored, but Barrett's notes had not told her very much that she didn't already know. Indeed, what didn't she know about the temple? After all, hadn't she been its honoured guest in another life?

            "So, why am I here?" she had asked the empty shelves and cabinets.

            "To see the power that can be yours if you reach out and take it," said the voice of Jacques Eloi Des Mondes, or perhaps it was her imagination. "I think you'll find your way to the temple cleared of all obstructions." So, pausing here no longer, she had stood up from her reading and had followed the heartbeat's inexorable and insistent tug at her soul which led her, little by little, down the stairs from the great hall and into the dreaded crypt.

            Now, as the walls of ancient stone covered with eldritch and fantastic paintings surrounded her, she compared this latest journey into the depths of the house with the three other times she had gone down those stairs and through that archway. The first time, it had been Julia who had led her there, (Julia who was really Erica, she reminded herself now,) and she had been shocked that someone might want to sleep in such a horrible place. Then, she and Julia had again come down the stairs, hoping to put an end to the portrait of Jacques Eloi Des Mondes. Together, they had just managed to move the cryo-capsule on top of the painting, but that had been to no avail. Then just this morning--or perhaps yesterday morning by now, she thought--Vangie had stood with her by the side of the bed of Julia's sleeping body and she had felt the Conjure Woman's hand in hers chilled to the bone. She would have done anything to help Vangie then, but only a little while later, she had begun to see the truth, the truth that now lay in her mind as an unyielding and solid fact. Vangie was a liar, and she felt certain now that she meant to use her as she had used her former self. Perhaps she would not kill her this time, but she was not the kind and caring woman whom Kathleen had loved just a few short hours before. She was an enigma, an unknown variable which had to be dealt with.

            At the bottom of the stairs, she had peered through the archway, and the beam of her flashlight had shown her a large pile of rubble which had been moved from its habitual place and a door which she had never seen before standing open and seeming to beckon her to enter. She had paused for a moment, uncertain of what would happen to her, but then she felt what she had come to regard as the heart of the temple compelling her forward, and as soon as she had entered the tunnel on the other side of the previously-hidden door, she had heard that door close with a bang and something heavy thump against it.

            "No way back," she had said to herself, so she had followed the tunnel until it had opened out into this strange and secret place.

            The walls were still intact, but in the beam of her flashlight, Kathleen could see that all else in the temple had been destroyed or defiled. The lustrous stone serpent she had seen in her visions lay shattered pell-mell across the floor, blurring the phantasmagoric paintings which covered the tiles with a film of green dust and broken shards, while the blood-basin, that dreaded thing which had risen before her like a death-doom--was it only since this morning?--lay overturned in the dust as if it had been no more than a milk-pitcher on a breakfast-table.

            "There is no power for the Conjure Woman here," she said, smiling to herself. "Still, there's power for me, of that I'm sure."

            She looked again at the altar, and in lurid crimson which looked uncannily like fresh blood, there was a strange sign written. She had never seen anything like it before, but she recalled Erica's spirit mentioning something about a mark when she and Vangie had questioned her that morning. Could this be that mark? What did it mean? It looked almost like a tree with a curly tail, and there wasn't anything terribly evil-looking about it, and yet she felt certain that the heartbeat was connected to it somehow.

            "Is this the source of the power then, this sign?"

            "It is more than you might think at first glance," said a voice near her. She thought she recognized it, but it took her a moment to realize that when she had heard it last, it had been speaking French."

            "Madame Raxl?" She found herself using the title that the servant-girl Sophie had used in her vision.

            "So," said the voice coldly, "you know yourself at last, do you? Then you must know what the Conjure Man's daughter did to you in a former life."

            "I do, and I am afraid that she might do it again."

            "And so you seek power to match hers?"

            "Yes, Madame."

            "Very well. Concentrate on the sign on the altar and open your mind. The power will come to you and you will be able to use it as you will. But first, tell me what exactly you wish to do?"

            "I wish," said Kathleen, rapidly becoming transfixed by the scarlet sign in front of her, "to save my friend Julia Desmond and the priest Stephen Dawson from the evil that surrounds them."

            "And if that means killing the Conjure Woman?"

            "I'll do it!"

            "Good! Now, turn off that light and light the candles, and concentrate!"

            The mark seemed to twist and writhe before her eyes in the flickering light from the tall candles that surrounded the altar and which she had lit with the matches she habitually carried in her pocket. She found herself kneeling before the altar, almost in an attitude of prayer, and the heartbeat continued to pound and throb in her ears, and then suddenly, with no warning, she felt a surge of power entering her body. It was like the night in the cabin of the Conjure Woman, but, she thought, this was different somehow. It took her a while to figure out how, but when she did, she smiled to herself.

            "There, Vangie was only feeding me what she felt I should have," she said. "Now, I can take all that I need for myself," and with that, she rose to her feet in a single and fluid motion, and allowed the power to flow into her and to expand her soul and her mind. She suddenly found the walls of the temple growing transparent. She could see Stephen and Vangie toiling down the cliffs with a bundle in their arms which must be the body of Professor Barrett. Even now, a part of her mind wished she was with them, but she allowed that thought to be moved aside by the power which was now suffusing her and filling her with strength and assurance.

            Then, as she stood there, she felt a wind begin to rise, causing the candle-flames to dance and caper over the paintings which now looked puny and primitive to her newly-opened eyes. There had never been any real power in this place, she now realized, only a tribal people's superstitious faith. The only true power was what she was now tasting, and she intended to feast on it for as long as she could. Around her, the wind gathered and grew, and soon, she knew herself to be more than a mere human. She could, if she wanted, pass through the very walls and find the Conjure Woman and destroy her, but she knew that it would be better for Vangie to witness the destruction of the temple where she had thought to find power for herself. So, in a voice which was not her own and which she felt certain could pierce the barriers of time and space, she began to speak:

            "I call now to the Conjure Woman! Come now, self-styled Regent of the Realm Beyond Time, and meet the doom prepared for you! Your power may be great, but it cannot stand against mine! Come now and be tested! Too long have you escaped the prophecy that you yourself made long ago! Now is the time to face it! Come, if you dare!"

            Faintly, and seeming to come from an infinite distance, she heard the voice of the woman she had summoned. It sounded very small to her where she stood in the wind of the power that was now hers, and it spoke words of warning and dismay:

            "No, Kat! Don't do it!" and even now, a part of her mind responded to this with love and sorrow. Still, the power was hers now, and she had no intention of giving it up. She wants to limit me, she thought. She doesn't care about me at all. She just wants a disciple to worship her and to look up to her, so of course she doesn't want me to have access to this power. Well, it's too late now. I've gone beyond her, and she stood there, wind whirling around her, and waited till her summons was answered.

Chapter Thirty-one

            Stephen was concerned as he followed Vangie from the house. Before leaving, they had gone again to Barrett's room and had retrieved the serpent-staff. They had done this at his own insistence, because he saw that whatever struggle was going on inside the Conjure Woman was taking its toll on her body. So now, here they were, Vangie leaning on the staff and carrying a flashlight and him walking behind her, now dressed in the robes which Barrett had once worn.

            "I will need your help, Stephen," she had said, "as Robert's successor. I know you do not know much about our ways, but your instinct for evil is finely-honed. I shall need that and your strength in the hours to come."

            He had nodded and had grasped her hand, but what he really wanted to do was to take the burden from her shoulders if he could. He knew that she still was not being completely honest with him, but he had begun to feel that this might be for the best. He knew himself well enough to know that imagined fears were often larger in his mind than fears faced in the heat of reality, and while he felt certain that she knew what was awaiting them in the temple, he realized that she was deliberately shielding him so that he would not have time to grind himself down by using his far-too-vivid imagination before they got there and faced whatever it was they were going to face.

            "We'll enter here," said Vangie, as they stopped at one of the yawning mouths in the side of a cliff, "and be careful! The way is difficult and dangerous!"

            Stephen watched as she bent her head to enter and switched on the flashlight, and he fell to thinking of other ways which led to sacred places such as this which he had studied.

            "Are there traps here?"

            "Only those that nature could devise," came Vangie's voice hollowly from within the cave. "There used to be priest-made traps on this path, but they have long since been destroyed by time. Still, step carefully!"

            Stephen followed her into the darkness, and he was surprised to hear the booming of the sea closer than he had in the open air.

            "It sounds as though we're inside a seashell," he said.

            "In a manner of speaking, we are," said Vangie. "The sea is all around us here."

            The cave was low-roofed, so that Stephen had to stoop to walk through it. The floor was littered with loose stones and, in the beam of Vangie's flashlight, he could see why these coral caves had been named as they had. The walls were covered with flowing and intricate forms which seemed to glow with a rose-hued splendour, and he thought how this beauty had come from the death of so many sea-creatures long ago. This filled him with a certain small hope, and so they continued their journey through the cave which throbbed and boomed with the sea's ancient and relentless voice.

            "The temple is beyond this wall," said Vangie after what seemed like an eternity. Stephen's back was aching with the effort of avoiding contact between his head and the roof of the cave, and now, whatever hope he had felt before died when he saw the solid mass of stone in front of them.

            "What are we supposed to do now?"

            "Speak softly," said Vangie in a warning tone. "These walls seem solid, but there are piles of stone which could come down on us if we are too loud. Don't worry! There is a door here," and handing him the light, she began to run her hands over the smooth stone in front of her. Stephen saw in the light's glow that the stone was not merely smoothed with age, but with a craftsman's tools, and as Vangie explored it with her fingers, he noticed carvings written in a flowing and intricate script.

            "What language is that?" he whispered wonderingly. "The writing almost looks Phoenician!"

            "Indeed," said Vangie in a far-away voice. "It very well could be related. Now, come here and put your shoulder where I tell you!"

            Stephen did as she indicated and began to push. At first, he thought the stone was immovable, but after a few seconds of hard effort, he felt a slight movement inwards, and then the door began to swing in, propelled by its own impetus. The sound was massive as the stone slab moved, but soon, it was drowned in an onrush of roiling wind which caught him and threw him clear of the door. He only narrowly missed hitting the Conjure Woman as he fell sprawling on his back, but she, he noticed, was still standing upright and unhurt.

            "Can you get up?" Her voice was loud now, but he could barely hear it over the roaring of the wind. For answer, he got to his feet and stood beside her, and she, whether to bolster her own strength or to lend it to him, took his hand.

            "It won't hurt you now," she said in her usual soft voice, and indeed, the wind was falling somewhat as she spoke. "Come on!"

            Stephen saw the temple walls covered with ancient paintings, but all this was obscured by what was standing in the centre of the room. He could just recognize the face and form of Kathleen O'Dell, but it was as though she stood within a cloud of lightning. Then, he turned to his side and saw Vangie, seeming to kindle and to catch fire with that unearthly light he had seen in her cabin. First, it was as though she stood within a moonbeam. Then, before long, it was like the noonday sun stood beside him, and if it wasn't for her hand in his, still feeling solid and real, he would have knelt in supplication before her as a goddess. Yet, even though she stood revealed in all her glory, Stephen felt the chill of the evil they had come to fight, and what froze his very heart was that this chill was coming from Kathleen herself.

            "I have come," said the Conjure woman. "Do what you must do!"

            "No, Vangie," and hardly knowing what he did, Stephen tore his hand from hers and stood between her warmth and Kathleen's killing frost.

            "Well," said a voice which was decidedly not Kathleen's. It was deep and resonant, seeming to come from the very depths of the earth itself. "Aren't we chivalrous! My fight is not with you, little priest! Stand aside," and with a flick of her finger, Kathleen tossed him casually to the side where he struck the wall and lay unable to move. He could still see, however, and what he saw next caused him to weep uncontrollably.

            Vangie, still radiant, was being lifted and suspended from the ceiling by an invisible force. She seemed unable to save herself, and before he knew it, the force let her go and she fell hard upon the painted tiles below. She lay motionless for a moment, and Stephen feared she was dead. However, with an effort that seemed to cost her much, she rose again to her feet, and again the light shone from her.

            "I am in the hands of the Great Serpent," she said. "I do not fear you, thing of darkness!" Then, incredibly, she walked into the cloud enveloping Kathleen and took the hand which had been poised to do her some other injury.

            "Kathleen Brigit O'Dell! Hear me! You are not yet completely lost! The mark of death has only the hold you give it over you. If you go further with what you mean to do, it will enslave you even if you do not give it your will! Come, Kat, as we are friends! Come back!"

            "Friends," said Kathleen's voice. "Friends? Have you not recognized me, Conjure Woman? Do you not know who I was in a former life? Do you remember the vision I had yesterday morning?"

            "Oh no! It can't be!" Stephen saw all the light fade from around Vangie as though someone had turned off a switch, and it was at this moment that Kathleen suddenly threw her to one side as though she weighed no more than a feather.

            "What was my name, Conjure Woman?" Stephen saw raw hatred in Kathleen's face, and he wondered what had caused Vangie to look so pale and frightened.

            "Sophie," Vangie said now. "You were Sophie, and I--I didn't see it till now!"

            "Then, I suppose you recall what you did to Sophie in this very temple?"

            "You are deceived," said Vangie, her voice hardening as she again got to her feet. "You've seen what the evil wanted you to see. I can show you the truth, if you'll let me."

            "The truth," Kathleen said again in that massive voice which was not hers, "little Evangeline, is that your time of reckoning has come! You are the last who can hurt me, and you have escaped me for too long!"

            "Do you think that you can make her kill me?" Stephen heard the assurance in Vangie's voice, but he thought he saw a flicker of doubt cross her face. He met her eyes and tried to encourage her, but his voice would not obey him and his limbs seemed as though they were bound with invisible cords.

            "She has a loving spirit," Vangie continued, and the light began to dawn again and to shine from her hands and face.

            "But how if that loving spirit were betrayed? It was, you know, and she knows it too."

            "If she truly is Sophie's reincarnated soul, then I think I know more about her than you do! However, if you think you can make her kill me, then go ahead and try!"

            Then, Stephen saw a wonderful thing. Kathleen, obviously in the grip of whatever was using her for its own evil purposes, raised her hand in what surely was about to be a killing gesture, but as she saw Vangie's face, still steady and calm after all the indignities she had suffered, something shrank within her. He could see the cloud of power dissipating from around her, and in utter silence, she sank to her knees in exhaustion and misery.

            "Can you move, Stephen?" Vangie spoke softly, as though she were trying not to wake a sleeping child, and Stephen suddenly found that he could. His head ached terribly--this was the second blow he had received in just a few hours, after all--but his mind was clear. He got to his feet and went to where Kathleen was crouched.

            "Help me to lay her down," said Vangie. "It will take a while for her to recover herself, but she will. Of that I'm sure."

            "Shouldn't we get out of here?"

            "Not yet. There is still much to be done. Do you see that mark on the altar?" Stephen did. It looked like a strange sort of tree with a curling tail and it looked as though it was written in fresh blood.

            "That is the mark of death," said Vangie. "It was the curse under which Jacques Eloi Des Mondes and Raxl fled from France and came to our island. Jacques we could not reach, but we thought we had managed to help Raxl with our magic. Still, as I told you, she was vulnerable to its influence even here, and whenever she left the island to serve the Desmond family on other shores, it followed her and our magic could not contend with it."

            Stephen recalled her saying this on the night of their arrival on Maljardin, and he thought how Kathleen had been the one to ask all the questions at that meeting.

            "So this is the real power we're fighting? Was it working on Kathleen all this time?"

            "I think it was," said Vangie. "There was a reason why it kept trying to block my mental communication with her when I was still on the main island, only I didn't see the full reason until now. Kathleen is a woman of great sensitivity, and it is people like her whom the devil will choose for his agents."

            "Was it the devil in the library then? Did she cast out devils by the prince of the devils?"

            "I can't be sure of that," said Vangie. "Still, given what has followed, that might be the case. Your gospel also says that by their fruits they shall be known, after all."

            "True enough, but you said that the--power--" He found it difficult to say 'devil' just then, "could only use her if she gave it her will. Why would she have done it?"

            "She didn't know she was doing it until it was too late," said Vangie. "We'll only know what happened for sure when we can question her, but before that, this temple must be cleansed of the devil's presence."

            "But surely we can't do more today! You're weak! We haven't eaten!"

            "We must do it today, Stephen! Whatever weakness I feel will be compensated for. Trust me, please!"

            "Alright," he said, not wanting to admit that it was his own bodily weakness of which he was afraid. "What do we do?"

            "First," said Vangie, "I want you to look around this place. Do you recognize it?"

            For a moment, Stephen thought she must be mad, but then, as the candle-flames flickered over the paintings on the walls, he suddenly remembered a dream which had come to him on the night of Bill Temple's death.

            "You and I," he said slowly. "You and I were here in a dream I had, and you were telling me that I was a true priest. Do you mean to tell me that you were really there, I mean you shared the dream with me?"

            "Is that so difficult to believe, Father Dawson?" and she turned upon him one of her most radiant smiles.

            "I'm sorry," she said after a pause. "It was just that you reminded me so much of your uncle when you asked me that. Yes, we shared the same dream, and now, that dream must become reality. Look in that corner!"

            In the corner she indicated, the furthest corner from the altar, Stephen found a drum like the one he had played in Vangie's cabin.

            "How could this have survived? This place looks like a tornado hit it!"

            "I suppose the force which destroyed the temple did not think the drum of any significance."

            "More fool it," said Stephen, remembering the ritual he had drummed for in the cabin. "But how can I drum this time if you have no priest?"

            "For this ritual," said Vangie, "the priest's function is to drum," and she found among the litter of broken stone that covered the floor a brazier set on three legs, and she put this on the altar. There was still some charcoal in it, and taking one of the lit candles, she touched the flame to the coals and retrieved some incense from a pouch she carried with her, and as the strange and sacred smoke began to fill the room, the spell of the dream stole upon him where he stood, drum in hand, and he knew exactly what to do.

            Vangie sat down and faced the altar, and Stephen began to drum. The drumming was different from that which Barrett had taught him, and he knew that he had drummed it before in the dream. Soon, he saw again the light surrounding the Conjure Woman, and suddenly, she rose to her feet, spreading her hands in a gesture of invocation.

            "I speak now as the Conjure Woman who bears the title of the Regent of the Realm beyond Time! I call now upon the power which is given to the one who bears this title to come and restore what is rightfully yours! Take back your temple from those who have defiled it! Cleanse it from all evil, and cause it again to be a haven of power and protection for those who call upon the Great Serpent! Let the temple be whole once more!" and with that, the light spread and brightened, and in a great burst of colour, all was changed before his very eyes. As the light began to fade, he saw Vangie, standing tall and straight as the candle-flames, and there, on the altar, where the bloody mark had been, stood the magnificent form of the Great Serpent cast in green stone and with rubies for eyes.

            "My god," he breathed.

            "Speak not," came Vangie's voice, though it was changed somehow. It was filled with an authority which he could not cross. "Only drum and wait! This act may consume me, but only if you are not wholly present in it."

            Stephen made no answer but continued drumming, and he suddenly saw the power which had taken Vangie. He saw it as though it were something visible, though he knew that it could not be seen by anyone but himself in that moment. It was coiling around her and had her in its grip, but even as he saw this, he knew that his drumming and concentration were focusing it, directing it, and that if he were to falter, it might very well take her completely and consume her, body and soul. Was this what a priest was supposed to do? He reflected that in all the magical faiths he had studied, this was exactly what the male half of the partnership was to do. He had always considered this a trick of the mind however. He had never thought it could actually be true. Now, here he was, actually in contact with a power which he, simply by being male, could direct and focus. It was amazing!

            After some while--Stephen never knew how long--Vangie, still glowing like golden embers in the incense smoke, moved now to Kathleen and touched her gently.

            "Let us forget what happened here, Kat," she said. "I know your heart and I know the truth of why Sophie died, and I want to tell you about it. So please, come back to us. Do not wander in the void forever!" Stephen began to drum faster. He realized now that Vangie was struggling with the darkness for Kathleen's very soul, and soon, the smile he saw on the Conjure Woman's face told him that she had won.

            "Alright," she said now. "You can stop drumming, but you must do something else for me."

            Stephen knew what it was without even having to ask. He could still see the Serpent-power--or so he called it in his thoughts--coiling and roiling around her, and, setting down the drum, he went and took up Barrett's serpent-staff which Vangie had leaned against a wall. Pointing it at the power he could still somehow see, he allowed it to flow into the staff from the Conjure Woman. He did this until all the power was gone from her, and then, feeling the staff almost too heavy to hold up, he set it to earth and allowed the power to flow out of it. A part of him wondered how he had known what to do, but a deeper part simply did, acting on some instinct he hadn't suspected was there until now.

            "Well done," said Vangie, and Stephen was surprised to find her still surrounded by the unearthly light.

            "You're--your still glowing," he said stupidly.

            "It is a sign," she said, taking his hand, "that I am not left alone to fight this evil! The Great Serpent dwells here again, and this is again a seat of power to contend with the things of the dark! Now, let's see to Kat. Look! She's waking up." Stephen turned from the radiance of the Conjure Woman to where Kathleen, now looking decidedly mortal, lay. He saw her eyes flick open, but before he could go to her, Vangie turned to what must, he surmised, be the opening of the tunnel that led to the crypt.

            "You should go and get something to eat, Stephen," she said now. "Kat and I will be alright here. The door at the end of this tunnel is heavy, but I think you'll be able to open it. Take the flashlight," and she put it into his hand, "and we'll join you soon."

            "But what about the capsule?"

            "It is gone from the door. You'll find the way clear."

            Stephen hardly dared believe this, but, switching on the light, he did as he was ordered, and before long, he came to the door. Not only was it clear of obstructions, but it was standing open, and as he went through, it closed with a bang and he was left alone in the Desmond crypt, shut out now from the mysteries which had surrounded him but a moment before.

Chapter Thirty-two

            Ever since the power had left her, Kathleen had been sensible of all that happened around her, and yet it was as though she was hearing and seeing through a thick blanket of fog. The only thing that seemed to pierce the fog were the ruby eyes of the newly-risen serpent image on the altar. How exactly had it got there? She could hear a drum beating and could tell that the Conjure Woman was channeling great power, but only those crimson yet inanimate eyes came sharply into focus. The rest was all shadow and muffled sound. She felt gentle arms moving her into a more relaxed position, but it was as though her whole body was benumbed with cold. That was it, she thought, as she heard the drumming begin. She was chilled to the very blood and she couldn't get warm. Still, by the time the Conjure Woman came to her and took her hand, she knew enough not to resist, for here, she felt certain, was warmth enough to melt the coldest frost.

            "Well now," said Vangie once Stephen had gone. "Do you know me?"

            "I do," she said thickly. "I know you, but what about--what about Sophie? I know it was you who killed her--me--all those years ago."

            "That part of the story is true, Kat," said Vangie tenderly. "I cannot deny it, and I'm sorry you had to learn about it the way you did, but there is a part of the story that you do not know. I will help you to remember if you like, but perhaps now is not the time."

            "I can do it," she said, sitting up. "The--the fog is clearing a little. I know now that what I touched just now was evil, but I thought you told me that I could direct whatever power came to me."

            "So I did, but the devil has been busy this night, and before we could talk further, I felt Robert's suicide and panicked. What I would have said was that if you could learn to channel the right sort of power, you would be able to use it well. I am a priestess, a walker between the worlds. I must lay myself open to power and allow it to use me. Still, I do not allow just any power to have its will if I can help it. You, on the other hand, are another kind of sensitive. You seem to have the ability to be a conduit rather than a vessel. I don't know what this means entirely, but the danger with you is that you have never been schooled to your gifts."

            "I was overconfident," she said after a pause, eyes cast down. "I felt--I felt left out of things. I can't believe I'm saying this! I sound like a child!"

            "You could have stayed with us in Barrett's room, you know."

            "But I couldn't. I just couldn't!" Kathleen was annoyed to hear a sob in her voice. She didn't want to cry now, but all the danger and worry was welling up inside her and she was unable to check the flood of tears.

            "Ah Kathleen," said Vangie, sitting down beside her and taking her hand, "has it been so hard for you?"

            "Yes," she said, feeling as though the word were being wrenched from her. "Yes! It's hard for me to see-to see you and him together. There! I said it!"

            "You love Stephen?"

            "I don't know, but I--well--I suppose I wanted the chance to find out if I did, but I could see the way you looked at each other over Barrett's body. He loves you at least, and I think--I think that you love him!"

            "Stephen and I have a bond which is beyond naming," said Vangie. "Neither of us wanted it and neither of us asked for it, but it exists."

            "I know. I know. I'm being silly and foolish, but it is how I felt when--when the visions came."

            "Tell me of these visions," said Vangie, "and leave nothing out!"

            So Kathleen sighed and began to relate her story. She didn't want to bring the portrait into it, but Vangie's gaze was strong and direct, and she found that she was unable to lie while those eyes bore into her.

            "I see how it is now," said the Conjure Woman when she had finished. "As Stephen could doubtless tell you, the devil is a liar. He likes to mix lies with just enough truth so as to confound those over whom he wishes to have power. This time, he showed you the end of the story of the servant-girl Sophie without telling you the beginning. The incense is almost burned away. When it is gone, I will build a fire. Seeing the memory in flame will not be so hard on you as seeing it in the spirit has been, and I will be with you."

            "But how will I know it is the truth?"

            "You will have to judge that for yourself, Kat. Will you trust me to help you to remember?"

            "I will, Vangie. I will."

            "Good! Now, dry your eyes and I will build up the fire."

            Kathleen watched as the Conjure Woman piled more coals into the brazier, and soon, a steady flame was burning with no smoke to darken it. The splendour of her power still glowed around her, and the fire, though bright, looked dim when contrasted with it.

            "Now," said Vangie, taking a seat away from the fire, "listen to the sound of my voice and look into the flames! You are Kathleen O'Dell, but you are also the reincarnated soul of Sophie, who was called in our language Suoko. You, Suoko, were initiated into the mysteries of the Great Serpent. Remember yourself, Suoko! Remember Wanua, she who was named Evangeline in the tongue of the conquerors! Remember, and forgive, if you can!"

            The flames danced before Kathleen's eyes, but at the sound of Vangie's promptings, pictures began to form. She saw the girl called Sophie or Suoko sitting in the sun on a high rock overlooking the sea. The Conjure Man's daughter was with her, and they spoke together in the ancient language. Kathleen could only see their lips moving, but her mind was able to translate what she saw, and she found herself beginning to speak the words in English.

            "Wanua," she said slowly, as though half asleep, "this is madness! You cannot mean to do this thing! Do you know what it involves? The great sacrifice will have to be made!"

            "I know it, Suoko," came Vangie's own voice, and a part of Kathleen's mind wondered how she knew what to say since she was not looking at the fire. "I know what must be done, but it cannot be altered. I've given my word, and besides, you know I would do anything to prevent what I spoke from coming true."

            "I know, but who will you find in these days to be the victim for the ritual? The new ways are driving out our old ones. Your father and the others have found people to help them, because they are well-respected in the community. There are many who would gladly lay down their lives for him after what he did to free us from that devil Jacques Eloi Des Mondes, but you, well, you know that it must be a willing sacrifice."

            "And you would say something else? Come come, out with it as you love me, Suoko!"

            "Madame Raxl has been trying to convince everyone that you are touched by the gods, that you are unpredictable and mad, Wanua!"

            "She may say what she likes. I know I will find someone to help me."

            "But the ritual is in three days!"

            "Yet I will find someone!"

            "I will do it."

            "Never could I ask that of you, Suoko! We are spirit-sisters! We were initiated on the same day! To ask you to do it would bring a curse on us all! Put it out of your mind!"

            "But I don't want to see you haunted by that prophesy! I've made up my mind, Wanua! I am full willing to do this thing!"

            "Then," said Vangie, speaking aloud what Kathleen saw Wanua saying, "that is the last time that anyone will call me by my true name. Yours will be the last voice to utter it in my hearing. I shall be known as Evangeline only from now on, for if Suoko must die at my hands, then it is only right that Wanua should die with her."

            "There," said Kathleen, and she saw a sardonic smile on the face of her former self in the fire. "Perhaps that will appease the gods who sent you that horrible prophesy!"

            "Let us hope it will," said Vangie, and now she came close to Kathleen, and as the fire resumed its normal appearance, the Conjure Woman knelt and embraced her, and Kathleen saw through the light still radiating from her that there were tears in her eyes.

            "Did you think, Kat, that I looked at you with pitiless brutality when you--when Suoko lay on the altar?"

            "Yes," she said, sobbing as well, "but now I know! I know you were trying to master your emotions! Oh Vangie! I'm so sorry about everything!"

            "I knew the darkness wanted you. I knew it, but I didn't know why. Now, let us hope that you're beyond its grip!"

            Kathleen was unable to speak for several minutes. Vangie simply held her while she sobbed, and when her vision had cleared, she saw that the ethereal light was now gone from the Conjure Woman's face, and looking into Vangie's eyes, she saw how unbelievably tired she was.

            "None of us can go on like this much longer, Vangie," she said, getting slowly to her feet.

            "No, Kat. No we can't. Do you think you can walk now?"

            "I can if you can," she said, offering a hand to the still-kneeling Vangie who took it gratefully and stood up.

            She found the cover of the brazier and placed it over the still-glowing coals, and Kathleen went and blew out the candles. Then, using Kathleen's flashlight for guidance, they found their way down the tunnel and, straining together at the secret door, soon found themselves in the crypt once again. Once there, Kathleen was concerned at seeing how heavily Vangie leaned on the staff that had belonged to Professor Barrett.

            "Are you really alright, Wan--"

            "No! Don't call me that! You may have been Suoko once, but you're not her now, and the same is true of me. I told Suoko that Wanua would die with her, and I meant it. I am Vangie now, Kat." But was she? Already she seemed to be something more than merely human. Kathleen had seen her reconstruct the serpent idol with only a thought. She had seen her covered in the glory of some unnamed power, and yet, here she was, a woman who was weak and tired, and leaning on a staff for support.

            "I'll be alright," she said now. "I just need something to eat and some rest."

            "We all need rest, I think," Kathleen agreed, and the two of them climbed the stairs together and went in search of sustenance.

            In the kitchen, they found Stephen, now dressed in jeans and a golf-shirt, cooking over the hot-plate which Kathleen had brought with her.

            "Thank God you're here!" he said. "I've got grilled cheese going if you're hungry."

            "I am," said Kathleen, "and even if you're not," she continued with what she hoped was a stern look of authority at the Conjure Woman, "you should eat something as well, Vangie!"

            "Don't worry, Kat," said Vangie, sitting heavily in a chair. "I have no intention of fasting today! You and I have both been in contact with great power, and we are both flesh and blood, despite what you may have seen to the contrary, Stephen," she added after a pause, and indeed, Kathleen could see the priest looking at the woman sitting before him with an expression on his face of mingled fear and awe.

            "So," said Stephen as they sat munching some minutes later, "what--what exactly happened down there?"

            "It isn't something to be discussed openly," said Vangie, "but I think we will be free from disturbance for a while now."

            "Is that because of what--what you did?" Kathleen was happy to let Stephen do all the talking. She herself was too ashamed to say much, though she knew she would have to say something soon about her part in all of this.

            "Perhaps," said Vangie, "but all I really did was let the powers I serve have their way with me. Is that not what you do every time you offer a mass?"

            "I've--I've never thought of it like that," said Stephen, "but I think I understand what you mean. You allowed yourself to be ridden by--by--"

            "By the Great Serpent, Yes," and Kathleen was taken aback at Vangie's matter-of-fact tone as she said this.

            "But how did you--did the Great Serpent--how was the image remade?"

            "That I cannot entirely account for. I wished for it to be done, but until it happened, I was not certain it could be done. All I can say is that Plato had it right when he said that the ideal forms of things exist beyond our shadowy world, and some among us can tap into that--that other plain. I didn't know I could until today, and I will likely never be able to do it again. At least, I hope I will never have to try. It was very difficult!"

            "And Kathleen," said Stephen. "Are you--are you alright now?" She noticed distrust in his eyes and knew that they would have to hash things out later, but she decided to postpone this confrontation for as long as she could.

            "I'm alright, Stephen, yes. I know--" She bit back a sob. "I know who I am again."

            "And that, I think," put in Vangie, as though she too had taken note of Stephen's suspicions, "is all that matters. Now, before all this began, I told Stephen that I felt the need for a council. Do you both feel up to having one?"

            "The real question is," said Stephen, "do you?"

            "If we don't have it now," said Vangie, "there may be no time to lay our plans."

            "Really? Why?" Kathleen felt suddenly alarmed. What could possibly happen next?

            "We have forestalled the darkness for now, Kat, but it will not go without a fight, I fear."

            "Well, that food has refreshed me, actually. Shall we go to my office? That was to be our original council-chamber, I believe."

            "Yes," said Stephen, "and I think that your blueprints of the house could be useful to us."

            "Why?"

            "I've been thinking about things," he said, "and rereading Uncle Matt's journal. I think it's time to get serious about what we've got to do and what we might potentially have to deal with. I'll explain more later."

            "Very well then," said Vangie. "Let's get these dishes cleaned up and get underway!"

Chapter Thirty-three

            The dishes were washed and put away in a trice, and before long, the three companions were sitting in Kathleen's office, one chair remaining conspicuously empty. Stephen found himself looking to where Barrett should have been sitting and remembering the night of their arrival here. There the venerable professor had sat, large as life, but even then, he supposed, the evil was eating at his old friend. Even then? He could not believe that their last meeting in here had only been two nights before, but it was true. He could see the afternoon sun bathing both sky and sea in a shower of gold and was amazed to think that when that gold was gone, it would only be his third night in this place. He felt as though he had been a denizen of its chambers and passageways for years beyond numbering.

            "Stephen? Are you alright?" Vangie laid a hand on his shoulder.

            "I'm fine," he said, "but I just can't believe that so much has happened in so short a time! We've only been here for barely three days!"

            "Yes," said Vangie, "but a lot can happen in three days, and even more in a single night! The darkness has now touched all of us. It almost claimed Robert, but he is past its influence now."

            "And Kat? What about her? Is she past its influence?" Stephen looked at the woman now seated behind her desk. She looked every inch the friend he had come to rely on, but he could not forget what he had seen in the temple, and an emotion now boiled inside him when he looked at her for which he could not at first account. However, as he gazed at her now, seated across from the woman he loved, he knew what it was: anger. He was angry that she had dared to harm Vangie, even though he knew that she had not been herself when doing it. Still, he also knew that what he had witnessed in the temple was no mere possession. She had courted the power which had almost consumed her, and he needed to understand why if he was going to trust her again.

            "You're angry, Stephen," said Vangie.

            "And you have a habit of stating the obvious," he said. "I have to understand what happened here! You said we need to trust each other, Vangie. Well, how can I trust someone who allowed that--that darkness to touch you, almost to kill you?"

            "You're right, Stephen," said Kathleen. "I did allow it to use me. I played right into the devil's hands. All I can say is that now that I know the truth of things, I won't let that happen again if I can help it. I would give my life for any of you, and for Julia most of all, and Julia's why we're all here, right?"

            "Right," said Vangie. "And while we're all confessing, let me just say that I have not told you all of what I have been sensing. However, with no pun intended, I think it's time I laid all my cards on the table."

            "What more could there be?" Stephen was at a loss to imagine anything worse than had already occurred.

            "The devil means to kill me," said Vangie, "and in no uncertain terms. He has already tried to use Robert and now Kat for that purpose. He seems to consider you, Stephen, of little account, or rather, he seeks to make you believe this yourself. You must not underestimate yourself or your efficacy. I truly believe that your exorcism of Julia Desmond will save us all."

            "Well," said Stephen, "I've been thinking about that. Uncle Matt's journal says that there was a medical laboratory somewhere in this house."

            "That's so," said Vangie. "Dr. Carr, Erica Desmond's sister, used it, and before her, it belonged to Dr. Menken, who was a personal physician to Jean Paul and his wife, but what could you want with it?"

            "Well," said Stephen, "we might need a way to subdue Julia's body if Erica's spirit tries to make it--well--do something dangerous. Perhaps we could find a drug or something in there, if the place still exists. Do you know anything about it, Kat?"

            "Bill Temple would have been the one to ask, I'm afraid. I myself have never seen anything like a lab, but then, I've never toured the entire unfinished part of the house either."

            "Well," said Vangie, "the lab was located on the way down to the crypt. There is plywood and such where the passage off the landing was, so I bet the passage itself is nothing but rubble. Still, we could perhaps find the lab from the outside and see if any of it is still intact."

            "Then that's what at least one of us has to do as soon as we can," said Stephen.

            "I'll do it," said Kat. "It's the least I can do, after all. But when do we do all this exorcising? What are we waiting for?"

            "I was hoping for a sign," said Vangie, "and I have now received it. I know that this is the course we should take. After what happened in the temple, I'm certain we are doing the right thing. Besides, I don't think Julia's body can take much more of the strain of Erica's presence, and I fear that worse will happen to her if Erica keeps the door open, as it were. I believe that Jacques would want a mother for his reincarnated child-self who would be every bit as diabolical as he is. So, while Erica chips away at Julia's body and soul, the true devil, the thing whose sign is the mark you saw on the altar of the temple, draws ever closer. Stephen will be exorcising Julia, while it will be my job to confront the power which has cursed this island for centuries. First, however, Julia must be saved, and all three of us will have to be involved in that."

            "Should we get her to the temple? You seem to have access to great power there," said Stephen.

            "No," said Vangie, "I think the exorcism should be done in the great hall. As for me, I need no temple now," and for the briefest of glimpses, he saw the familiar radiance begin to dawn upon her countenance again.

            "Make no mistake, Stephen," she continued. "None of us will come out of this without being changed in some way, and there is still the prophesy of my death on Maljardin with which to contend."

            "I suppose," said Stephen, "but I just can't believe in fatalistic warnings like that. They don't make sense to me!" Even as he said this, however, he was aware again of the ancient cave-man part of himself which cried out in terror for what could be the impending and inevitable loss of his new-found beloved. What was more, he knew somehow that Vangie was also aware of his fears.

            "So," he said, recovering his composure despite all the danger and worry, "I suppose it's best to hedge our bets. If we can find some sort of drug to calm Julia's body down, then perhaps it will be easier to exorcise Erica's spirit from her."

            "It may well be," said Vangie, "but I fear another thing, and it concerns you, Kathleen."

            "Me? But I told you I wouldn't--"

            "No. I don't mean that your resolve or your loyalty are in question, Kat. I mean that you too are a sensitive, and if Erica's spirit is desperate for an anchor to keep her in this world, she may turn to you."

            "I won't let her take me," said Kathleen. "That's all there is to it!" Stephen had to admire this boldness of spirit in her, but still, he knew that he had to talk to her before all hell literally broke loose.

            "I have to tell you both that this will not be easy," he said. "It will be even harder because I have never performed an exorcism before. I'll need both of you completely on-side for this, and Kat, you're going to have to be my window into Julia's personality. Still, you'll have to be careful. If this is indeed the devil we're dealing with, then lies will be mixed with the truth and he'll try to attack everyone present by means of psychological manipulation. I wish we had a psychiatrist with us! I know I spoke about drugs before, but none of us really knows anything about them! We could do some real damage!" Already he was having second thoughts about his plan.

            "Still," said Vangie, "I think it can't hurt to have something on hand. I still believe that the laboratory could prove useful."

            The council went on for some minutes more, Stephen's gaze flitting from face to face of the two women seated in the room with him. Vangie was beautiful and brave, a woman to be admired but also to be feared. She had access to powers at which he could only guess, and what was more, she wanted him to learn about them for himself. Even despite his fears, however, he knew her to be a strong person and able to cope with whatever might come as a result of the exorcism and whatever might come after. Kathleen, on the other hand, was now an unknown. Ever since she had hurt Vangie under the influence of that evil force which she herself had called into her, he found that he was not able to trust her. He knew this was a weakness in himself, but he knew still more that if he did not have things out with her now, he would never be able to put his fears about her to rest. Accordingly, when Vangie disbanded the council and went off to her room for some much-needed sleep, he stayed behind and watched while she went through what appeared to be a habitual rite of tidying and organizing her office. Only when it was finished did she notice his presence.

            "I suppose you want to talk," she said. "I think I could find us a little wine or something."

            "Whatever you can find will be very welcome," said Stephen as she went off down the passage.

            As he sat puzzling over how to begin this conversation, he suddenly heard a woman's step, though it seemed to be coming too soon to be that of Kathleen. Still, who else could it be? Vangie had most definitely retired for the night.

            "Ah, Professor Dawson!" said a cooingly-sweet voice from the doorway behind him, "or is it Father Stephen?"

            "I'll tell you my name if you tell me yours," he said, turning around to face the regal and somehow deadly form of Julia Desmond. She was gaunt and her eyes were sunken. She looked every inch the possessed victim, but latent within those sleep-deprived orbs was a terrible force, the same force which had thrown Vangie around the temple like a rag doll.

            "Oh come now! Don't be coy! You and I shouldn't be distant with one another, not after what we've shared," and suddenly, as though he had been struck, the memory of the dream which was not a dream came back to him. He recalled the false Vangie's caresses and the shock of being thrust out of his own body by the spirit of Jacques Eloi Des Mondes, and what was worse, as he looked at Julia's body with Erica's spirit mastering it, he felt himself pulled into an intense whirlwind of mad sensuousness. The only thing which saved him was the thought of the real Vangie, Vangie who had lain with him lovingly and without malice the night before.

            "I'm not going to play games anymore, Erica Desmond!" he suddenly shouted in her face.

            "Your uncle's very tone of voice and turn of phrase!" said Erica. "What fond memories I have of them! So you truly mean to go through with your plan, do you? I would have thought that Professor Bartlet's--I mean Barrett's death would have dissuaded you!"

            "More fool you are," said Kathleen, suddenly appearing, a bottle of Scotch and two glasses in her hands. "You won't be allowed to keep Julia for much longer!"

            "And what about you? Didn't you like the power we gave you?"

            "It left a bad taste in my mouth," Kathleen said ruefully. "Now kindly leave, or come in if you're coming! Ah! What's the matter? Can't step over the threshold?" Indeed, Stephen saw the effort clearly on Julia's face as Erica's spirit tried to make her body step into the office but was unable to do so.

            "You and your beads and your bells," said Erica, spitting the words out of Julia's mouth at Stephen. "We'll deal with you yet, Dawson, as we dealt with your uncle!" And without another word, the tall figure turned and swept past Kathleen and away to some other part of the house.

            "Damn! I'm sick to death of all this!" He could feel his face tightening and reddening with every word, but he was unable to curb the anger now welling out of him like an all-consuming conflagration. "It's enough! I'll see her dead if it kills me!"

            "Remember, though," said Kathleen, pouring the liquor with a shaking hand, "she's not really Erica."

            "Of course," said Stephen, "just like you weren't really you in the temple. Right? You could have killed Vangie, you know!"

            "I admit," said Kathleen, offering him his glass, tears beaded on her eyelids, "that I willfully asked for the power to come to me, but once it did, I was helpless against it. A part of me saw what was happening and wanted to stop it! You have to believe me, Stephen! I'm with you now! I am!"

            "I hope so!" He paced around the office while Kathleen stood silently, taking slow, contemplative sips of her drink from time to time. He knew she was ashamed of herself and he knew he had to stop riding her, but he couldn't help feeling a deep sense of betrayal. First Barrett had not been the man Stephen thought he was, and then Kathleen had seemed to switch sides before his very eyes. However, it was himself he was most worried about. How could he be sure that he was strong enough for the coming battle? If everyone else was succumbing and he had already been used by the dark things in this house, what would prevent them from using him again? He suddenly found himself shaking with sobs; he cried for Barrett, for his uncle Matt, and suddenly he thought of Bill Temple, his face contorted in utter pain and terror even in death, and he cried for him. All these people had been caught in the web of evil which stretched back in time over three-hundred years into the past and beyond the confines of the physical world. Suddenly, he knew beyond any doubt that on Maljardin he was the thing he had always tried not to be: an unenlightened cave-dweller who started at shadows and had yet to discover the primal and sacred fire which would be his assurance against the ever-encroaching darkness.

            Overcome by his fear and grief, he sank down in a chair and soon, a slight hand was on his shoulder.

            "I'm sorry for all that has happened to you, Stephen," said Kathleen softly. "I should never have brought you into this!"

            "You didn't," he said. "a man named William Patrick Temple did. When he died, I felt an evil presence with me in the room. You know that. It was me who decided to come here. We all made our choices."

            "Vangie would say it was our destiny."

            "Still, any one of us could have decided not to be involved. We might have hated ourselves for it, but we could have said no."

            "I'm so sorry," repeated Kathleen.

            "Then," he said, turning to look at her, will you tell me why you--why you did it? What made you go looking for that power in the temple?"

            "It's--it's complicated," said Kathleen. "He--Jacques--talked to me. He--showed me visions, Stephen, and believe me or not, it seems that I'm the reincarnation of a servant-girl in Jacques's household. He made me believe that Vangie was the enemy. That vision I had in the garden was really--well--a kind of memory."

            "Are you saying that he made you believe that Vangie killed you in a past life?" Stephen was incredulous.

            "No," said Kathleen with slow emphasis. "That part is true."

            "What? But how?"

            "My former incarnation was a willing victim, Stephen, but Jacques made me think that Vangie had done it out of malice or worse, with no emotion at all."

            "But how could you trust him? Don't you remember what--what he did to me?"

            "It wasn't a question of trust exactly. I admit that the power seduced me, Stephen. I have no other explanation, but Vangie helped me to see the whole truth. I'm finished with such things forever. You have to believe me!"

            "I do," he said, sighing deeply. "I do. It's just that nothing makes sense anymore."

            "Strange," Kathleen mused. "For me, things are becoming all too clear," and after finishing her scotch and collecting his now-empty glass, she walked out and left him to his thoughts.

            He continued to sit, silent and unmoving, until the night had come in earnest. Outside the window of Kathleen's office, he could see a star-dappled sky with not a cloud in sight, and somewhere above the headland of the island, one star seemed to pulsate in a slow heart's rhythm, and as he gazed at it, he thought he could hear the beating of some vast and ancient heart, as though the very island were a living thing. Was it really there? Surely he was imagining it, but then why was the goose-flesh creeping up his arms and why was a red-hot band of iron beginning to tighten around his chest? Something was definitely wrong here. He tried to whisper a prayer but found himself unable to form the words with his lips. His mind was still clear, but he felt the light of that ill-omened star burning into it and beginning to overwhelm it in a sea of sorcerous luminosity. With all his might, he called out in his mind for Vangie. He wanted to let her rest, but he knew he was not equipped to fight this evil by himself. He felt as he had felt after performing the Last Rites for Bill Temple, and even then, she had come to him and helped him. Would she do so now? The heartbeat grew louder and louder in his ears and it seemed to entice him with its soothingly-fatal consistency. There was purpose in it; There was drive. No qualms or scruples could stop it from doing what it willed. This he somehow knew and he longed for such singleness of mind.

            "Give in," it seemed to repeat. "Give in! Give in! Give in!" and he was just on the point of doing so when he felt himself jerked awake by a muscle spasm and saw a shadowy figure standing over him.

            "My will is yours," he heard himself saying in a thick voice but he didn't know to whom he was addressing this statement.

            "Stephen Matthew Dawson," came Vangie's authoritative voice, "do not say that again! Your will is your own! It does not belong to that heart of darkness!"

            "What? What was I saying?" He shifted in his chair and only now realized how dark the room had become when Vangie, now seeing him properly awake, turned on the overhead light.

            "I felt the assault," she said. "The power we array ourselves against was trying to mesmerize you."

            "Can you hear the heartbeat? It seemed so loud in my--my dream or trance or whatever it was, and there was--a star as well. Can you see it?"

            "Whether I see it or not, it is there," said Vangie, "and so is the heartbeat whether or not I hear it. It pumps malicious poison through the halls of this house and infects the very island with its evil. Now, I think you should come with me." And taking him gently by the hand, she made him stand up and led him like a child to his room. This time, however, she did not come to his bed, nor did he invite her. It was as though they both instinctively knew that this was not a night for dalliance. She did, however, lay a cool hand on his forehead in blessing, and immediately, it was as though a weight had been lifted from him.

            "Goodnight, Stephen," she said softly as he felt his eyes closing.

            "Goodnight, Evangeline," he responded, feeling the need to use her full name as Barrett had done. "Sleep well!"

            "You two," she said. "I think I can promise that you will have no more dreams tonight."

            "Goodnight then," he said and lay still, listening to her retreating steps and the almost-imperceptible closing of his bedroom door as she left him. Then there was blessed silence, and in that silence, he at last fell deeply asleep.

Chapter Thirty-four

            Ever since she had come here six months ago, Kathleen had become intimately familiar with the constant sound of the trade-winds as they came and went over the island. Some days they were quiet, but most days they formed an unceasing choir of voices which made an eerie background to both her waking and her sleeping. She had never regarded them as anything more than a natural phenomenon of the region, but now, after her experience with the ancient powers which seemed to walk unchecked in this place, she heard a keen sadness, a restless suffering in their movements, and this was especially true tonight as she walked the halls of the great house, restless herself and unsleeping.

            After she had left Stephen in her office, she had gone to the library in search of some clue to where the laboratory might be, but finding nothing very conclusive, she had at last stood up from the table which had been Barrett's and went to see if her office-cum-bedroom was now empty. Walking in, she was surprised to see a soft glow coming from her desk-lamp and to hear the humming of her laptop's fan where there should have been silence. Turning on the overhead light, she saw someone sitting behind her desk, apparently engaged in some kind of research. She was about to cry out with indignance that this person was invading her privacy when all at once, the chair was turned and she realized that it was Vangie sitting there.

            "Well, Kat," she said now. "I hope you don't mind me being nosy."

            "No," said Kathleen, a little uncertain of how to proceed, "but perhaps I can help you?"

            "I was hoping to be of help to you, actually," said Vangie, "but so far, the floor-plans and blueprints you have here seem not to show anything useful as to the location of the laboratory."

            "But surely you know where it would be?"

            "I once knew, yes," said the priestess, standing up and stretching, "but where the passage that led to it was is now boarded up as I said before. I was hoping that something in these documents would tell me just how extensive the surveys of the existing structure had been and whether there was any hope at all that the laboratory might still be intact. However, I suppose I ought to get out of your way and let you get some sleep."

            "Well, not so fast. Let me see what you've been looking at," and she took her turn in the chair and soon was lost in the web of lines and arrows which made up the visual representation of the walls and halls of this massive monument to pride and riches.

            "Well," she said after some minutes, "you've found the correct plan. This is the one which Bill and I worked on together. We made notes of where there were unsafe passages and destroyed parts of the outer structure, and if I'm reading this correctly and remembering the passage you described, it looks as though it was marked safe."

            "Yet it's boarded up," said Vangie.

            "Quite so, but Bill wouldn't have done it unless he had a good reason. I think there's something in that passageway that someone doesn't want to be found."

            "That may be," said Vangie, "but what if it's a simple case of mistaken marking on this plan? You might be walking into a trap if you remove the barrier."

            "No," said Kathleen, "I would trust Bill Temple with my life. If he marked this passage as being safe and undamaged by the fire, then it is safe and undamaged. The only thing I have to do is remove the wood and see what I find. However, I think that's a job for the morning."

            "Yes of course," said Vangie. "I too need my bed," and she made to go. However, in the open doorway she turned and paused.

            "Kat," she said, "be careful. Things are coming to the point now. No act will be meaningless and no word will be spoken without peril."

            "Just as long as I can help in some way, that's all I want."

            "Indeed," said Vangie. "Indeed yes. Until tomorrow then," and with her usual smile and light step, she was gone.

            Kathleen closed her door and got ready for bed. She thought she would sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, but as she lay still, staring at the darkness which surrounded her, all at once, the trade-winds began, and after an hour of fruitless attempts to block them out and go to sleep, she finally rose, put on her clothes and walked out of her room. Now, here she was, some hours past midnight, tracing and retracing the various passages and labyrinthine ways of the house. She wanted nothing more than to still her mind, but all at once, she found herself in the great hall. This place frightened her with its past associations, so not pausing to rest within its bounds, she turned her attention to the staircase.

            The laboratory passage was on a landing just before the stairs which led to the crypt, she remembered Vangie saying. Well, she had a flashlight with her, so perhaps she could determine whether or not Bill's 'safe' marking was correctly put onto the floor-plan or was a mistake. She was uncertain how she could prove this short of prying the boards loose, but she thought it wouldn't hurt to have a look.

            She was about to descend the stairs when she heard sounds coming from below. Something was scratching and thumping on wood, and for an instant, she felt sure that one of the occupants of the caskets in the crypt was trying to come out for a nightly shamble.

            "Oh really," she said to herself. "Have you not got the sense that God gave a goose? No more gothic horror novels for you, Kat O'Dell," and she laughed softly to herself. Besides, the sounds were too near to be coming from the crypt. Suddenly, she wondered if someone else had it in mind to check that boarded up passage. Well, there was nothing else for it but to go down and see what was going on.

            The steps dropped steeply, and for a moment, she was giddy with looking down. However, she soon found her head again and realized that the steep drop was a trick of her eyes. The flashlight created more shadows than it dispelled, but once she got used to this, she was able to set her feet firmly on the stairs and to walk sedately downward. She wondered why she was so hesitant, but then she remembered. Every step on that staircase led her closer to the temple, closer to the site of her act of betrayal. Still, she reminded herself, she wasn't going to the temple, and soon, she found herself on the landing where the mysterious passage was. Here, she could see a familiar figure squatting in front of the boards and using a claw-hammer to remove the nails.

            "Who's there?" It was Vangie's voice.

            "It's Kat. I couldn't sleep."

            "The winds are restless," said Vangie, turning, "and so am I. Do you see these nails?"

            Kathleen moved her light nearer and saw immediately what had intrigued her companion.

            "They were rather hastily hammered in," she said. "Bill would have used a nail-gun."

            "This barrier is different from others in the house," said Vangie. "Did Bill's crew do all the preliminary work?"

            "Yes," said Kathleen. "The new workers who were hired after Bill and his people left would have had none of that work to do. I can't picture Julia being willing to swing a hammer, but perhaps she put this up, or--or Erica did."

            "My thoughts exactly. I found this hammer amongst some tools in an old shed in the garden. The nails are coming out easily. There must be wood here and not only stone. There was a door onto the passage, or at least a doorway at one time."

            "If they're coming out so easily," said Kathleen, "then why is sweat breaking out on your forehead? You look, if I may say so, quite feverish, Vangie. Stop working and tell me the real reason you can't sleep!"

            "Very well," said Vangie, relinquishing the hammer into Kathleen's hand and sitting on a step. "The power that waits in the shadows is moving. It has already assaulted Stephen and it assaults me at every turn."

            "But the temple is restored! You're in command of your full power!"

            "True," said Vangie, "but my power is not a match for that which seeks the destruction of all that is good and holy in this world. Other powers must be brought to bear here. All I can do now is try to be of service where I can. I have helped to set the wheel in motion, but I am strapped to it just as all of us are. Many changes are coming, Kathleen O'Dell, and we must be ready for them."

            "Alright then," said Kathleen, "then let's get ready!" She fervently wished that this hammer was larger and heavier than it was, but she thought that even it could do some damage if it was wielded to good purpose. So, without another word, she stood up, spread her legs as though she were going to fell a tree, and swung with all her might. At the first blow, the wood cracked. At the second, it splintered, and at the third, it was shivered into pieces just as though it had been a pane of glass.

            "Courtesy for sleeping people must go by the wayside when bodies and souls are at stake," she said in response to Vangie's sudden, clear and ringing laugh. "Will you come exploring?"

            "I do believe I shall," and now, Kathleen noticed Barrett's serpent staff leaning against a wall.

            "Vangie, are you in pain?"

            "My body is weak, Kat. The power residing in it will either restore me or consume me completely by the time all is over. Time alone can tell. For now, this staff helps me in many ways and will hopefully do so even in the face of the enemy. However, spiritual aid is not all we need, so, weak or not, I'll help you find something more suited to the mortal plane."

            Kathleen watched as the Conjure Woman got to her feet and took the staff in her hand. It was only now that she realized that Vangie had been examining and dismantling the plywood barrier without a light such as the one she herself carried.

            "Vangie, how did you--" The question died on her lips as she saw her friend revealed for an instant in her full power.

            "I need know light to see my way, Kat. Now, let us get on with our task," and as quickly as it had come, the light died from Vangie's form and she moved carefully ahead until she was standing beside Kathleen.

            The passage was wide and completely undamaged, well-paneled and carpeted, but Kathleen could still smell the sharp scent of smoke here as though this part of the house had not been properly aired out, or had not been left open long enough to be aired out. As her feet trod the carpet of this hallway, she was struck by the exact similarity of it and the wood paneling to that found in the restored parts of the house.

            "She must have seen this," she said musingly. "It's exactly the same as--"

            "There," said Vangie suddenly. "That was the door to the laboratory," and there indeed, at the end of the corridor and recessed in a small alcove was a door. It looked like any other door, but Kathleen found herself wondering what Julia or Erica had found it necessary to keep hidden behind it.

            "It isn't locked or even closed properly," said Vangie, laying a hand on the knob and giving a slight push to the door. "See? It's as though someone ran out of here in a hurry."

            Kathleen understood what she meant. Notes and papers were scattered hither and thither over the desk, and with a chill of fear, she realized that these were the notes of Dr. Alison Carr, Erica's sister, who had been one of the people involved in the odd happenings which culminated in the great fire.

            "She was a good woman," said Vangie, looking at Dr. Carr's name written across the top of a sheet of paper. "Quito told me how she died. It was to prevent another's death at her sister's hands."

            "But do you think she would have left the lab in this state?" Not only were the notes scattered every which way, but many of the cabinets and cupboards were overturned, their contents spilled across the floor in chaotic profusion.

            "She was a dedicated researcher," said Vangie gravely. "She had a scientific mind and a methodical nature. This mess was not her work."

            "Most of the drugs and chemicals seem intact and in their places," said Kathleen. "So many of them are not even used nowadays! However," she paused in front of a cabinet and stared hard into a far corner of it. "There's a syringe here and some vials. It's difficult to reach, but..." She stood up to her full height and finally found what she was looking for. "These are Julia's! She couldn't go without them. They're for pain!" She was finding it hard to speak. A lump of anger and sadness was swelling in her throat. "Could this--this spirit be that evil?"

            "My dear Kat," said Vangie, laying a hand on her shoulder and turning her away from the cabinet. "This is not merely Erica Desmond. This is a demon who has taken Erica and twisted her. These notes say as much, though Dr. Carr put it down to strange chemical changes in the body due to its having been cryonically frozen."

            "But what could she gain by keeping Julia from this stuff?"

            "I don't know," said Vangie, "but she would only do it if it threatened her hold on Julia's body in some way."

            "Maybe it's the key then," said Kathleen. "Maybe this will give us a window of opportunity. I know how much she gets. I've given it to her before."

            "It is true that drugs can have an effect on such things," said Vangie. "Stephen may know more about this. For now, keep all this with you. Perhaps if we can cause Julia to surface, she will feel the pain and ask for the drugs. Her will must be involved in this enterprise if it is to succeed."

            "Are you saying she doesn't feel the pain now?"

            "Even if her body feels it, her spirit is now divorced from it. Before, however, Erica could have used the pain to control her."

            "How unbelievably ghastly!"

            "You've touched that power," said Vangie. "You know that it is beyond ghastly."

            As Kathleen put the vials and syringe into her pocket, she saw Vangie totter slightly on her feet and she reached out a hand to steady her.

            "You've got to get some rest, Vangie!"

            "Soon enough, Kat, we'll all be able to rest, one way or another, but for now, you're correct. I'll leave you to your work. I think you should ask Stephen about these drugs."

            "I'll be sure and do so. Come to my office at nine in the morning and we'll all make our plans!"

            "Very well," said Vangie. "Goodnight!"

            "Until tomorrow, whatever happens!"

            As Vangie moved off, surely and steadily even without the aid of a light, she detected a heaviness in her friend's steps which belied her outward calm. Julia would have these drugs to help with the bodily pain racking her, but what could help Vangie? Idly, her mind intent upon finding some answer to this dreadful question, she peered again into the cabinet where she had found Julia's medicine. Most of the bottles and vials had years of dust upon them. Indeed, it was the comparative lack of dust on Julia's things which had drawn her attention to them in the first place. Among the ergots and opiates, the aspirins and barbiturates, she found nothing to shed any light on the problem of Vangie's progressively-weakening state, until suddenly, her eyes landed on the image of a skull and crossbones staring at her from a small glass bottle. Taking the bottle and unscrewing its lid, she had hardly to breathe the air to notice the scent of bitter almonds assailing her nostrils. She had read too many fashionable British mysteries not to know what that odour betokened, so before she sniffed too much of it, she replaced the lid and put the bottle into her pocket. This was nothing other than  Potassium Cyanide, and all at once she remembered a strange passage in the Reverend Dawson's journal about a missing bottle of Cyanide.

            This, she thought, might have its uses. She knew that Julia would rather be dead than be a party to true evil, and if killing her friend was the only way she could stop Erica and the power she served, then she knew she had to do it. She would keep this poison with her and would wait her chance to act. If it was needed, she would not let Stephen or Vangie be a party to murder, but she would kill Julia if it was the only way to stop the evil powers assaulting all of them. Barrett freed himself by dying, and she would free Julia by killing her if she had to, no matter what would happen to her in the future. Having come to this resolution, she suddenly felt extremely tired, and knowing that the dawn was only a scant few hours away, she bent her steps toward her room and this time, fell asleep without a murmur from her mind or the winds to waken her.

Chapter Thirty-five

            Stephen was not troubled by dreams or beating hearts or any other strange psychic manifestations while he slept, but he could not say when he woke the next morning that his sleep had been completely undisturbed. The vague feeling of unease which had permeated this place during the night was still with him though the day was bright and unclouded. Stepping out onto his balcony, he tried to let the sun and the sound of the sea wash away this gloom, but it was to no avail, so that when Vangie came to find him, her smile seemed to mock rather than to encourage him. A sarcastic jibe was on the tip of his tongue when he suddenly looked into her eyes and found something there which reflected a struggle even greater than his own.

            "So," she said softly, "the day has come at last. Has it not?"

            "I suppose it has," said Stephen. "I hope that when it is over, things will have changed for the better."

            "Changes are coming, Stephen," said Vangie, "whether for better or for worse is beyond my knowledge to say. I came to tell you that Kathleen wants to have a last council in her office at nine. There is some new information which we must talk about."

            "You still carry Barrett's staff," said Stephen, looking at the whiteness of her knuckles where she gripped it.

            "I do, yes. It may be your task  to wield it again, but for now, I think holy water and crucifix must be your weapons of combat."

            "But I've foresworn myself in the matter of celibacy. Can I even call myself a priest of Christ?"

            "You must, or we are all doomed! Do you regret what we have been to each other?"

            "No," said Stephen, "but that in itself frightens me. Is everything I know to be true wrong?"

            "You are on a journey, Stephen, a journey whose ultimate end cannot be foreseen, and so are we all. This island is enslaved to a terrible and ancient power which must be destroyed, and I knew long ago that someone of your calling was needed for us to win the fight."

            "My uncle tried and was killed."

            "Yes," said Vangie, "but if we had stood together, if he and I had not let suspicion drive us apart and if I hadn't left in the midst of the battle, together we would have vanquished this evil and freed Jean Paul from its grip. Now, you and I have forged a bond between us of spirit as much as of flesh, and now, we have a chance to put right the wrong. Tell me now, Stephen, if you cannot continue!" She took his hand in a grip of iron, and for an instant, a wild look came into her eyes such as his uncle had described seeing in his journal just before her supposed death.

            "I can continue, Vangie," he said. "I can continue. Please don't--don't succumb to this thing!"

            "I will not succumb while there is a breath in my body, Stephen, but I will not lie to you. The struggle is terrible!"

            "Come then," he said, taking her into a fierce embrace. "We'll do it, Vangie! We'll do it together!" The sea beat against the shore in its eternal rhythm but beneath the breaking waves he thought he heard a mocking laughter.

            "Do you hear him, Stephen?"

            "I do, but I don't care! He'll be driven out! I swear it!"

            "I too am resolved, Stephen, and your determination encourages me. Now, we should get ready for the council. From now on, I think you should be in full priest's garb, and I will dawn the trappings of my office as well."

            "What about this?" He withdrew the serpent pendent he still wore at his breast.

            "Keep it, Stephen! You are fighting for Christ but you are also carrying Robert's part in this battle forward. He was freed, yes, but he was also laid low by this evil. We must avenge him and all those touched by it over the centuries!"

            "Alright then. I'll do as you say," he said, replacing the pendent beneath his shirt and walking back into his room. Following him, Vangie closed the French doors to the balcony and then left him to himself without another word.

            When he emerged from his room, prayer book, censer and holy water firmly in his possession in a small bag, he was amazed to find Vangie in her robe. It was true that they had appeared to each other in their respective official uniforms only the day before, but now he saw a difference in her. It was as though he was meeting her in her cabin for the first time, and in a way, he did see her now in a new light. Before, there had always been a part of his mind which viewed her as a cultural anthropologist would view any native practitioner of an ancient and half-forgotten faith, with curiosity and a little skepticism. However, as he saw her step from her door across the hall to join him, he saw her as he thought one of the devotees of that faith might see her, and he stared at her in awe and with not a little fear.

            "Well, Fr. Dawson?"

            "Well, Conjure Woman?"

            "Let us go, if we're going," and taking his hand in hers, she strode purposely toward the north tower and the waiting Kathleen.

            "Good," said that woman as they entered her office. "You're both here."

            "Were we late?" Stephen was puzzled by the franticness of her pacing and the relief in her voice.

            "No, not late," she said, "but--well--I can't explain."

            "Please try, Kat," said Vangie, regarding her with a strange expression on her face. "What has been happening to you this morning?"

            "Well--well first, I think you both should sit down," and pointing to the chairs across from her desk, she took her usual seat behind it and attempted to compose herself before continuing.

            "Alright," she said after both Stephen and Vangie were seated, "it's like this. I slept very well when I finally did sleep, but ever since I woke up this morning, I've been on edge. It's because of this," and reaching into a desk drawer, she withdrew something and passed it to Vangie.

            "A conjure doll, is it not? And it looks suspiciously like it's meant to represent me."

            "So it does," said Vangie. "Have you seen it before?"

            "When I first came back after Bill's death I saw it, only that time, a pin was lying next to it. Then it disappeared, but it was back again when I woke up this morning. Only this time, there was no pin with it. I'm afraid I know who has it and I'm afraid of what she'll do with it."

            "This is not a true conjure doll," said Vangie, turning it in her hands as she spoke. "It was meant to frighten you, Kat."

            "Then what about the other doll I saw? It was like Bill, and it had a pin through its heart."

            "I wouldn't know unless I saw it, but although Bill Temple did die of a heart attack, the power that killed him needed no conjure doll to accomplish its goal. Still, I'll keep this with me just in case."

            "I hope you're right," said Kathleen. "Now, have you told Stephen about our little adventure last night?"

            "Adventure? What adventure?"

            "Kat and I discovered that the passage leading to the laboratory was not damaged as it appeared to be. When we explored, Kat found some pain medicine belonging to Julia."

            "We think we can use it to help us," said Kathleen. "We think that Erica hid it behind that plywood so that Julia in her right mind wouldn't be able to get it."

            "There is some evidence," said Stephen thinking back through various books and papers on the subject, "to suggest that drugs such as strong pain medication can paralyze a possessing spirit or at least disrupt the suggestion that the spirit is possessing the body, depending on the school of thought to which you subscribe. It would at the very least allow Julia's mind to move beyond the limits of the possession and to block communication between Erica's spirit and her body. I'd be able to act then."

            "We're hoping for even more, Stephen," said Vangie. "We're hoping to bring Julia's own will into the exorcism."

            "Good! The more help we can get, the better, but how are we going to begin?"

            "I've thought of that," said Vangie. "We will all go to the great hall and I will summon Erica. Then, you will have to begin the exorcism so that Erica may retreat deeper into Julia's mind. Then, I will bring Julia forward and hopefully she will feel the pain which must be assailing her body. That will help her mind to become clear and will allow us to reach her. With luck, she will give her permission for the pain medication and then, even if Erica regains control, the medication will do its work and you can truly do your own."

            "So when will we start?"

            "As soon as may be," said Vangie. "However, practical preparations must be made first. We must eat, for one thing."

            "A last meal before the battle?" Stephen couldn't help this cynical comment.

            "Is it not said that an exorcism is like a prize fight?"

            "That's true," said Stephen.

            "And I too must be in top form," continued Vangie, "and besides, we must meet once more as friends before going into battle."

            "Alright then," said Kathleen. "You and I will get the breakfast, Vangie, shall we?"

            Stephen watched the two women leave the room and then reached into the small bag he carried and removed his purloined copy of The Roman Ritual, opening it to the Exorcism section. Looking over the rubrics, he made some notes in the margins and then, as he heard Vangie and Kathleen coming down the corridor, he shut the book, replaced it in his bag with the other tools of his trade, and sat still to await whatever would come. He was ready as he would ever be, he thought, and he knew that Vangie would do her best, but Kathleen was still a mystery. What would she do when push came to shove? Could she be counted upon? For Vangie, this seemed to be a closed question, but his mind was not so easy. He felt that he could not afford to let his mind be easy, even if the story that Kathleen had told him last night was true. Reincarnation was not a belief that he would have espoused a few weeks ago, but before he met Vangie, he would not have believed that a human could approach anything like immortality. So, perhaps he was wrong about his suspicions and distrust, but Kathleen had hurt Vangie, his beloved, Barrett's friend and confidante. Then, of course, there was his own resolve to contemplate. What if that heartbeat came again? Could he hold out against it? All these questions burned in his mind, and as the two women rejoined him, he found himself unable to look either of them in the eye.

            The meal they had prepared was simple but sustaining, and Stephen ate heartily enough. However, as he watched and listened to them, their laughter and their professions of the friendship and sisterhood which had grown up between them over these past weeks, he could not help growing more and more angry. How could Vangie trust Kathleen now? She was not a naive person as a rule, but he couldn't help thinking of her as such when faced with this greatest of betrayals.

            "Stephen," she said now as he was draining his cup of instant coffee, "something is troubling you. What is it?"

            "It's me," said Kathleen, tears welling in her eyes. "It's me! He hates me and thinks you're a fool to trust me after what I did yesterday."

            "Is this true, Stephen?" Vangie's gaze was stern and pitiless. "After all you've heard about this power, after all you've seen in this place, are you so hard-hearted?"

            "She almost killed you! I can't--I can't forgive that!" By now, he was on his feet and so was the Conjure Woman. Kathleen, however, still sat behind her desk, eyes cast down and tears falling freely.

            "Come with me!" said Vangie, and he found he had no choice in the matter, for she had taken his hand and had propelled him from the room in less than five seconds.

            "Stephen," she said when she had closed the door, "if your heart isn't in this, you have to tell me now! We are all on edge and it is only going to get worse from here, so tell me now if you truly cannot trust Kat. Does not your faith have a story about a prodigal son who is welcomed with open arms after his misguided deeds? I am not dead, Stephen, nor will I be until the Great Serpent so wills it, and I beg you to think about why you are refusing to trust Kathleen or to forgive her. You and I are bound with a great bond now, but you cannot let your emotional attachment to me cloud your purpose here."

            "But if you had died! If I had lost you!"

            "Death is no loss, Stephen. Neither your faith nor mine counts it as such. Remember the loyalty that Kat has shown you! Remember the help she has been to you, and to me! Open your eyes and your heart, Stephen, and put aside your anger, or else channel it to a better object and a nobler end!"

            "I'll try, Vangie. I'll try."

            "That is all I can ask. Now, let's go back in there!"

            Stephen opened the door and preceded Vangie back into the small office, and there, a sight to melt the hardest of hearts met his eyes. Kathleen was sobbing uncontrollably and convulsing with the violence of her tears.

            "Go to her, Stephen! She is strong and we need her strength, but she needs comfort now. I'll take care of the dishes while you talk."

            "No, Vangie! No!" Stephen was taken aback by the desperation in Kathleen's voice as she said this, but Vangie, after whispering to her and putting an arm around her, left the room with the remains of the breakfast.

            Stephen went to her and took her hand.

            "I'm sorry, Kat," he said. "I'm a foolish man. Please forgive me!"

            "You have to know, Stephen, that I want to save Julia, and I don't want either you or Vangie hurt by what's going to happen here. I'll do whatever I have to to help.  You have to believe me!"

            "It's alright, Kat. It's alright." He found a handkerchief in his bag and gave it to her to wipe her eyes. This done, she stood up and came to him.

            "You're a good man, Stephen," she said, "and I think you're a good priest."

            "I'm an idiot, Kat," he said, "and I'm only a passable priest. However, it's lucky that whether or not I'm proficient in my vocation doesn't ultimately matter. The ritual of exorcism is given power by God, and He surely must be on our side against this--this thing!"

            "Our side?"

            "Yes, our side. I know where your heart is. I'm sorry I doubted you!"

            "Alright then! Let's do this!"

            "I'm glad to see you two on the same side again," said Vangie as she came back in. "It's time for us to go to the great hall."

            "Already?" Stephen stared at her in surprise.

            "Already, Stephen? Haven't we waited long enough?"

            "I agree with Vangie," said Kathleen. "Finally we're doing something!"

            "I have to pray first," said Stephen.

            "So do we all," said Vangie, "but we'll do it in the great hall."

            "I hate the idea of doing anything in front of that portrait," said Stephen, "but I suppose it's part of the evil too."

            "It is, and the great hall was the scene of the fire. It was the scene of great evil and even greater courage, so we must use that to our advantage. Come now!" and taking up the serpent staff, she led the way out of the tower and toward the place where the battle would truly begin.

            Once in the great hall, Stephen prayed and asperged the room with holy water and then lit some incense.

            "Are there any rituals that you need to do, Vangie, before we start?"

            "It is not mine to officiate here. I will stand against any manifestations of power, but beyond that, it is you who are the priest during this ceremony. Kathleen and I are acolytes."

            "Very well. Then if you feel you can summon Erica, I suppose there's no time like the present. Are you ready with the meds, Kat?"

            "As ready as I'll ever be, yes."

            "Then we'll begin," said Vangie, and standing to her full height, she spoke in a firm, commanding tone. "You who have taken the name of Erica Desmond, I conjure you to come and meet us here! By the ancient rulers of this island and by all that is holy, I command you to show yourself!"

            "And me, little Evangeline? What about me?"

            Stephen turned from his preparations and looked at the portrait. The voice had come from it just as it had on the day of his arrival, but the portrait itself looked as lifeless as any other painting.

            "You will be dealt with, Jacques Eloi Des Mondes," said Vangie.

            "Unless you are dealt with first, of course!"

            "Now now! Let's not have impoliteness here! I'm the mistress of this house, and I am eager to provide hospitality to my guests." Julia stood framed in the doorway, her dress the colour of fire and her hair braided and dripping with gems.

            "I am pleased to see you all gathered here! Now, we can better understand each other. Can we not, Fr. Dawson?"

            "We can, yes," and taking a deep breath, he made the sign of the cross and began to say The Lord's Prayer in what he hoped was a voice as clear and strong as Vangie's had been.

Chapter Thirty-six

            Kathleen stood mesmerized between two awesome sights. The first was Julia's body, standing tall and commanding in the doorway, her dress hanging perfectly from her slender shoulders and her hair a rope of gold intertwined with rubies and emeralds, but as she looked into her friends eyes, she knew beyond a doubt that what lay behind them was not her friend. She recognized Erica in a new and intimate way, for the power which pulsed from her was the same power which she had touched in the temple and she didn't like it.

            The second sight which kept her transfixed was Stephen's sure and fluid gestures as he spoke the opening invocations of the time-honoured roman ritual of Exorcism over her friend. As she watched him, she realized that he was not only reciting these prayers from a book, but she knew that he too sensed the power coming from Erica and was trying to put himself between it and Julia. He was fighting for Julia just as hard as she wished to fight. However, at present, she could do nothing but watch and wait, and beside her waited Vangie, and she too exuded a power that Kathleen could sense, but where Erica's power was darkness itself, Vangie's was like the splendour of the sun. Even though she could not see it with her bodily eyes, she knew the light lay burning just behind the veil of Vangie's physical form. She felt a keen sense of trust for both of her companions, and as Stephen began the first part of the exorcism proper, it seemed to catch Erica unawares. At his first banishing gesture, Julia's body seemed to totter, and Kathleen was uncertain whether this was a mere faint, but she soon realized that Julia was beginning to regain control. Vangie was quickly at Julia's side and calling her softly from the protected corner she had made for her, and after a moment, Julia turned to Kathleen with unclouded eyes but eyes filled with pain and distress.

            "Kat!" she said. "Oh God! Kat! The pain! The pain, Kat! Help me!"

            "I will, Julia. I will, but come and lie down on the sofa first! Vangie, help me with her! There now, Julia! It'll be alright. It'll be alright. I have your medicine!"

            "But she hid it! She--Aaaaaaah!" The scream was terrible. It frightened Kathleen so much that she almost dropped the syringe she was preparing. However, with Vangie's deft fingers to help her, she soon had the injection ready and found a spot on Julia's arm which she remembered all too well, and once Vangie had swabbed the area with some rubbing alcohol she had retrieved from the laboratory, she soon had the drugs administered and Julia began to calm down under their influence.

            All this while, Stephen continued to pray and she and Vangie continued to make the appropriate responses. It was strange to see the Conjure Woman dressed in her ceremonial robe speaking words such as "amen" and performing gestures like the sign of the cross, but Kathleen could tell that in that moment Vangie was as devout as anyone could be, and that while she was praying, she was summoning all her strength to stand against the true onslaught. Kathleen did not know when this would come, but as Stephen placed his stole over Julia's forehead, she suddenly knew that something had changed. The moment he had anointed Julia's body with holy water, the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Before, it had been comfortable, but now, a chill had crept in such as she had never felt in these islands save in one place: the crypt below.

            "I said we would deal with you, little priest," said Julia, and though her words were slow and slurred, Kathleen recognized Erica's tone and cadence, "and I meant it!" These words were spoken with ferocious clarity, and soon, Erica's spirit made Julia sit bolt upright and punch the priest squarely in the stomach.

            Stephen took two steps back, but to Kathleen's surprise, though he was winded, he managed to remain on his feet. This seemed to anger Erica, for she suddenly got to her feet and stood perfectly still for over a minute. The room was still around her. No one spoke, for Stephen was still getting his breath back, and she found herself utterly fascinated with the scene before her. Erica was standing as she knew she herself must have stood in the temple, and while no wind accompanied her change, Kathleen knew that she was being taken up into the centre of that dark power which held sway over the garden of evil, and now a voice came from Julia's lips such as could belong to no human being ever born, and what it pronounced was dreadful to hear, even if Kathleen could not understand the syllables, for what it shouted were words of terrible pain and rage, words of cosmic hatred and absolute malice. She had read her H. P. Lovecraft, and here at last, she knew, she was seeing, in the body of her dearest friend in the world, the unmasked demon at last, the truth behind Lovecraft's 'thing that should not be,' and it was even more horrible because it was reaching out to her and trying to draw her along with it as it had done before.

            On and on went the vast and strange syllables until all at once, Stephen came to meet the thing which was now no longer properly the spirit of Erica Desmond and, raising his crucifix like a shield, commanded it to be silent. From him came no power, from him came no inhuman voice, but all the same, there was a wondrous strength in him, a beautiful determination to stand against this thing and face it down as a true servant of God.

            "I command you," he said when the demon unexpectedly did fall silent, "by the Judge of the living and the dead, to depart from this servant of God, Julia Suzanne Desmond! I cast you out in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit! O Lord, hear my prayer."

            "And let my cry come unto thee," both she and Vangie responded, standing behind him in the room which now felt like a freezer and holding hands, and now Stephen began a litany of the saints, and while he was saying the names of those holy men and women which she recalled from her childhood, the demon in charge of Julia's body now picked him up and tossed him into a far corner where his head collided with a glass occasional table. Blood was dripping from just above his eye when he stood up, but he did stand up and return to his place.

            "It's the power of Christ that compels you," he began, and then over and over, while sprinkling Julia's body with holy water, he continued saying: "The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you!"

            "Does it indeed, little priest? Are you truly a servant of His? And who are these who follow you? An agnostic and a native island witch? Surely you don't think they can stop me! Look at what happened to the fourth member of your little rescue party!" The voice sounded more human again by now, but not less evil. Still, as Stephen still chanted the central part of the exorcism, Kathleen noticed that Julia's body was weakening, and before long, it fell back onto the sofa and lay motionless.

            Stephen concluded the ritual without another interruption from either Julia's body or the portrait, but none of the three companions felt as though they could relax when it was done. For one thing, the great hall was still very cold, and as Vangie tended Stephen's cut, none of them could forget the casual way in which the demon had thrown him across the room.

            "I'm hoping the drugs have now taken a firmer hold," said Stephen after a while, "but I don't really know if they were a good or a bad idea."

            "I think they have been of some help," said Vangie, and Kathleen caught a tightness in her voice that she did not like, "but however that may be, the choice has been made and We cannot turn back from it, no matter how much we might wish to."

            Just then, as though in confirmation of this statement, Kathleen began to perceive a very familiar sound, a sound she had hoped never to hear again. The ancient heartbeat which had seduced her into the temple was pounding in her ears and seemed to come from the portrait over the fireplace.

            "Does anyone else hear that?" She wanted to make sure she was not hallucinating.

            "I have never stopped hearing it," said Vangie, "not for over forty years. That heartbeat has haunted my dreams and driven my life." For an instant, Kathleen saw a truly maniacal look in the eyes of the Conjure Woman and she wondered all at once if Vangie truly was on the side of evil, but then, her usual composure regained, she continued in more reassuring tones:

            "It is the curse that I helped to loose, and I will destroy it just as its mark was destroyed on the altar of the Great Serpent!"

            "Those are fine words, Conjure Woman," said the voice from the portrait, "but what if your destiny should find you first? What if you have come to Maljardin again only to fulfill it? I told you to stay away, and now I'll show you your folly in not heeding my warnings!"

            "No, no you can't!" Kathleen turned suddenly from the scene before her and saw that Julia was speaking.

            "Have no fear, Julia," said Vangie, going quickly to her side. "Whatever happens, we are all in the hands of a power much greater than ourselves."

            "No, Vangie, you don't understand!"

            "Rest now, Julia, please!"

            "Rest? Rest?" Suddenly Kathleen was at Vangie's side and gazing directly into Julia's wide open eyes. They were like pools of emptiness. Nothing human seemed to live within their depths, and now Vangie realized her mistake.

            "I can't rest, Vangie," said Erica in a horrible imitation of Julia's pained voice, "because I haven't finished what I started with you so long ago! You were hindering my reunion with my husband, and I just couldn't have that, now could I?" By now, both Vangie's hands were being gripped fiercely, and Kathleen could tell that Erica was doing something even more terrible to her on a spiritual level.

            "What do we do, Stephen? She's killing her!"

            "What happened in the library, Kat? Do you remember how you did what you did?"

            "I do, but I can't sense anything from Vangie now, and it was her strength that I was able to use back in the library with Professor Barrett! Now, we have to do something! My God! Look what that thing is doing to her!"

            "Great Serpent! Gods of my ancestors!" Vangie spoke these words with what breath she had left, but it was as though the demon had reached into her chest and was squeezing her very heart. Her face had gone a ghastly shade of purple and her eyes, always so piercing and firm, were becoming pale and unfocused. Then, all at once, she seemed to rally, and Julia's hands relaxed their hold as if they had been burned.

            "Evil cannot touch one who has been hallowed and consecrated to the service of the Great Serpent," she said, but despite the firmness of her voice, Kathleen saw in her eyes that she had been weakened fundamentally by her struggle with the demon.

            "Vangie! Are you alright?" Stephen was kneeling by her in a moment, his eyes filled with pain and concern.

            "Priest," she said through clenched teeth, "attend to your office! The battle is not over yet!"

            "But you! What about you?"

            "I will be alright. Now please, begin the ritual again if you can!"

            "Oh, I can," said Stephen, and rising to his feet, he began the invocations again and Kathleen and Vangie took their places behind him, the latter leaning heavily upon the serpent staff. However, only Kathleen saw the tears of pain in the Conjure Woman's eyes.

            This can't go on much longer, she thought. I have to do something! I have to help the only way I can!

            As the ritual continued, the drugs seemed to take greater and greater hold over Julia's body. The demon kept speaking, but it seemed only to have control over Julia's mind and voice, while her limbs lay outside its influence, lulled asleep and insensible. Kathleen was grateful for this development, but as she soon learned, Erica was still able to wound with her words.

            "How can you be trusted, Kathleen?" She made Julia's mouth pronounce this in such a cold voice that it cut Kathleen to the very heart. "After all, you would have killed everyone here for what? For a little power? Surely your heart is not in this exercise--exorcism, I mean. Is it? Aren't you tired of fighting?"

            Kathleen heard the mocking jibes as a continual undertone while Stephen continued his prayers, and for a while she found them easy to ignore, but as Stephen finished the ritual for yet another time, the voice grew more persistent.

            "You've been Julia's friend all these years, Kathleen," it said. "How can you deny her her life? Do you not know that the bargain she made was that her Cancer would be cured if she would only do what was asked of her? If we're driven out of this place, your friend will not survive! Is that what you really want, Kathleen?"

            "No," she found herself saying as she burst into tears. "I don't want that! Damn it, I just don't know what to do!"

            "You can leave, Kat," said Stephen quietly but in a commanding tone. "You can get out of here right now and rest. You're in too deep!"

            "He's right, you know," said Erica's spirit. "You're all in far too deep to turn back now!"

            "Vangie, please take her out of here," said Stephen.

            "We can't leave you alone," said Kathleen in a desperate voice.

            "Don't worry," said Stephen. "I plan to finish this once and for all!"

            "Come, Kat," said Vangie. "I too need a rest."

            "For God's sake just go! Please!" When she heard that note of frustration in Stephen's voice, Kathleen was filled with even more misgivings, but now the Conjure Woman was taking her gently by the hand and together they were soon beyond the great hall, through the massive front doors and out into the sun-drenched grounds.

            "I thought we were going to rest!"

            "And so we are," said Vangie, "but not inside the house. I think the drugs are having the effect we desired, so I hope that Stephen may join us soon."

            "Are you--are you alright, Vangie? I mean, after what that--that thing did to you back there?"

            "I think that 'alright' is a relative term," said the Conjure Woman with a rueful smile. "I am still alive and in command of myself, but I will not lie to you, Kat. The struggle has been truly bitter! Still, the earth beneath my feet and the sun upon my face is doing wonders. The very island I think now understands that we are trying to free it and it is lending us its best and brightest self to help us."

            "Is it true, what--it--said? Will Julia die of Cancer if we drive the demons from this place?"

            "I think the question you should be asking is: how can evil create true good? How can the devil truly heal anything? The answer is that he cannot. He could no more cure Julia's Cancer than he could truly bring Erica back from the dead. The power to reanimate her body he stole from this island, from me, in fact. Had I not relinquished it, had I not feigned my death, then he could never have accomplished his task."

            "But you're not God, Vangie! You can't bring people back from the dead!"

            "I do not claim to be able to, but when I inherited my father's position, I was given access to some very strange and unpredictable powers which are at best neutral and which need a will to guide them aright. They are ancient powers, Kat, powers of the elements and of nature, what you might call magic. You've seen something of them in the temple when the serpent image was reformed."

            "And you somehow gave these powers to the evil things here when you--when you made them believe you had died?"

            "No, Kat," said Vangie, suddenly stopping and sinking heavily onto the stone seat near the serpent fountain in the garden. "The powers were taken from me and all I could do to have a chance of finding them again was pretend that I had been killed or actually be killed if I kept fighting."

            Kathleen pondered this statement a while without speaking. Vangie had faked her own death even while she was being assaulted by the dark powers alive in this place. When she had first taken the bottle of cyanide from the deserted laboratory, it was with the intention of killing Julia if the need arose, but what if she could do something even better? If she were to kill Julia, she had thought last night, it would be as a last resort, a last desperate act to free her friend from the demon's grip. However, there might be another way. Perhaps she could use the poison to imprison the demon within her own body. Vangie could not go on much longer. This she could see without the aid of whatever connection had formed between them over these past weeks. Stephen likely could not go on indefinitely, and if the best they could hope for was a stalemate, then she would find a way to change the end-game, even if it meant allowing the demon to become a part of her and then finding the strength to kill herself. Vangie had said that the evil here was attracted to her. Well, perhaps she could use that to her advantage. She had said long ago that she would give her life for Julia, and now, she thought, if it had to be so, then it would be.

            "What are you thinking about, Kat?"

            "I just hate seeing what this is doing to you, Vangie," she said. This at least was not a lie, even if it was not the whole truth.

            "Well, I knew it would be difficult, and at least the day is bright and golden. If I do not see another, this one will console me."

            "You can't talk like that!"

            "Kat," said the priestess gravely, "even if I live out the coming night, whatever eyes look upon tomorrow's dawning will not be the same eyes that see today's noontide. I will be changed, Kat, as we all will. Now, I believe I can return to the battlefield. Can you?"

            "I can, Vangie," she said. "I must," and she fingered the small vial of poison in her pocket, finding new meaning and even a kind of freeing hope in its bitter contents.

Chapter Thirty-seven

            The great hall was utterly still as Stephen watched his companions walk away, but he knew that he could not relax even for a single instant. Julia's body lay motionless on the sofa, her pupils now fixed and dilated and only her hands clenching and unclenching in some strange spasm.

            "Well," he said half to himself, "here we go again," and he picked up his book to repeat the ritual. However, he had not got very far with it when without warning or preamble, Julia's eyes focused upon him and she, not Erica's spirit, began to speak.

            "Fr. Dawson? Fr. Dawson, please talk to me!" Her voice seemed devoid of malice or cunning, but he dared not address her. Instead, still feeling the biting chill of the room around him and the even stranger inward chill which seemed to proclaim the presence of evil here on Maljardin, he continued his prayers as though he had not heard her.

            "Please, Father! Where is Kat? Is she safe? Please tell me!"

            "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name," he prayed, moving toward her to trace the sign of the cross on her body, and he heard her begin to pray with him. This gave him hope, but this hope was quickly dashed when a mocking laughter came from the portrait, drowning out Julia's voice and causing him to temporarily lose his place. This made him angry, and try as he would to calm himself, he found it impossible in that moment to regain his composure. Despite a part of his mind warning him not to, he turned his back on Julia and addressed the portrait directly.

            "You killed my friend, Jacques," he said, "and you killed my uncle!"

            "No," said the voice from the portrait. "No, little priest! I did not kill your Uncle!"

            "No, Stephen," said Julia's voice now again in Erica's tones. "It was I who killed him, and I'll kill you too!" And all at once, she leapt up from the couch and hurled herself into him, knocking him to the floor and pinning him down by main force.

            He felt the breath being crushed from his body but his mind still screamed, though it too was being fiercely assaulted by the maddening sexual ecstasy which her presence always roused in him. Still, somehow he continued thinking the words of the ritual, until after an agonizing moment, he felt even the phrases of the most familiar prayers leaving him and as his eyes and mind grew dim, he felt himself borne from the great hall by strong arms and knew that he could do nothing about it.

            The next clear sensations he had were a warm breeze passing over his face and a strong sun beating onto the lids of his closed eyes. Afraid to open them because of the potential brightness of that sun, he lay for a while without moving and tried to get the sense of his surroundings without benefit of vision. The sea boomed some way below him and he could smell the scents of a hundred tropical plants in the balmy air. He thought at first that he was on the balcony which adjoined his room, but soon, above the sound of the breakers, he heard a soft voice speaking, and as the import of its words became clear to him, he knew at last where he was, and he felt his face drained of all its colour.

            "Now we can talk more easily, Stephen," said Erica's spirit with Julia's voice. "I have longed to see you here! This was where I disposed of your meddling uncle, and it is where, no matter how long it takes, I will do the same to you! Now, open your eyes, stand up and dare to face me!"

            Was this the end then? Had all the hazards and dangerous encounters, all the dreams and rituals, all the seeking of answers to long-held questions come to this place: the roof of the north tower of the Desmond chateau? Here indeed, according to Vangie, his Uncle Matt had met his end at Erica's hands. He had wished to avoid coming here from the moment he had first set foot upon the island, and now, without his leave or his will, here he was, facing the same evil which had destroyed his uncle and all the rest who tried to confront it. He recalled the words that Vangie had said several times, that it was his destiny to come to the great house and to encounter (and triumph over? Had she said that?) this evil even as his uncle had tried to do.

            "You are aptly represented as the fool in the tarot pack, you know," said Erica as he got to his feet. "So was your uncle! He was blinded by love and by his own self-righteousness, and he tumbled to his death when he knew me for who I truly am! What of you? Can you stand against me?"

            "We shall see," he said, and holding his crucifix aloft, he began to chant, without the aid of his book, what parts of the ritual he could remember.

            The day was bright about him as he prayed and made the slow, deliberate gestures which were associated with the time-honoured rite he was performing, but despite the tropical sunlight, he knew only darkness in his heart. All his words seemed meaningless as he stared into what should have been Julia's eyes but what were instead vast pools of hatred. All that was human in them seemed vanished away, swallowed up in hunger and envy, rage and blind malice. Her voice continued to chide him as he went on with the exorcism, but he was past caring about what it said. Still, as she who claimed to be the spirit of Erica Desmond spoke and spoke, spilling invective and insult out of Julia's mouth and trying to distract him from his purpose, he suddenly realized the truth. She may have done a brilliant job of mimicking Erica's look and manner, but she was not Erica's spirit. She was not even a she! She was only a mask, only a covering pulled over the emptiness he was now seeing, the absence of light, the absence of glory, the null and negative thing which was what had become of that great and ancient archangel when he fell. Yes, he who had once been called the Son of Morning was here now, and threatened to bring endless night upon everyone here in the garden of evil.

            "Did you think," the voice which was coming again to sound less and less like Julia's own said as though divining his thoughts, "that Jacques was the master here? Did you think that I was merely a malicious woman out for some kind of revenge? You do not know what happened to Jean Paul Desmond! You do not know that I bound him to me with the Mark of Death! I turned him from a simple man into a bringer of woe and chaos. The fact that he eventually outwitted me is immaterial, for I have found a better weapon now!"

            "What do you mean?" The question was out before he could stop himself.

            "Well, I certainly do not mean you, little priest! You are nothing to me! You see how effective your words and spells have been, don't you? I'm still firmly in control of this body, and I plan to stay here until it serves my purpose!"

            "I know what you want! You want a child!"

            "That is one of my plans, but this body is weakening. I shall have to find a new one if I am to maintain a true foothold in your mortal world."

            "Still, this plan to have a child seems an odd choice!"

            "Really? Him whom you serve chose it, did He not?" As it spoke these words, the voice grew deeper and more resonant, and it seemed to shake the earth and to cause the very sun to tremble in the sky, and all at once, Stephen knew that this was what his Uncle Matt could not bear to face. This naked evil had been too much for him, and it was becoming too much for Stephen as well.

            As the voice began again to speak words in a strange and unknown language, each syllable seemed to press upon him until he found himself driven to his knees. However, with what strength he still had, he began, even kneeling there on the tiled roof, to banish the evil presence with all the words and gestures at his command. Now Julia's body towered over him, not the least hint of the drug-induced stupefaction about it any longer, and he reproached himself for falling prey to the demon's deceptions yet again. It had tempted him in his dreams and it had raped him in reality. It had caused Barrett to go mad and finally to kill himself, and now it had tricked him and had trapped him here in the place where his uncle had met his ultimate doom. And what about Kat? What about Vangie? He found himself weakening under the power of the demon now standing unmasked before him, and if he fell, what would happen to them?

            "God help me! Please! Help me!" he screamed, and then, as though he had received a killing blow, he suddenly fell prostrate at Julia's feet and lay motionless, his body racked with pain and his mind cracking under the weight of the ageless evil now pressing upon it from the place of dark despair whence, he now knew,  the demon drew its strength.

            "Help you? Why on earth should your God help you? You may be dressed as one of His soldiers, but can you truly be loyal to a God in whom you have only ever half believed? What do you know of your God? I know Him! I know His wrath and I know how He too despaired as he died, spread-eagled upon the cross of His failure!"

            "Failure?" Stephen now heard another voice above him, and its calm words went to his heart like falling rain. "Can even you truly live in such a delusion of madness? What you really mean is that you thought that the cross would be His undoing, but what you never counted upon was the fact that even though He was mortal, He was always in command of that mortality. He may have had a moment of despair, but in His death was His triumph, and in His risen body He showed us the way to defeat you and your hold over us! Stephen, stand up!" A soft but strong hand was slipped into his own as the new voice said this, and soon, he felt the pressure on his mind and body ebb as the hand helped him to his feet, and when he turned, he saw the eyes of Kathleen O'Dell, clear and strong, confronting those dark pools and facing the madness in their depths with unwavering resolve.

            "Too long you have tormented this island," she said, "and I stand here now to see that these torments are finally brought to an end! You've taken my friend and I cannot permit it to continue!"

            "Kat! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Stephen could feel the power coming from her, but he could also see a gleam of covetousness dawning behind the emptiness in the eyes of the demon-possessed body of Julia Desmond.

            "I'm doing what has to be done, Stephen," said Kathleen, and with a sudden spasm of both her and Julia's bodies, the world seemed to turn upside-down. Stephen heard again the heartbeat pounding in his ears, and then he saw Kathleen, whose eyes still burned as green as glass but which would, he knew, soon become vacuous and demented under the demon's influence, take a small vial from her pocket and pour some of its contents into a bottle of water she had with her. Then, remembering Barrett's sudden suicide and fearing the worst, he tried to wrestle the bottle away from her, but she was able to use the demon's strength to fend him off, and while he lay breathless and unable to move for the pain in his head, he saw her down the water in silence.

            "Kat? Fr. Dawson? What's happening?"

            "Don't worry, Jule," said Kathleen with a great effort. "You won't be hurt anymore," and while the demon seemed to struggle within her, causing her to spit and to scream obscenities, Kathleen managed to sit down, and as the pain in his head fully engulfed him, Stephen saw her eyes slowly close and heard her laboured breathing.

            "It's alright," she said as the demon-part of her was lulled to sleep. "It's what had to be done!"

            "No! No!" Julia was at Kathleen's side in a moment. "This can't be the way! How did this happen?" This question was also being echoed in Stephen's mind as he lay looking up at the sun where it began to dip toward the horizon. How could this have happened, and where in all this chaos was Vangie? He feared finding the answers to these questions, but even as he feared, his mind slid away from him and plunged him beyond all fear and beyond all love into the depths of utter darkness.

Chapter Thirty-eight

            The serpent-staff was heavy in the hand of the Conjure Woman as she leaned upon it, walking behind Kathleen as they returned to the house and to the battle which awaited them. Her friend moved ahead of her, not stopping to look back and not even seeking to take her hand. Now, she knew, was Kathleen's hour. She was only here, she at last realized, to bring that hour to pass. If it was her doom to die, to fade, to move beyond this life in service of that destiny, then she knew that this was what she must do without complaint. Besides, her limbs felt heavy as she moved, and her body, so long sustained by the strange ritual she had undergone more than three-hundred years before, now began to feel the weight of all of those centuries. Perhaps, she thought as Kathleen opened the front door and held it for her to pass inside, perhaps it was time for her to be freed from the flesh that now enfolded her, as the song of departure she had sung at Barrett's passing would have it.

            "Vangie? Are you alright?" It was only at these words of Kathleen's that she realized she had been standing transfixed on the doorstep without moving for some unknown amount of time.

            "I'm sorry," she said now. "Yes. I'm ready."

            "Let's go in together, my friend!"

            "Yes, Kat," she said, looking deeply into the other woman's eyes. "It is my honour to stand beside you at this hour!" What she saw as she looked into Kathleen's face was resolve, love, trust and strength. She could see that her friend had come to a decision of some kind, and while she envied that clarity of purpose, she also knew that it was not hers to possess. Rather, she reflected, was it her task to stand between the light and the darkness so that the light could do its work unhindered, and this she resolved to do as the two of them advanced slowly once again into the great hall.

            "Good afternoon, Mesdames!" The voice from the portrait was coldly cordial as they confronted it. "I am glad you've returned!"

            "Where is Stephen?" Vangie would have silenced Kathleen to prevent her engaging the presence which had led her astray the day before, but as her eyes found the painted eyes upon the canvas she found herself unable to move or to speak. As he had done in the library while working through Barrett, Jacques had managed to find a vulnerability in her defenses, and now she was caught by him once more. Kathleen, however, still held her hand and seemed yet to be in control of her faculties, though Vangie could sense the darkness reaching out to grasp her mind and to use her as a powerful weapon in its service. It had tasted her vitality, Vangie knew, and it wanted more. It wanted nothing less than Kathleen's complete and total surrender, but it had not banked on her ability to use the power which came to her hand to her own ends, for even as she herself was weakening, she knew that Kathleen was taking what strength she could give her and using it to stand against the power pulsating from the portrait.

            "Stephen? You mean the little priest? Oh, he's keeping a long-appointed tryst with my fair consort! If you can find him, you are welcome to try and aid him!"

            With the part of her mind which still lay untouched by the malevolence before her, Vangie began seeking for Stephen's presence, but all was chaos and confusion. The devil's darkness seemed to be fully unleashed at last and all their plans seemed smashed into ruins. Still, all she could do was try, but before anything came of her efforts, Stephen himself made his location known. A terrible scream came from overhead and all at once, Vangie knew where he must be. Using all her strength to pry her eyes away from the portrait's influence, she managed to squeeze Kathleen's hand and to give her one last bit of the power to which she was privy as Conjure Woman and to whisper three words, though it felt as though they were being wrenched from her very soul:

            "North tower! Go!" Kathleen squeezed her hand in mute acknowledgement of the command, and with one last look into her eyes, turned and left the great hall, beginning to run as she gained the main staircase.

            Now Vangie stood alone at last, locked in the grip of the power from which she had run when first she had encountered it. A part of her felt just as frightened and unprepared as she had forty years before, but she knew that her father's words spoken so long ago were true.

            "You will get no rest," he had said as he lay dying, "until you send Jacques Eloi Des Mondes back to the eternal hell he has built for himself!" This was her task, this alone, but her father had not told her how it was to be accomplished. Not until now, now when a Desmond descendant had come to reside again at Maljardin and a relative of the Reverend Matthew Dawson had come in search of answers to his uncle's disappearance had there been such a propitious time, and now, when it came to the point, she found herself bound mute and motionless beneath the haughty gaze of those painted yet all-too-vital eyes. Was this to be the end of all her plans then? Must she die here on Maljardin with her task still undone?

            As she had told Stephen, she had once done everything she could to avoid taking on her father's responsibilities, but he had told her that not only blood determined who should succeed him in his office, but also a gift, a special mark which could be recognized. Quito had borne such a gift, and though he had been made into a zombie for his betrayal of their people, Vangie had seen it in him during her stay in the house and her sojourn in the cave. He was a generous soul and one who would die for those he loved. This, she now knew, was the gift of which her father had spoken. It had not been merely for her psychic abilities that her father had chosen her to be Conjure Woman. Oh, they were an asset, it was true, but it was this gift, this thing which had lain dormant within her, this will to sacrifice herself for others which he had seen in her and which, somehow, he had known would emerge when it was needed. So, she thought now, while the darkness of Jacques's presence smote upon her mind and tried to shiver her soul into splinters, if it is my purpose to stand between this evil and those others who can truly fight against it, then that is what I will do. If he was busy with her, then at least he could not lend his strength to the real fight which was happening up on the roof of the north tower.

            "Well, Vangie," said the voice from the portrait, breaking what seemed to her an eternity of silence, "your father made short work of me, or so he thought over three-hundred years ago, but then he had his silver pin and his conjure doll! What do you have? Do you not feel your strength draining from you? Do you not recall how, the last time we met, I often caused you to slip into trances? Surely you do not delude yourself into thinking that in forty years you have managed to grow stronger than I am! Or do you?"

            "Jacques Eloi Des Mondes," she said, her voice now obeying her will once more, "you and I are akin. I know that now!"

            "You and I? Surely not!"

            "But we are," she said, stepping nearer to the portrait. "Both you and I have been afraid of death! I sought immortality and eternal youth, and you sought power which would transcend the mortal plane. We both found what we sought, but with one important difference! Your ambition led you into slavery to a great power, while mine led me, through duty, divided loyalty and unwilling obedience,  to faith and true service. I offer myself to the power I serve. Your service is forced upon you! We are trying to free your descendant from the devilry which you have wrought! What if we could free you?"

            "But you cannot free me," said Jacques' voice. "The devil is eternal, and I as his servant am also eternal. I seek to be nothing else!"

            "Are you certain of that? Why then did you seek a mortal body in which to dwell? Why did you possess Jean Paul Desmond when he freed you from the spell my father laid upon you after your death? You spent all your time then carousing and delighting in the tastes of food and good wine! In your heart of hearts, Jacques, you wish for rest. You wish for freedom!"

            "I wish for life, little girl! Do not tell me what I wish!" And suddenly from the portrait there came a beam of cold light which struck the Conjure Woman full in the chest, and before she could stop herself, she lay sprawling on her back while sheer madness erupted around her.

            Heavy tables and chairs, tapestries and rugs, and even the massive sofa on which Julia had lain the last time Vangie had seen her began flying through the air. Paneling pried itself loose from the walls and pieces of masonry from the gallery above fell crashing to the floor, cracking the tiles red-veined marble into a thousand crumbling fragments. Vangie, seeing her danger but still finding herself unable to move, tried with all her might to control the movements of these objects with her mind, and so far did she manage this feat that none of the deadly missiles actually did her any harm. However, she knew that she would not be able to protect herself forever. Jacques' spirit had been given power by the one he served to do away with her, and she knew that he would stop at nothing until he accomplished his goal. Still, all she could do was try to rise above the chaos of corruption which had once been the great hall and seek a place of calm strength from which to fight. She thought of her father and wished him with her; she thought of Stephen and prayed for him to escape unhurt, and then she found herself thinking of Kathleen: Kathleen who had once been Suoko and who had sacrificed herself so that her friend and true heart's sister could try to outwit the fatal prophecy which she feared so much. Then, just as she felt her mind giving way at last under the mounting force of Jacques' power unleashed, just as she was about to give up and to let the haunted portrait itself, now seeming to dwarf even the great hall as its shadow loomed over her as it fell from its accustomed perch, crush her completely into oblivion, she suddenly felt the room grow as still as death once more, and where the ominous shadow of the deadly canvas had been was now simply nothing. The portrait, frame and all, had mysteriously vanished without a trace, and now a long, long scream of agonized rage rang through the destroyed hall and echoed in the chambers of her heart and soul. Jacques had been bereft of his prize. The darkness had now ceased to hold sway over the house, and now Vangie felt the power vouchsafed her in her role as Conjure Woman returning. Her body was weak, it was true, but her spirit felt more than equal to dealing with anything she might find on the roof of the north tower, but how was she to get there now?

            Getting to her feet, she surveyed the waste and destruction around her. Where once an opulent and vast monument to high living and ancestral glory had been was now what looked like an ancient and long-decayed ruin. All the restorations to the hall had been blotted out in that last desperate demonstration of Jacques' borrowed power, but worst of all, the main staircase was now completely blocked with fallen stone and splintered paneling. She knew that she could not climb it, but she also knew that she must not delay in reaching the north tower. That was where the true battle was taking place. Still, she wondered, why had the portrait vanished? Why had Jacques' spirit seemed to blow away on the wind even as he was getting ready to stamp out her life? She would only find the answers to these questions on that lofty roof, so she knew she must set about bringing herself there as soon as she possibly could. There was only one way to do that now, she thought, so taking the serpent staff in her hand, she walked out of the house and stood below the north tower, gazing up at it and visualizing herself standing upon its top.

            "Oh Great Serpent," she prayed aloud, "I must borrow your wings! As I bear the staff of my ancestors and am called the Regent of the Realm beyond Time, I now invoke your aid to lift me from where I stand now to where I wish and need to be! Raise me aloft on your mild zephyr that I may conquer the clinging shreds of mist which still ring this island round, for though a battle has been won, other hands than mine have dealt the killing blow, and now I must share in the final victory or defeat of my comrades-in-arms! Lift me, oh Great One! Lift me! Please!"

            She knew that this particular act required utmost focus and control, but at the edges of her mind she could sense a rising fear and panic. Above her on the tower, she knew that something momentous had occurred. Something truly unforeseen by her had caused the chill to depart from the house, and she could sense that the souls of her companions were all in a confusion of fear, grief and anger. These impulses were so strong that she felt herself surrendering to them several times, but each time she found herself faltering, she remembered herself and marshaled her thoughts into submission to the will and pleasure of the one she served. Soon, she felt herself leaving the ground and borne aloft, but this time, it was not merely her spirit which floated on the wings of the wind, but her body as well. Only twice before had she managed this kind of levitation, and never had she managed it alone, and even now as she rose, she knew that she was not alone, for she held in her hand the serpent staff, tool of the priest. Barrett had borne it once, and so had Stephen, and so, she thought, had her father in his time. She was not alone, had never been alone. Her ancestors, her friends, all whom she loved during her long life were with her now, propelling her higher and higher, until at last she stood, no veil hiding her power now, looking down on the motionless forms of Kathleen and Stephen, and into the frightened and now no longer demon-ravaged face of Julia Desmond, the true and rightful mistress of Maljardin.

Chapter thirty-nine

            Julia could hardly credit what she was seeing, for there, suddenly appearing like a ray of the slowly-westering sun made incarnate, was the woman she remembered from the dream she had experienced on her first day in this house. Then, this woman had spoken words of warning and of comfort, but she had seemed an ordinary woman enough, except, Julia recalled now, for her eyes. They had seemed unbelievably calm and unfathomably deep, and despite the fact that she herself had fallen prey to Jacques' seductive promises, this woman had still done everything both in the dream and afterwards to help her. She had delivered her spirit from the horrible prison into which the demon Erica had cast it, and with her coming, the cold of death no longer threatened to consume her. She had nothing but implicit trust for the woman, if woman this was and no mere apparition of course, standing here before her. If anyone could help Kathleen and the priest, surely it was the one named Vangie, the one they called the Conjure Woman.

            "Julia Suzanne Desmond," said the Conjure Woman now, her voice as clear as ringing Chrystal, "do you renounce the follies which led you into this madness?"

            "I do," she said, tears now falling freely. "Oh God, I do with all my heart and soul!"

            "Good! Now, will you trust me and do exactly as I tell you? It is the only way that we can help Kathleen and Fr. Dawson."

            "I will!"

            "Alright then. Tell me what has happened! How were you freed?"

            "Kat did it, I think. I saw her drink something. I mean, no. First, she seemed to invite the demon to come to her, and then when it had and I could truly see again, I saw her drink something. The demon fought to gain control over her, but soon, her body was too weak, and well, now she's unconscious!"

            "We must search her," said the Conjure Woman. "We must find out what she took!"

            Julia did so without delay and soon found the now half-empty vial of cyanide which Kathleen had taken from the laboratory and gave it to the Conjure Woman. She felt a strange tingling in her fingers as that woman's radiant hand took the deadly container and turned it thoughtfully before setting it down.

            "I see what she has done," she said slowly and sadly.

            "Yes," said Julia, becoming angry. "She's killed herself! She's killed herself to save me!"

            "She is not dead yet, though she is near to dying. I can help her, but it will take great strength and concentration, and it will take something more. You are her friend. She loves you, Julia, and you must be the one to call her back. I will do what I can, but you must recall her spirit to the joys and the agonies of this life. Where she is now seems sweet to her, but it is a delusion dreamed up by the demon inside of her. When her body dies, then will her soul awaken to the bitterness of eternal malice which the demon will try to inflict upon it. For now, however, she is resting in an almost narcotic haze which she finds very difficult to resist. Are you ready?"

            "I--I suppose I am," said Julia uncertainly.

            "Then take her hand and give me your other hand. Do you fear to touch me as I am now? I will not harm you. You have been weakened. If anything, my touch will give you strength." So Julia took her friend's lifeless hand and chafed it lovingly, while the Conjure Woman's hand slipped into her free one. For an instant, she felt as though she were grasping raw electrical current. However, after a time, this feeling subsided and she felt only warmth and vitality flowing through her and into her friend's still form.

            "Kat," she said into the stillness that surrounded them, "I need you to come back! You've always been my conscience, Kat, and my north star. I can't find my way through life without that confounded Ulster stubbornness and common sense of yours. I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, Kat, but I want you to know that I'm glad you're with me and I know what you did for me and what you've been doing for me for so many years!

            "You've sacrificed your own happiness for me time and again, and while I thought I was repaying you in kind, I see now that I was just using you. That's what I do, Kat! I use people until they're all used up or until they walk away. Why on earth haven't you walked away before? God knows I've given you plenty of reasons to do so!"

            As she was speaking, Julia felt something stirring in a dark corner of her mind. It was as though Kathleen were trying to let her know that she was still there. She found memories of the two of them at Cambridge which she hadn't thought about for years coming willy-nilly to the surface, and before long, she found herself laughing as she used to do before the burden of her family's fortune had become hers.

            "You're doing well, Julia," said the Conjure Woman. "I can reach her now. She's responding to me."

            "But what about the demon?"

            "Kathleen has the power to cast it out if she will but claim it. Come now, Kat," and Julia heard a deep love in the Conjure Woman's voice as she pronounced her friend's name. "It is not your time to pass beyond the veil just yet! The effects of the poison have been reversed, so now you must come back to us and banish the evil from your mind and body!"

            "Come on, Kat," said Julia! "You've always been the strong one of the two of us. I know that now, so come on! Prove it to me again!"

            "I want," said Kathleen in a weak but determined voice, "no part of this evil. I cast you out, you who call yourself Erica Desmond! You may never harm me or any of my friends again!"

            "Yes," said the Conjure Woman. "Let go now, Julia!" And as Julia did so, moving a little aside, she saw the Conjure Woman's face brighten even more as she took both Kathleen's hands in her own and said clearly:

            "Take what strength you need, Kat O'Dell! Take it and use it as only you can! Do not fear if you see me weakening! I am here for you now!"

            "Oh Vangie," said Kathleen, and as Julia watched, she too became like a blazing star and, standing tall and commanding there in that high place, she allowed Vangie's power to become hers and soon, no trace of weakness remained in her and the maleficent force which had called itself Erica Desmond's spirit soon went whining away on the winds to westward, all its plans for this place now thwarted and all its attendant terrors now dwarfed by the power against which it could no longer stand.

            "Alright now," said Vangie, coming over to Kathleen. "We must help Stephen now. For this, both of us must be involved. He is spirit-lost even as I was on that night when you found me outside the hotel, and he has no touchstone such as I had in my tarot cards to recall him."

            "He has one thing, Vangie," said Kathleen softly. "He has you."

            "Yet I, alas, may not be enough. You carry some of my power within you for now, so we both must aid him."

            Julia found all this utterly incomprehensible. Who was this person calling herself Kat O'Dell? How had she become so otherworldly and strange? Was she still her old friend? She was not so sure as she had been scarce moments before that the answer to this question was yes. Watching in silent awe, she saw the two women set to work upon the fallen man who lay, eyes fixed heavenward in a stare of total blankness. First, Kat knelt beside him and took his wrist in her hand, feeling for a pulse. Seeming satisfied with it, she turned a questioning gaze upon the Conjure Woman.

            "I must seek for him, Kat," she said, "where you cannot follow, but you must be my anchor.  You must be a beacon for me. You must do as you did when you helped me to guide the boat across the channel."

            "Alright," said Kathleen, and Julia saw her suddenly sit down, cross her legs, and become utterly still. The Conjure Woman, on the other hand, went to the prostrate priest and touched his forehead.

            "Stephen Matthew Dawson," she said with an authority in her voice which Julia envied, "I am calling you! I command you by the bond we share and by the battles we two have fought to come to me! Be no longer lost, for the war has been won! Come home to the light and the darkness, to the changing times and seasons of this mortal world! It is not yours to transcend it as yet! Come, Stephen! Come!" And as she raised her face an instant from his unmoving features, Julia saw tears in the Conjure Woman's eyes. Suddenly, she heard Kathleen's voice, low and rhythmical, repeating  the Hail Mary to herself while Vangie continued to stroke Stephen's hair and to plead with him with her eyes.

            "Kat?" She wanted desperately for Kathleen to speak to her.

            "Hush, Jules," her friend said and continued praying.

            "There is still much work for us to do, Miss Desmond," said Vangie, standing up to ease her limbs, the unearthly glow still enveloping her.

            "Are you--are you real? Are you here?"

            "I am flesh and blood as you are," said Vangie, "but I carry in me and am able to manifest at this time the powers of those I serve."

            "I think, Julia," said Kat, her prayers finished for the moment, "that if Vangie were to falter now, the evil would rise up again and take vengeance on all of us."

            "You perceive well, Kat O'Dell. Right now, my connection with this island and with the ancient beliefs of my ancestors is what's keeping the evil at bay, but something caused it to drop its defenses. You could have died, Kat!" Julia was astonished to hear the deep love in the Conjure Woman's voice as she said this last.

            "I would have," said Kat. "I would have! You were all being tormented and hurt, and I couldn't stand it anymore!"

            "I'm only glad I got to you in time!"

            "And what about me?" The voice sounded sleepy and slurred, but as Julia turned to see who had spoken, she saw the priest sitting up and fingering a strange pendent he had around his neck.

            "You're alright! Oh Stephen!" Kat was at his side in a moment, but all hopes of a happy reunion were dashed in a few moments by a sudden cry from Vangie who crumpled to her knees at Julia's feet and appeared to be unconscious.

            "The temple," Kat said. "Take her, Stephen!"

            "Will you both be alright?"

            "I think we both need our beds," said Kat. "Come on, Jules! Let's go!"

            Julia did not know what was happening. Why had all the radiance suddenly vanished from the face of the strange priestess? Why were Stephen and Kathleen so insistent on keeping her out of things?

            "I could help," she said.

            "No," said Kathleen. "You and I don't belong where they're going."

            "But he can't carry her all by himself!"

            "He won't need to," said a slow voice. "I'll walk," and Vangie now got shakily to her feet and took up the serpent staff. "Where were you thinking of carrying me, Fr. Dawson?"

            "The temple, Vangie."

            "Good thinking," she said, "though I hope the house will not prevent our getting there. There was quite a spell of psychokinetic manifestation as my professor of parapsychology would have called it going on in the great hall."

            "Well," said Stephen, "all we can do is try."

            "Indeed," said the Conjure Woman, and leaned on his offered arm as he guided her to the trapdoor and helped her through it.

            "What's happening?" Julia was utterly bewildered. "Is the evil still here? I thought that--that demon was driven away when you, when you and--that woman--Kat! How did you do it?"

            "I don't know, Jules," was Kathleen's answer. "I really don't know, and yes, I think the evil is still here in some form. Perhaps it will never truly be conquered, but one thing I do know. It's taken its toll on that woman as you call her."

            "What if I've killed her? What if I had killed you?"

            "It's true that you were the doorway by which the evil entered our lives, Julia, but it was only a matter of time until someone dug it up again. I don't think that evil like this can truly rest quietly for long. Now, can you come with me to bed? We'll camp out in my room."

            Julia allowed her friend to take her hand and soon, having both climbed through the trap and secured it, they were in Kathleen's little room. She looked around at the desk and the various things which spelled Kathleen O'Dell to her and smiled.

            "I'm glad you're here, Kat," she said simply.

            "And I'm glad you're yourself again! Are you in pain, Julia?"

            "I am," she said, feeling a deep throbbing throughout her whole body, "but that proves I'm alive. I'll hold off on the meds for a little while I think."

            "Alright," said Kathleen. "You can have the bed. I'll just sit here at the desk."

            "Thanks, Kat! Thank you for everything!"

            "Go to sleep," was all Kat's reply, and soon, without further conversation, Julia managed to do just that, and this time, no dreams came to disturb her.

Chapter Forty

            Stephen's head was spinning, but as he walked with Vangie down the winding tower stairs, he knew he had to remain focused at all costs. No suggestion of power came from her and great shivers ran through her body as she leaned against him for support. However, her eyes were what troubled him the most. When he looked into them, he saw nothing less than death there. They could not settle on him or indeed on anything, and there was a brightness in them which reminded him of Barrett on the last day of his life. She stumbled a couple of times as they went down the stairs, and by the time they exited the tower into one of the main corridors of the house, she was forced to stop so she could collect herself.

            "Stephen," she said. "We can't go down the front stairs. They're blocked. Go to the main gallery and look down."

            "But I can't just leave you here!"

            "I'll be fine, now just go and tell me what you see!"

            Walking slowly down the hallway and out to the main gallery above the great hall, he could think of nothing but Vangie. He had to help her, he knew, but he was not sure whether he was supposed to save her life or to let her die. She seemed so ravaged by what she had experienced that he could not imagine her living any kind of normal life after this. However, if it was his job to help her to die, he did not think he could do it. He loved her and did not want to lose her. She had survived the evils of this house, so how could she die now? She had survived for three-hundred years and still the prophecy had not claimed her. Was it fated to do so after all? He desperately hoped not, but the fear of the cave was on him again and he could not set it aside.

            Finally reaching the central gallery, he paused at the banister and looked down. Chunks of stone lay in the hall below, furniture was overturned and the marble floor was cracked and broken. Moving carefully toward the main staircase, he noticed that its bottom was choked with fallen rubble which would be impossible to move without special equipment. He had a fleeting thought that this must be what the house looked like after the fire forty years before, and then a sudden shift in the floor beneath his feet recalled him and made him move quickly back to Vangie's side.

            "You're right," he said, breathless and frightened. "It's not safe. Can we take the kitchen stairs?"

            "We'll have to. The hall itself should be passable." She took his hand as they began to walk toward the back stairs, and he almost recoiled at her touch, for her hand was chilled.

            "My God, Vangie! Your hand is so cold!"

            "The fire which has sustained me is dimming, Stephen. We must see if it can be rekindled again. Come," and they moved off without another word.

            In the kitchen, Stephen wanted to get Vangie something to eat or to drink but she declined it. He himself felt both hungry and thirsty, but he knew he could not stop now. There was an urgency in Vangie's glance which made him move as quickly as he could, but when they got to the great hall, he stopped and gazed around in amazement.

            "The portrait's gone!"

            "It is," she said. "It disappeared."

            "I wish it had been destroyed," he said savagely.

            "I know," said Vangie sadly, "but it was more powerful than anyone realized. It will reappear someday to haunt the Desmonds and their descendants, but I do not think it will ever return to this place."

            "I don't think anyone will ever return to this place," said Stephen. "It ought to be burned down!"

            "It will never be destroyed," said Vangie, "not completely. Remember that it was a palace of our people long before it was a pleasure-house for Jacques Eloi Des Mondes, and the temple still lies beneath it."

            They moved gingerly over the shards of marble and splinters of vintage furniture until they reached the stairs to the crypt. These were unblocked and the crypt was undamaged, but something was missing all the same. Stephen wasn't certain what had changed, but he suddenly realized what it was and gasped audibly.

            "It's gone," he said. "The capsule!"

            "Just as well," said Vangie. "It was evil!"

            "It was misguided, yes, but evil?"

            "Evil," said Vangie.

            "But where could it go?"

            "Where all evil things go, Stephen, but I know that one thing has remained. Do you see the casket with Jacques's name on it?"

            "I do, but I'd rather not."

            "When we're done in the temple, Stephen, I want you to open that casket and look inside."

            "Alright," he said, "but why?"

            "Promise me you'll do it, Stephen! Never mind why just now!"

            "I promise," he said, and turned toward the temple door. Straining hard, he managed to move it aside enough so they could enter the tunnel.

            "We have no light," he said.

            "We need none," said Vangie, and lifted the staff. From its tip came a glow which illuminated the ground ahead, and before he knew it, the glow was illuminating the strange paintings on the walls of the temple of the Great Serpent.

            It lay as it had when Stephen had last seen it, and Vangie seemed to brighten as she entered its environs.

            "Have you still the matches you used for lighting your incense during the ritual, Stephen?"

            "They're right here," he said.

            "Then will you light the candles and the brazier?"

            He walked around the temple and set light to the tall candles ranged around the altar and then lit the charcoal in the brazier. Then Vangie took some incense and threw it onto the coals and a fragrant smoke began to rise in curling tongues from the metal tripod while the flames of the candles danced on the walls and cast odd shadows in the corners of the room.

            "Oh Great Serpent," said Vangie, walking around the altar, Stephen following her as he had seen Barrett do in her cabin, "we come to you in gratitude for the aid you have given. We ask now to know your will for your servant called the Conjure Woman. Have you finished with her? Is she to go to her rest, to join her ancestors, or will she remain a while in the mortal world?"

            Stephen saw her overshadowed by the serpent's power once more and from her fair and radiant face came unutterable love.

            "I am coming to a great change, Stephen," she said. "There is something that I must do before the fire dims completely."

            "What is it?"

            "Just follow me and stand with me, Stephen," she said, and pacing slowly and deliberately, she traced her previous footsteps in the dust of years which lay on the floor of the temple, drawing a circle of blue fire with the staff she carried. Stephen could do nothing but follow her, mesmerized by her movements and by the strength pulsing from her.

            "We have exorcised the house," she said now, turning to face the serpent image on the altar, "but the island was also cursed by Jacques Eloi Des Mondes and the evil he brought from across the sea. As I am the priestess of the Great Serpent, I must use the power given to me to cleanse the island and to purify it while I still can."

            "Don't talk like that, Vangie!"

            "Hush, and face me across the altar!"

            Stephen did so, remembering how she and Barrett had done this in the cabin so long ago, and as she began the opening invocation, he remembered what Barrett had said and responded to her words as though he had known them all his life.

            "I am she, hater of evil," she began.

            "I am he whose mouth spews flames," he said, and then Vangie moved to him and took his hands.

            "There's no drummer," he said stupidly, awed by the power in her and feeling as though he was grasping some ancient and primal fire.

            "The island has a rhythm of its own," she said, "and in a moment, he knew that this was true, for they were swept up into a dance that neither of them could have created and that no one would ever reproduce. It was frenzied and yet reverent, sacred and yet untamed. It was the dance of life and of death, of love and of loss, and it was filled with the rhythms of mortality and eternity intertwined and comingling in ecstatic communion. He was caught up into it in a way he had never been caught up into any Christian service, and he reflected that this was because it was so immediate, so raw, so precarious. For he knew that even as she radiated strength, that strength was consuming Vangie as she held it.

            "The zeal of thine house hath eaten me up," he said to himself as they danced, and then the Conjure Woman embraced and kissed him more fervently than she had ever done before, and in the midst of their passion, she suddenly cried out in pain and he drew away thinking he had hurt her.

            "It is done," she said. "I've done what I could. You must take the power from me, Stephen, as you did before,"

            "Alright," he said, and taking the staff from her, he looked at her and again saw how the power was flowing from her. He pointed the staff at her and drew the strange energy from her slowly, wondering if he would be able to hold it. Soon, the staff was heavy in his hand and he had no choice but to set it to the floor and to lean on it, tired and dizzied with his effort.

            "Good," said Vangie, all power gone from her, her face pale and drawn. "good, Stephen," and she collapsed and lay motionless on the floor. However, though her body was limp and lifeless, her mind still seemed able to function, for he heard clearly in his own mind the words:

            "The altar, Stephen! Get me to the altar! It's the only way now!"

            Stephen lifted her tenderly in his arms and was surprised at how light she felt, but she felt cold to him as well. No longer was she fire made flesh. Indeed, the longer he held her, he felt his own life ebbing away as though perhaps he could warm her by sheer will, but he knew as he laid her gently down on the cold stone of the altar, the serpent image gazing pitilessly at him as he did so, that nothing he could do would help. Still, he was desperate and angry, and he suddenly realized what he had to do. He had to drum as he had done before. His drumming had always called her back from the abyss, and so, tears blurring his eyes and sobs shaking his being, he turned away from his beloved who lay dying and picked up the temple's drum.

            As his hands began to move upon the skin of the ancient instrument, his tears fell freely and unchecked. Still, as he sobbed and howled for his impending loss, his hands moved surely and deftly, and soon, the rhythms he was making lulled his body and mind into a strange state. Drumming and drumming, he let his mind drift away on the primal sound he was making, and a part of him began to hear other instruments and voices chanting in an unknown language. He felt and even saw people around him in the shadows, dancing and gesturing, and ever and anon, one would approach the altar and place his or her hands on the still form of the Conjure Woman, doing honour to their priestess and their guide during what he now knew must be her final transition. As his trance deepened, he thought he could see familiar faces among the unfamiliar. Martine, the servant in the Bishop's house, seemed to hover near him for an eternal moment, and then came the tall form of Michel, Vangie's guardian and protector. He wondered if the big man would reproach him for allowing her to face such dangers, but instead, he looked at him with approval and bent to the altar, his spirit's hands caressing his lady and mistress as tenderly as if she were his child.  Last of all, he thought he saw Barrett himself come from one of the shadowy corners. He did not raise his eyes to look more fully upon this shade, because with him had come the cold realization that death must really be coming to the woman whom he now knew that he did not want to live without. After a while, he stopped looking around. The ghostly forms unnerved him. Instead, he just kept drumming with that strange rhythm he had first known in his dream of this place. He hoped he was a true priest at this moment. He hoped he was doing the right thing, and then, seeming far away and yet clear, there was a step behind him and a voice calling his name. The voice, however, did not belong to Vangie, both because it had an Irish lilt which he had come to know very well and because, he realized when he looked up into the beam of the flashlight now playing across the temple, Vangie was no longer on the altar. Indeed, he could see no sign that she had ever been there, save for a single perfect pearl lying there in her place. Suddenly, the fear of the cave had returned with full force upon him, and all his childhood fears of evil monsters hiding under beds and waiting to snatch wakeful children caused the goose-flesh to creep slowly up his arms and down his back.

            "She was here, Kat," he said. "She was here!" He could think of nothing else to say for the moment, but then a question occurred to him.

            "What are you doing here?"

Chapter Forty-one

            Kathleen sat in her chair, a book of island lore and legend opened but barely perused on her lap, and pondered the day's events. It was a calm night outside. The stars were coming out and the sea breathed peacefully as though it slumbered even as her friend, now freed from the supernatural forces which had almost consumed her also slept in the bed nearby.  Suddenly, all seemed to be well. Suddenly, the evil was no more, and yet this house was not safe. Even if every light were burning and every window were open to admit the fresh trade winds and breezes of this island, there was still something awry, something unquiet about this place. As she sat alternately glancing out the window and watching Julia sleep, she thought she heard the seductive and treacherous heartbeat, faint now it was true, but still audible to any who had once been touched by it. However, behind it there was another rhythm, a rhythm more ancient and more elemental, as though the island itself were a living thing with a heart of its own, and as the hours ticked by and the night came on in earnest, that pulse seemed to beat more strongly and finally seemed to drown out the strange and uncanny beating of that other heart.

            She liked this rhythm better. It seemed to move more in tune with her blood and with the blood of all living creatures. Though it spoke sometimes of death, it spoke of it in a way that made it seem a part of the cycle of life, the wheel of days and nights which must come to all things on this earth. She wondered if the mysterious rites Vangie and Stephen must be performing in the temple had somehow intensified it,. A part of her longed to be with them, to share in  the mysteries which they were experiencing, but even as she voiced this thought to herself, that other more practical part of her shunned it violently. Never again would she traffic with things she did not understand. Now that sanity seemed restored to this place, she wanted to forget what she had learned here. She wanted to go back to her old life. However, even as she thought of this, she knew that nothing could make her forget the events of this past month, no matter how much she might want to do so.

            Just then, her reverie was broken by a sharp cry of pain from Julia and all thoughts of mystery and magic were driven from her by her habitual pragmatism and her concern for her friend.

            "Oh Kat," Julia said, sitting up in bed, "I need the stuff, Kat!"

            "Alright," she said, trying to sound reassuring as she retrieved another ampule of the pain medicine from her bag and got the syringe ready. Soon, as the drug began to do its work, she was able to sit quietly again and to listen to the sick woman's breathing which began to deepen and to slow once more as sleep claimed her again, and all at once, she too began to feel drowsy. A part of her wondered why this need to sleep had not been apparent for the past several hours, but she did not dwell on this riddle for long, because within a few minutes, she found herself nodding where she sat.

            At about three in the morning, she was awakened by someone lifting the book gently from her lap and when she opened her eyes, she was surprised to find Vangie standing before her. Again, the Conjure Woman seemed made of light, but her presence felt undeniably human as she gently touched Kathleen's mind in a mental whisper so as not to disturb Julia.

            "Kat O'Dell," said Vangie's voice in her mind, "wake up! There is much to do. Wake up now and follow me!"

            Not daring to speak and feeling that this must be a dream, Kathleen stood up and followed the radiant priestess out of her office and down the tower stairs to the main part of the house.

            Through the back parts of the chateau and out the kitchen door they went, and Kathleen was suffused with half a hundred fragrances of the various night-blooming flowers which grew wild and unkempt in the long-disused kitchen garden.

            "Where are we going?" Her curiosity had finally gotten the better of her awe.

            "To the headland," said Vangie, "where the wife of Jacques Eloi Des Mondes met her untimely death."

            Within a few minutes, the two women stood side by side on the high point, looking over its precipitous edge to the open sea below.

            "Stephen has given me the power to come to you," said the Conjure Woman, and though she was clothed in what looked like unfading glory, yet Kathleen could see the fatigue of years in the depths of her eyes. "Were it not for him, I would not be able to do what I am about to do."

            "What will you do?"

            "I must leave Maljardin, Kat, and I must leave it now. Its true powers have been awakened once more now that the false and fatal ones have departed, and as I am by my calling a vessel for such elemental forces, if I remain here longer in my weakened state, they will consume me by their very vitality. I do not know if we will meet again, and I did not have the heart to tell Stephen about this. I need you to take what power I can give you and go into the temple. He is in a deep state of trance, Kat, and I cannot remain to help to recall him. Will you help me?"

            Kathleen felt Vangie's hand slip silently into her own and it was as though she was holding the hand of a corpse, for the hand of the Conjure Woman, though fair and radiant to look at, was chilled beyond anything she had yet felt. So all at once, though she hated the very thought of the temple and though she feared to touch this kind of power again, she knew that she could not deny this woman her help.

            "Alright," she said, and the two embraced, and even as they clung together and as Kathleen felt the light entering her own being, suddenly and with no perceptible movement, she found that she held only air clasped in her arms and Vangie Abbott, the woman for whom she had given her life long ago and from whom she had received a second chance at her own life in this present day, was gone, had melted away to become a part of the night.

            "Our revels now are ended," she said to herself.

            "Perhaps not yet a while," came Vangie's voice upon the wind. "Perhaps not yet a while, Kat O'Dell!"

            As a solitary bird began to sing, she turned her face from the expanse of sea and sky before her and walked slowly back into the house. The silence of it filled her being, but it was not now a lonely silence. That feeling of wrongness or awryness which she had perceived earlier seemed to have been driven away, and as she walked through the great hall, stepping over shards of glass and bits of marble as she went, she knew, by both her outward and inward eyes, that the way to the temple lay open and unhindered by any barrier, whether physical or supernatural. It beckoned her welcomingly, and though she still felt its danger, she no longer felt that seductive call to evil which she had felt when last she had come this way.

            As she began to descend the stairs to the crypt, she suddenly thought of the darkness of the secret tunnel which led to the temple, and reaching into her bag which she had brought with her without thinking, she found the flashlight that she always carried. Turning it on, she saw the vaulted ceiling of the crypt and the coffins lying peacefully in their carven niches along the walls. How many of Julia's ancestors were buried there? All hers, she reflected, had been buried in graves around St. Michael's church back in Ulster. Where would she at last come to rest her weary bones? Hopefully not in a place like this, she thought. This was a stone monument to pride, yet another way for the Desmond family to claim some kind of false immortality for themselves, and she found as she gazed at the roes and roes of coffins ranged around the room like some scene out of Stoker or Poe, that she wanted none of it, and she found herself hoping fervently that Julia would want nothing to do with this place ever again.

            "Oh for Pete's sake, Kat!" she said aloud to the empty vault. "There's work to be done which won't be accomplished by all this wool-gathering. Now hurry on!" And she turned away from the mortally immortal remains of the Desmond dynasty and entered the open door which led to the passage to the temple.

            She could hear the drum-beats as she slowly paced along the rough-hewn floor of the tunnel, and as she approached the temple itself, the odours of bee's wax and incense mingled in a wild and sweet riot, making her think strangely of Easter vigils she had  attended as a girl, singing in the church choir and reliving again and again the joy of Christ's resurrection. However, this image was soon driven from her by the sight of the guttering candles and the sound of Stephen's slow breathing as his hands moved unbelievably quickly across the head of the drum which he held in his lap.

            "Stephen," she said now. "Fr. Dawson! Come back," and with all her might, she sent that same message from her mind into his, and in that instant, she felt the last vestige of Vangie's power leave her, and all at once, it was though a light had flickered and been extinguished in her mind. She and the world were as they had been before all this, or perhaps almost as they had been.

            Coming to himself, Stephen stopped drumming and turned to her.

            "She was here," he said frantically. "She was here! What are you doing here?"

            "It's alright, Stephen," she said, coming to kneel beside him. "It's alright. It's time for us to go now. I'll blow out the candles. Take that pearl if you would. It's a sign that Julia needs to see."

            "They found it in her hand," he said as he sobbed violently, "that other time, that time when they thought she had--she had--Oh Kat! Don't you see what this means?"

            "Whatever it means," she said, trying very hard to be calm and not to give into the tears which were threatening behind her own eyes, "we can't stay here anymore. You've got to come with me and get some sleep."

            "Sleep? Sleep? Where did she go, Kat? I can't sleep!"

            "You'll sleep," she said deliberately, "if I have to beat you over the head with that staff lying beside you. Now let's get going!"

            The threat of potential bodily harm seemed finally to get through to him, and as he stood up, she gave him the staff as a support. Then, she went around the room and extinguished the candles while Stephen went to the altar and picked up the flawless pearl.

            "Why is this here do you think?" He was facing her across the altar as he asked this, and she saw a frightened look in his eyes as he clutched the jewel with rapidly whitening knuckles.

            "I really don't know, but I know where it came from and I know where it belongs."

            As she said this, she thought back to that far-off sleepless night when she had read the journal of Matthew Dawson from cover to cover. In it, he had described Jean Paul's dismay at not finding in that dreadful and blood-stained locket belonging to his wife the pearl which he had put there as a symbol of their perfect love. Then, in a further entry, he had written how that pearl had been found in Vangie's hand upon her supposed death. He had not been able to trace its whereabouts from that point, but he had overheard Raxl telling Quito that they must take it to the temple to determine why it had come back and what its return might portend. After that, no other mention of the pearl was made and until now, and in fact she had forgotten about it completely.

            "I think," she said slowly, "that things are coming full circle at last. This must be the pearl that belonged to Erica Desmond."

            "Oh no! That's what I was afraid of," and Stephen let the translucent thing fall onto the mosaic-work of the temple floor.

            "Stephen, I think there's still something that Vangie never told us about the night of her departure from this house. I met her, you know. She told me to come here tonight."

            "You met her? What do you mean?"

            "She seemed to be with me in the flesh, but her hand, Stephen. It was so cold!"

            "That--that fits," he said, pausing to control the sobs which she knew he had just barely mastered. "So is she still here? Where did you leave her?"

            "She left me, Stephen. She melted away. I don't know where she went."

            "But you could find her, couldn't you?"

            "Not now," and she was surprised at the overwhelming sadness she now felt. "I think that part of my mind is closed to me now. I think she may have closed it, and I think, Stephen, that I now understand why. I think that when she was overcome by the evil presence at that last séance, she was battling the demon for Erica's soul. I think she lost the battle, but the pearl came to her as a sign that the war might ultimately be won. I think that actually, her pretending to die was not only her attempt to flee the situation. I think it was a courageous act, one which foresaw and accepted evil consequences in return for a better outcome later."

            "You know," he said, bending down to pick up the pearl again, "I think you may just be right about that. Where's the locket now?"

            "I put it in my desk drawer when I helped Julia to bed."

            "Alright then. Let's get out of here," and taking the flashlight from her, he led the way down the tunnel and into the crypt.

            "There's something I promised that I would do before--before Vangie went away," he said as they pushed together at the heavy secret door and closed it behind them. "I'm supposed to look in Jacques's coffin."

            "Whatever for?"

            "I don't know. She just made me promise to do it!"

            "But we have no tools!"

            "It's not nailed shut," said Stephen. "Look!" And as she did so, she saw him raise the lid of the coffin bearing that accursed and hateful name, and in the silence which followed the whining shriek of rusted hinges she gazed in disbelieving awe at what the beam of the flashlight revealed to be its contents. An ancient-looking conjure doll lay there with a silver pin transfixing its temples. As Stephen replaced the lid, he stood back to look at some writing on the stone of the niche wherein the coffin rested. First, there was Jacques's name and his dates, but below this was something she had never read before. In lurid crimson, with what looked like some of the paint that the workers had used, a message was written in a clear and steady hand.

            "This coffin must remain sealed," it said. "Seek not to disturb the rest of the one who lies within, for what this coffin contains should never be released. Many have died to ensure its capture. Let it lie unmolested! The Devil is eternal! I, Evangeline Abbot, High Priestess of the ancient faith of the people of these islands, have warned you!" Today's date, the year included, was written below the text, and below that again was drawn a representation of the Great Serpent whose spiraling coils formed the centre of a cross.

            "When did she do all this?" Stephen looked as amazed as she felt.

            "There's no way to know now," she said, "but it must have been last night, before I found her near the laboratory.

            "But that doesn't make sense! Surely the doll wasn't there then?"

            "Perhaps she wrote it in hopes of a positive outcome. Perhaps she needed you to look into the coffin because she dared not do so herself."

            "Yes," said Stephen wearily, "I suppose that's true. One thing's for sure though. As soon as I get some sleep, I'm coming back here and nailing that lid down for good!"

            "That sounds like a good plan to me," said Kathleen, and together they made their way upstairs to the kitchen, where Kathleen found some fixings for a very early breakfast, and soon, the two parted company at the door of Stephen's room.

            "Thanks, Kat," he said, handing her the pearl. "Thanks for everything!"

            "Just get some sleep," she said, and leaving him to his thoughts, she made her way slowly back to her little office and the waiting Julia. What the next day would bring she did not know, but she knew that Vangie had spent herself to ensure the island's freedom from the evil chains which had bound it for so long, and with that knowledge she was comforted, so comforted in fact that the moment she sat down in her chair, her eyes slipped closed and her mind floated free and drifted slowly in a deep dream of peace.

Chapter Forty-two

            When Stephen woke, the sun was well up, and by the time he had managed to clamber achingly out of bed and wash, noon was bright upon the island as he moved laboriously through the house, looking for signs of life. However, before he found either Kathleen or Miss Desmond, he remembered the work he wanted to do on Jacques' coffin, and finding a hammer and some thick roofing nails among a pile of materials the builders had left, he was soon in the crypt and hammering for all he was worth. His body ached and his mind still spun, but this work satisfied him. It was as though he was doing something tangible at last. No longer was he dealing with demons and spirits but with wood and nails, with the main strength in his hands and with the honest weight of the hammer. These were things he could quantify, things he could grasp, and as he thought about this, he suddenly wished desperately that he was in some primal forest and clubbing a saber-tooth tiger to death. For the first time in a long time, he was glorying in his cave man instincts, but as he pounded the last nail in, he suddenly felt utterly inadequate once more. How could wood and metal protect anyone from the malevolent forces which could awaken at any time? How could even that waxen image do any good, even with its attendant silver pin? Had they truly accomplished anything by coming here?

            Then, as he stood back to survey his handiwork, he fell to thinking of what he would do now that all was truly over. Was he just meant to return to the priesthood and to his professor's podium once more as though he had never been away? Was he supposed to simply forget Vangie, and what was his duty to Kathleen and Miss Desmond? He was the only one left of the spiritual triumvirate of which he had been a part. Barrett lay buried among the bones of many native islanders, Vangie was gone and most likely would soon be buried in her own grave, and here he was, the Catholic priest who had broken his vow of celibacy and had performed an unsanctioned exorcism on one of the world's richest people, and who had gone native, if only for a while, for the love of a woman whom many in his faith might call an island witch. Who was he now, and where was he to go?

            "You know where you have to go and what you have to do," said the voice of his conscience, which sounded now very like that of the Conjure Woman. "Remember, the devil is eternal, and you are sworn to fight him."

            He knew that this was true, and as he climbed the stairs out of the Desmond family tomb for what he hoped would be the final time in his life, he suddenly hit upon an idea which seemed sound to him. He would do as the Aborigines of Australia sometimes did, and he would go walkabout. He would follow Barrett's footsteps and travel the roads he had traveled. He would learn mysteries and take shamanic concoctions and do even as his mentor had done, but instead of writing books, he would search out the strange places where the worlds of the natural and the supernatural seemed to collide. He would exorcise, he would banish, he would stand between humanity and the inhuman creatures which haunt the edges of dream and which occasionally spill over into waking life. He would be what Barrett had never been and what Vangie had called him; he would be a true priest at last. He would have to tell his Bishop and the powers that be at the university that he was leaving, but he had no family to worry about him anymore, so he thought that it would be quite feasible.

            Still, he reflected, it will be difficult to leave these islands. Already they seemed to have found their way into his blood. The scents of the jungle and the sound of the sea all seemed to proclaim the presence of the woman he loved, and to have to admit that she had given her life for the good of someone like Julia Desmond was beyond enduring.

            "Been busy, have you?" Kathleen's voice startled him as he entered the kitchen.

            "Yes," he said with a joviality which he did not feel. "Jacques Eloi Des Mondes will find it hard to rise again. Where is Miss Desmond?"

            "I got her off the island as soon as the sea-plane could get here. She needs doctors, Stephen. I bet that Vangie could--" Her voice trailed off and then resumed. "I'm sorry. I guess you would rather I didn't mention her."

            "Why didn't you go with your friend?" He didn't want to think about Vangie right now, or at least he wanted to give himself the illusion that he could stop thinking about her for a moment.

            "I wasn't leaving you here alone!" He was stunned at the look of reproach that crossed her face. "How could I have done that? I've asked the pilot to come back in the morning. Will that suit you?"

            "I do need some more sleep," he said, "and I'm hungry."

            "Luncheon will be served," she said in grand buttlerian tones, "on Sir's balcony in approximately twenty minutes, if Sir would kindly retire there," and with a graceful courtesy, she banished him from the room so she could, he presumed, work her culinary magic in solitude.

            it was good to get out into the open. Though he had last been out here only two nights ago, everything seemed to have changed. Oh, the balcony, the air, the sea, all were just as they had been ever since he had first stood here on the afternoon of his arrival, but there was a lightness and a warmth now which penetrated his heart the way the strange chill he had felt at Bill Temple's bedside had done. He knew that whatever had truly happened here over these past few days had changed things fundamentally on this island. Or was that indeed it? Was it the island that had been changed, or was it himself? He had come to these islands at Barrett's invitation and what had Barrett promised him? He had promised him truth. He had promised him answers, and what had he found? Danger and evil beyond comprehension? Delight and ecstasy surpassing mere desire and satisfaction? Perhaps, but as the evil had been conquered, so the ecstasy had been consumed. He had been raped both physically and spiritually, Barrett had died, Kathleen had almost succumbed to the terrible forces at work and at play here, and now Vangie had apparently been spirited away. So, though the sun sparkled on the sea and though the afternoon breeze was balm to him, his spirit could not truly exult in triumph as he wished it to do.

            "I think you'd know, Stephen," said Kathleen as she brought a simple meal of bread and cheese out to him. "I think you'd know if Vangie was really--well--I think you'd feel it."

            "That thing did so much to her, Kat! She just couldn't have survived!"

            "I don't know. I was almost dead and she saved me." Stephen was incredulous.

            "What? You?"

            "It isn't something I want to talk about, Stephen, but I'll tell you now. I took some poison. I got the demon to come into me and then I took the poison, hoping to die with the demon trapped inside my body."

            "That's what the doll and the pin are supposed to do for Jacques: keep him bound in death. I'm just glad that didn't happen to you!"

            "I don't know how I feel about it really. I don't know my place in the world anymore. Sure, I could go on being Julia's assistant, but well, I don't know. I feel as though I've been turned inside-out over these past weeks."

            "I know exactly what you mean," he replied, giving her a rueful smile.

            "Oh," she said after a while. "I wanted to tell you. I gave Julia the pearl and told her what it was, and she put it into the locket and before she left, she threw the locket into the channel."

            "Well, that's that laid to rest at last then anyway. I'm happy she didn't decide to keep it."

            "It was funny," said Kathleen. "As she let go of it, she suddenly seemed to grow even weaker than she already was. Perhaps it was a tie to the demon or something."

            "Or perhaps she knew that once she let go of the locket, everything was really over and she could stop struggling."

            "We'll never know, I suppose. I hope she can stay alive, Stephen! I hope this Cancer doesn't beat her!"

            "I hope it doesn't either. That demon I can't exorcise."

            "She wants you to come and see her before you leave, you know."

            "I wouldn't have the first notion of what to say to her!"

            "Well, think about it. She'll be out of the hospital in a few days, they say, and then she'll stay at the hotel for a while to convalesce."

            "Will you be staying as well?"

            "For now, yes. When she's recovered, I really don't know. Would you be surprised to learn that there was a time in my life when I thought I had a monastic vocation?"

            "Not really," he said and couldn't help laughing. "Doesn't every good Irish Catholic girl think that at some point?"

            "I'm sure you're right, but still, I really did think about it."

            "Well," he said, leaning back in his wicker chair, "if this little adventure has taught me anything, it's that truly all things are possible!"

            "Amen, Father," she replied, toasting him with her glass of water. "Amen!"

            "Kat," he said suddenly, standing up and looking deeply into her eyes, "I don't think either of us should spend another night in this house. Do you think you could call that pilot of yours and ask him to come as soon as he can? I can sleep at the hotel likely better than I could here, after all."

            "You're right," she said. "I'll do it right now! We'll be away before the sun sets," and with that, she bustled away with their empty paper plates and glasses, leaving him to contemplate once more the strange situation in which he now found himself.

            Looking out over the ever-changing surface of the sea, he realized that going walkabout was the only thing he could do now. His mind and heart had been torn to shreds by the events of the past few weeks, but although many might wish keenly for home and familiarity at a time like this, he knew that home would now be the least familiar place of all for him. It wasn't so much that it would be boring, but that it would be futile for him to return to his books and his lecturing. The evil he had fought here was real and could not be confined to a mere point on a map. He had to learn about it, to meet it on its own terms, and he knew that the culture of which he was a part was no longer equipped to face and to deal with such things. He remembered what Vangie had said about her own inner conflict between modern notions of parapsychology and the ancestral ways of her people. It had only been when she had embraced her culture's ancient traditions that she had truly found her strength. He knew that he too could do this, devoting himself to a life of prayer and silence as a monk, but he also knew that this would not be enough. Besides, if Kathleen really did leave Julia to become a nun, he felt that the church would be in good and capable hands.

            He smiled as he thought about Kathleen O'Dell as the Abbess of a convent somewhere in the green hills of Ireland. She would be a terror to any demon, he thought, and then he suddenly wanted her presence again, so turning for the last time from that beguiling dance of water and light, he went into his room, packed his few belongings, and went in search of her. Together they would await the coming plane, and together they would leave the now-quiet island and face whatever  awaited them beyond its shores.

Chapter Forty-three

            Kathleen was indignant. After all she and Stephen had just been through, now they were being stopped outside the corridor leading to Julia's room in the little hospital of Port French Leave by the same overly-officious and simperingly-obsequious doctor they had met during the business of Bill Temple's death and again during Stephen's mysterious illness in the hotel.

            "Really, Miss," he was saying. "I can't just let you walk in there after visiting hours! I'm sorry, but you will both have to come back tomorrow."

            "Now you listen, Doctor," she said. "I'm Julia Desmond's personal assistant, and she has asked to see this man. Surely you can make an exception."

            "If I make an exception for you," he said with as false a placatory smile on his face as she had ever seen, "then I'll have to make one for everyone, now won't I? So please, if you would come back tomorrow, I would be much obliged to you."

            "Much obliged?" Stephen laughed in his face. "I don't even think you know the meaning of the phrase! Now look! From the time I met you, you have hindered me in my duties. You made it very difficult for me to give the Last Rites to a dying man, and when I was ill, well, you hindered my recovery by being just as annoying as you are being now. So listen to me, Doctor! I am a priest, and I have been summoned by your patient. I'm going to her whether you like it or not, so please stand aside!"

            Kathleen was stunned by the authority in Stephen's voice and bearing. It made her think fleetingly of a cross upraised in his hand and of a portrait on a wall, but she firmly put all that out of her mind and followed her friend down the corridor, the doctor standing, stricken and speechless, to one side as they passed.

            "Finally," Stephen said as she came up beside him. "I finally got to tell him what an asshole I think he is. It did a lot of good. Thank you for the opportunity!" He smiled just then, and for an instant, it was like the smiles he would flash her as they shared a joke in the days when they had first met.

            "Don't thank me," she said, taking his hand impulsively. "Thank Miss Desmond! She's the one who summoned you, as you so aptly termed it a moment ago. I am merely your escort and her lady-in-waiting."

            "I think you're much more than that, Kathleen." Julia's voice came floating out of her room whose door the two had just reached and at hearing the sound of her full name, Kathleen's blood ran cold. Julia usually called her Kat when they were being informal. Only Erica's spirit had insisted on using her unshortened one.

            "What's wrong?" Stephen's alarm recalled her. "You look ghastly!"

            "She--she said my full name, Stephen. Only--only--" She was unable to finish the sentence, but Stephen caught her meaning without anything further needing to be said.

            "What are you two whispering about?" Julia sounded enough like herself. There was no cloyingly-sweet drawl in her speech as there would be if Erica's spirit had inhabited her body again, but Kathleen was still distrustful.

            "Come on now, Bridey Murphy! If you're waiting for an engraved invitation to enter, you'll have to wait a hell of a long time!"

            That did it. Bridey Murphy was one of Julia's pet names for Kathleen which she had not used since their Cambridge days. It had come about when Julia had discovered that her middle name was Brigit. Now though, the name took on a queer kind of psychic resonance, for hadn't she just gone through a kind of past life regression back on Maljardin? It was funny, she reflected as she finally decided that Julia was indeed still herself, how many circles there were in life. She had grown up a Catholic and then had abandoned that belief for a general belief in nothing in particular when she met Julia, and now, because of Julia and the Desmond curse, she felt that she was beginning to find the faith she had left behind her in Belfast so long ago.

            "Hello Miss Desmond," Stephen said as he preceded Kathleen into the room.

            "Hello Father," she said, taking his offered hand. "At least you have some manners!"

            "Kat's been through a lot, Miss Desmond," said Stephen by way of explanation.

            "So have we all," was Julia's reply, and Kathleen could not help noticing how extremely tired she sounded and looked when she said it.

            Julia was propped up in bed, the remains of her dinner still sitting in front of her on a wheeled metal table.

            "So," said Stephen, "am I here in an official capacity?"

            "No," said Julia. "I have a few things I want to talk to you about. That's all. Kat, if you want to leave, feel free to do so!" These words came out very politely, but Kathleen had spent enough time around Julia Desmond to know when her politeness veiled an imperative. What the blue eyes said as they regarded her directly was:

            "I have no further need of you tonight. You are dismissed."

            "I am rather tired," she said. "I'll meet you in the cafe later on, Stephen."

            "Sounds good to me," he said, and she turned and left the two of them alone.

            In the village of Port French Leave, no place was out of walking distance from any other, but zippy little mopeds and brightly-coloured cabs still zoomed through the narrow streets as tourists went about the business of being tourists. Kathleen, however, did not avail herself of one of these conveyances as she made her way back to the hotel. Indeed, she felt that it would not be her place to use them. After all, how could she consider herself to be a tourist: she who had trafficked with old powers and evil forces and whose soul had once inhabited a body native to its shores? Besides, she wanted to think, and walking always improved the productivity of her mental faculties. So, through the narrow winding lanes she went, across the market square, its stalls now deserted of sellers but its centre brimming with tourists consulting maps and enjoying the balmy island atmosphere. There was even a steel drum band there to keep everyone in high spirits.

            She stood and listened to the music for a while, but after scarcely a minute, she continued on her way. The music sounded insipid to her, like something imported, an island cliché. She fell to thinking of the drums she had heard in the visions of herself as the native servant-girl Sophie and longed to hear them in real life. All at once, she knew what she was going to do. She would go back to the hotel and unpack, and then she would take the path to the cabin of the Conjure Woman. She did not know if anyone would stop her, but she had to try. She had to see the cabin again, either to determine if Vangie was still alive, or if she was not, just to see the place one last time if she would be allowed to do so of course.

            Back at the hotel, she picked up her bags from the front desk where she had left them and found her way to her room. The staff had kept it for her, and as she unlocked the door with the key-card she had never removed from her pocket-book during all the events of the past few weeks, she had a hunch that they had done this out of kindness as a sort of rudimentary sympathetic magic, keeping it undisturbed and ready for her to occupy it again as an assurance that she would return from Maljardin. She had no way of knowing whether or not this was true, but she liked to think of it. After all, it was likely that they thought that if an outsider like her were to return from the cursed island of the Desmonds, then so would their beloved Conjure Woman, and the prophecy about Vangie's death on Maljardin, which they all surely knew, she supposed, would be thwarted once again.

            Digging out a pair of sandals and changing into some walking clothes, she strove vainly to make sense of her hastily-packed belongings and in the end, leaving them in an untidy heap on her bed and hearing her grandmother's chiding voice in her head saying: "Once nasty, never neat," she was about to leave when something caught her eye. In looking up from the mess of belongings on the bed, she happened to glance into the mirror and saw that the cross which had belonged to Matthew Dawson and which had been her link to Vangie was still around her neck. She had forgotten about it in all the excitement of the last few days and now she touched it sadly, knowing that even if the link still worked, she no longer possessed the power to use it. As soon as Vangie had disappeared from the headland behind the Desmond house on the night of Julia's deliverance, she had felt that a part of her mind was now inaccessible. All her memories of the visions she had experienced and the powers she had invoked stood now as dim phantoms before her mind's eye.

            Well, she thought, perhaps it's better this way, and turning from the tired and drawn reflection she had also seen in the mirror, she went out of the room and headed to the fire door at the back of the hotel. She decided to tell anyone she might happen to meet that she was going for a walk to enjoy the warm evening, but her way was unhindered by anyone. The halls of the hotel were completely deserted. This she found a little odd, but she decided not to spend time pondering it. Instead, she welcomed the silence and was glad not to have to explain anything or to have to engage in small-talk with someone like Chris from the cafe. Indeed, she thought that if anyone asked her anything right now, she would simply burst into tears right in front of them. The thought of possibly finding that Vangie was dead weighed more heavily upon her with each step she took closer to the cabin.

            At last, she was out of the hotel and through the mass of vines which signaled the entrance to the sacred path. However, she had not gone more than ten feet on its well-worn surface when a large hand grabbed her by the shoulder.

            "You've come," said the voice of Michel. "I was told that you might. Come with me! You can't go there alone tonight."

            "I wasn't planning to," she said, realizing that he was being kind to her in his gruff way. "But what's so special about tonight?"

            "You'll see," he said, and allowing her to take his hand, he led her to the place where she had to remove her shoes. As she stooped down to undo the buckles of her sandals, she suddenly heard what she had longed to hear in the market square. People were drumming somewhere ahead of them in the darkness and for an instant, she thought that Michel would lead her further than she had ever been along this path and into their midst. However, he stopped where she had hoped he would and told her to put on her sandals again. Then he left her to find the cabin by herself. This she had learned to do during the beginning of her acquaintance with the Conjure Woman, but she was not sure if she could do it now. She had forgotten to bring a flashlight, something she had never been without on Maljardin due to the frequent power interruptions in the house, but it was clear that Michel needed to be about his business. So, standing still as he disappeared into the darkness, she wondered what she would do. There was a way to get to the cabin, but it was not completely cleared or nearly so wide as the processional path to the ritual ground was. Still, she had to keep going, so turning to the left, she walked slowly off the path and into the knotted greenery. Rich scents came to her as she moved and apart from the drumming which she could still hear echoing across the forest, the sounds of many insects and animals told her of the life teeming in this place. There was a rhythm here, she thought, and that rhythm began to lull her into a strange kind of half-dream, a half-dream from which she awoke only when she tripped over a protruding root and went sprawling face-down in the brush of the forest floor.

            "Christ and all his angels!" she shouted, picking herself up and feeling a deep throbbing in her ankle. "Damn me for a clumsy fool!"

            "Clumsy?" The voice seemed to come out of the darkness but she could not tell from which direction. However, in a few seconds, she saw a light coming toward her, and for a moment, she thought it was the unearthly glow which she had last seen enveloping the Conjure Woman as they had embraced for the last time, but as it came closer, she realized that it was nothing more than the beam of a flashlight.

            "Clumsy?" the voice now repeated. "Perhaps so, Kat O'Dell, but fool? Never! You are the Queen of Swords. Remember?" And suddenly, there was Vangie herself, solidly real and smiling in the flashlight's glow.

            "Come," she continued. "Let's get you in out of the night. Can you walk on that ankle?"

            "I--I--yes," said Kathleen now, testing her foot and finding it sound if a little painful when she put weight on it.

            "Alright then. Take my hand and we'll set you to rights." Kathleen did as Vangie asked and soon, with no further injuries or expletives on her part, they arrived at the cabin where a bright fire was burning and a steaming pot of fragrant tea was awaiting them.

            "I thought you might come, Kat," said the Conjure Woman as she took her familiar low stool before the fire and spread her hands out to it to warm them. Kathleen would have wondered at this on such a truly tropical evening as this was, but she had remarked when she had allowed Vangie to guide her just now the fact that the other woman's hand felt very cold indeed.

            "Are you--well--alright?" she finally asked as the silence stretched longer and longer between them.

            "I am still recovering," said Vangie with a smile. "It seems that it is not my time as yet to pass beyond the veil."

            "I'm glad of that," said Kat, the tears now coming whether she wanted them to or not.

            "Come now," said Vangie, moving quickly to her and pulling her into an embrace. "No more tears! What's done is done. All debts have been settled."

            "But what did it cost you? How did you--well--save me?"

            "That would be too hard to explain to you now, but it was the least I could do for you, Kat. It was you who saved me, after all."

            "What? What do you mean?" They had moved apart again and Kathleen stared incredulously at Vangie as she spoke.

            "Your former self sacrificed her life to outwit the prophecy I had made, and when you drank the poison, you prevented the evil of Maljardin from overcoming me at my weakest moment."

            "I was just interested in Julia."

            "I know, and that fierce loyalty to your friend was what saved us all in the end. Did I not tell you that it would?"

            "Still," said Kathleen, looking directly into Vangie's dark eyes, "something's different. Something's changed."

            "And what do you see, my insightful Friend?"

            "I think that you're both stronger and weaker than you were when this business began," was Kathleen's answer after a long moment.

            "Your powers of perception are indeed formidable, Kat. I am stronger in that I have come into a closer union with the powers I serve than anyone before me, save perhaps my father. However, I am also made weaker because of that union. I will recover, yes, but while my spiritual abilities increase, my bodily strength will ultimately decrease. As a consequence of this, I will now begin to age and will, in a relatively usual span of time and barring illness or injury, eventually die."

            "And what about the prophecy?"

            "If it comes true, it comes true. I will no longer try to escape it, but neither will I run toward it unnecessarily. And what of you, my Kathleen?"

            "I don't know exactly. I feel more or less as I did before--before we met, but I don't know why. I mean that I don't feel as--as open as I have recently."

            "I am glad of this. You must not access the sensitive part of your mind again, Kat. It's too dangerous. Still, I do hold the key to unlocking it if you would rather I did, and you and I will still be linked in some way. We will take the best parts of each other with us on life's journey."

            "Do you think we'll meet again, Vangie?"

            "We may, Kat. Anything is possible, after all."

            "Should I tell Stephen you're alright?"

            "No," said Vangie sadly. "He has to do what he has to do. I feel that he needs to find himself. You might return the cross to him, however."

            "I meant to do that before we left Maljardin. It is his after all. He's with Julia now."

            "And she is alright?"

            "She's in the hospital for now and I really don't know what she wanted to talk to Stephen about, but we'll know more in a few days what her condition is as the tests they're running come back. Do you think she might--well--do you think you might have--" She dropped her eyes as her voice trailed off. Hope burned inside of her and was not quenched by her usual Ulster common sense.

            "If you're asking me if I might have healed her in my transfigured state," said Vangie, true sadness in her voice and compassion on her face, "I have to tell you the truth. I do not think she will have been healed. However, I also believe that anything the demon may have done to her over and above the Leukemia has been reversed."

            "And what about--well--her and Stephen?"

            "I cannot see what will result from that union," said Vangie, and Kathleen thought she heard a trace of bitterness in the calm voice. "Still, only time will tell, I suppose. Whatever happens, if the evil rises again, we'll be here. Others will take up the fight when I at last go to my rest. Until then, we will preserve our traditions and will never forget the fact that the Devil is eternal."

            "I don't think I can forget that either. I think I'm done playing at being a businesswoman," Kathleen said, getting to her feet. "I think it's time for me to find another path."

            "For your sake," said Vangie, "I hope that path does not lead you back here. However, I can honestly say that I will miss you. You have been a true friend to me, Kathleen, and those have been rare in my life."

            "Knowing you, Vangie, was worth all the pain and struggle. I'll never forget you, no matter where I go or what I do. However," she said, her Ulster pragmatism temporarily rescuing her from another emotional scene, "I suppose I should go back to the hotel and meet Stephen for a nightcap. Are you sure you don't want me to tell him about you?"

            "It's better this way, Kat. Believe me! Now, let me guide you back to the main path!"

            Kathleen drained the last of the tea which Vangie had given her and followed the priestess out into the fragrant night. The drumming still continued and now she could hear the pounding of many feet and the chanting of many voices. This, she surmised, explained the deserted hallways of the hotel, and then she suddenly had a thought and turned to the woman walking silently at her side.

            "Vangie, shouldn't you be there--at the ritual?" she asked.

            "No, I am still too weak to take up my duties. Another is officiating in my place. However, I will be glad to get back into the circle and to resume my office when this earthly vessel allows it." And just then, as though to illustrate her bodily weakness, she stopped and leaned for a while against a tree, her breathing somewhat laboured and her face shining with perspiration in the glow of her flashlight.

            "Vangie!" Kathleen was alarmed.

            "Don't worry, Kat. I'll be alright in a moment. Can you find your way from here?" She thought that she could, but she found herself unwilling to leave her friend like that, leaning against the tree and breathing hard.

            "Kathleen Brigit O'Dell," said the Conjure Woman, straightening up and regarding her, "you have helped me a great deal over the past few weeks, but it is time for you to help yourself. The path is in front of you. Remove your sandals and walk back to the hotel, and remember," she said as Kathleen obeyed her, "not to tell Stephen about me. Don't even tell him that you've been here!"

            "I'll remember," she said, looking as Vangie and her flashlight retreated toward the cabin. Only when the light had faded completely out of sight did she continue on her way. This time, she walked lightly and joyfully, and by the time she got back to her room, she found herself merrily humming a tune. She also found that the long-ingrained habit of fastidious cleanliness which she had learned long ago from her grandmother had returned, and in no time at all, she had managed to disentangle her balled up clothes and to change into something more appropriate for her meeting with Stephen. Splashing some water on her face and combing her hair, she was soon ready, and as she went down the hall to the cafe, she found that it at least was not deserted. Chris was on duty tonight, and she was never so happy to see anyone in her life. At least he had not changed. At least he was something consistent in her world, and for this she blessed him, only just restraining an impulse to walk right up to him and kiss him on the lips.

            "Well hello there!" he said as he caught sight of her. "I heard you'd come back. You're expected, I think, on the patio."

            "Thanks, Chris," she said. "Thanks a lot!"

            "Will it be Chardonnay tonight then?"

            "No," she said. "I think it'll be Scotch."

            "It seems that great minds think alike. I'll bring you what your friend is having."

            "Chris, you're an angel!" she said, flashing him what she hoped was a bright smile and blowing him a kiss as she walked out to where Stephen was waiting, sipping a single malt and staring out to sea where the blurred shape of Maljardin could just be seen on the star-filled horizon. On hearing her approach, however, he shook off his reverie, got up and pulled out her chair for her.

            "Why thank you," she said, seating herself and motioning for him to do the same.

            "I'm sorry I was so far away just then," he replied. "I suppose I have a lot on my mind."

            "Don't we all?" she asked with a rueful smile, and immediately was sorry for it. "I didn't mean that."

            "Oh yes you did," he said. "You wouldn't be Kathleen O'Dell if you didn't have some sardonic crack to make at every turn."

            "But I sounded rather priggish just then," she said, "and for that I apologize. May I ask what Julia wanted to see you about?"

            "Well," he said, "even though she did not formally confess to me, I still consider what she said to be sacrosanct. However, she did want to make sure that I would attend her funeral. She's pretty convinced, along with her doctors I might add, that she hasn't got more than a year to live."

            "You saw her doctors?"

            "Well, I saw one of them. She was very compassionate and kind, and she told Julia in her compassionate and kind way that there was very little that could be done."

            "Well then," said Kathleen, fighting back tears, "I suppose there's no use crying over spilled milk. I'll stay with her until--until the end, I guess. I owe her that much."

            "Owe her? It seems to me that she owes you!" Kathleen was surprised at the anger in his voice. "She literally put you through hell, Kat! To me, she's just another in a long line of arrogant and megalomaniacal Desmonds!"

            "I'm sorry she has upset you, Stephen. Can't you talk about it? Get it off your chest?"

            "Not here," he said, "and--well--not with you, I'm afraid."

            "Well," said Kathleen as her Scotch finally arrived, "I'll not press you further. I did want to give you something though. I forgot about it until tonight," and undoing the chain from around her neck, she handed the little gold cross to Stephen. "After all," she said as he took it, "it belonged to your uncle. It should be yours."

            "I suppose so," he said, "but I realize now that as much as he was my father's brother, he was really never my uncle. I dreamed him up as a kind of hero and I think, you know, that I've been living for him for a very long time."

            "Oh Stephen," she said, saddened herself by the sadness in his eyes. "I'm sorry!"

            "Sorry? Why should you be sorry?"

            "I'm sorry," she said, taking a deep breath, "because I know exactly how you feel. I've been living for Julia. You know, at the end of my undergraduate studies, all I wanted to do was to write and teach about Chaucer, but Julia's offer of a job and the money she wanted to pay me were both irresistible."

            "So what will you do then, when--when all's said and done?" She saw him shift uncomfortably in his seat as he said this and it made her smile.

            "Surely a priest and an anthropologist can talk about death without beating around the bush!"

            "I don't think I can just now, actually," he said, and all at once, she remembered that he did not know about Vangie being alive. She wished with all her heart that she could dispel his agony, but the Conjure Woman had been adamant that he not be told, or at least, not told by her.

            Another mystery, she thought. Another secret to which she could not be privy. However, did she really want to know any more than she had already learned? No, she decided. It was time for her to be done with these islands and their lore. She would leave here when Julia left, would travel with her and set her corporate empire in order, and then, after the funeral, she would begin the long and slow business of doing the same with her own modest fortune and holdings.

            "Do you know something Stephen?"

            "No. What?"

            "I know what I'm going to do with the rest of my life."

            "Oh yes? Do share this novel epiphany with the rest of the class, then!"

            "I intend," she said, raising her glass to him, "to be happy."

            "I wish you every success, Miss O'Dell," he said, and clinking their glasses together, they simultaneously downed the remainder of their drinks and stood up.

            "Great minds, I guess," he said.

            "Yes," she said. "I really am tired and need my bed."

            "As do I," he said, taking her hand. "If I don't see you before either of us leaves, I want to say that it has been an honour and a privilege to know you, Kat."

            "The praise of the praiseworthy is above all rewards," she said softly. "You saved us, Stephen. You saved Julia and you saved me in more ways than you'll ever know."

            "Go with God, Kat, and may the road rise to meet you!"

            "Will you be happy, Stephen?" She had to ask this, because the depths of despair she saw beneath his kindly smile unnerved her.

            "I'll try, Kat," he answered. "I promise you, I'll try."

            "Alright then," she said, "and don't worry about the tab. My credit's still good here."

            "Thanks," he said, giving her hand a final squeeze, and then he was rushing away without a backward glance.

            "Leaving, Miss O'Dell?" Chris had come over to remove the glasses and to present the bill.

            "Yes," she said slowly, looking keenly at him. "I'm finished here, Chris. Just charge the drinks to my room, alright?"

            "You're the boss," he said, and as she signed her name to the bar-tab, she found that her hand was shaking.

            "Are you alright?" Chris looked genuinely concerned.

            "Oh, don't mind me," she said, shrugging and trying to look nonchalant. "I just need a really good night's sleep. Goodbye, Chris!" And taking a fifty-dollar bill out of her pocket-book, she handed it to him.

            "What's this for?"

            "It's just a little thank-you," she said.

            "For what? I can't take this!"

            "You can and you will, Chris. It's a little token of thanks for--well--everything--for just being you! Now, Goodnight!"

            "Goodnight, Miss O'Dell," he said and pocketed the money without further protest.

            Back in her room, she lay down on her bed without undressing. The emotions of the evening had now finally caught up with her. She felt thoroughly sodden with both shed and unshed tears, but also strangely cleansed. She knew at last what she would do with her life, and that was to do what made her happy. She had lost romantic relationships and friendships due to the all-consuming and never-ending job of being Julia Desmond's assistant, and she had put up with all that because she felt a duty to her friend who had given her so much. Now, however, she realized that Julia, perhaps even without entirely meaning to, had taken as much or more than she had ever given, and if that was only to end with Julia's death, then so be it. As her eyes drifted slowly closed, she repeated to herself her new mantra:

            "I, Kathleen O'Dell, am going to live a long and happy life," and in thought, she added with her usual Ulster fatalism: even if it kills me.

Chapter Forty-four

            The halls were quiet as Stephen made his way back to his room, but although his body needed sleep, he knew that his mind would not permit it. After the events of this evening, in fact, he felt that he might never sleep again. His talk with Julia Desmond had been brief enough, but what she had told him as he sat by her bed in that aseptic hospital room had so unnerved him that by the time of his meeting with Kathleen, he was barely able to think of anything else. Now, sitting down at his desk, he took out his Blackberry and opened his email. He was determined to do what he had to do. He had to deliver a message, now that he knew that Kathleen's plan was to stay with Julia till the end, but he could not have done so in the cafe, and he felt that it would be better done in writing. However, as the composition screen came up, he thought better of the email, and putting the phone aside, he found a pen and some hotel stationary. He could leave it under her door or perhaps ask Chris the waiter to give it to her. So, leaning back for a moment to collect his thoughts, he took up the pen and began:

            "Kat, I don't know how to say this, but I have a request to make of you. It goes against all of my morals and my training as a priest to ask this, but I have no other choice.

            "During my conversation with Julia tonight, it became apparent that she does not remember very much about what happened on Maljardin. You, I think, know what--what occurred between us when we were both possessed by the spirits of Jacques and Erica. Well, when I alluded to it tonight, she seemed not to recall it, but to tell you the truth, I wasn't so sure. She kept trying to change the subject.

            "She talked a lot about you, and she said that she takes your advice very seriously. Kat, I think she may be avoiding my questions because she hopes to be pregnant. Despite everything, to know that some part of her might continue on after she's gone may be too much for her. But there's something else as well. I really believe that the evil forces on Maljardin could have done more than they did. They could have ensured all of our deaths, but they allowed themselves to be beaten, at least for a time. I think that though we may have won the battle, the war is far from over. The devil is, after all, eternal.

            "The thing is, Kat, that if what I think will happen does happen, Robert's death and Vangie's--uh--well, whatever happened to Vangie will be for nothing, and I just can't have that. My uncle died because of this curse, and now a dear friend has been claimed by it, not to mention Vangie.

            "The fact is that you and I are now directly responsible for what may lie ahead, and I want to ask you to try your best to convince Julia that she cannot remain pregnant in her condition. Believe me, I do not do this lightly, Kat, but if there is a baby, I'm afraid that it may become a new living incarnation of Jacques Eloi Des Mondes. I know how crazy this sounds, but there was a strange shifty look in Julia's eyes that I didn't like when we spoke, and the way she kept passing off my questions was very unnerving.

            "I'm sure you'll know by the time you read this that she has chosen to stay in this region for what remains of her life. The house will be repaired and she will live in it. This news may change your plans, but if it does not, I hope that you will try to do as I ask. I can't make you do it, of course, but I hope you'll think of all the harm that could be prevented by helping her to make this one choice.

            "You should know that it makes me ill to write this, but I have no one else to turn to. I know that whatever happens, you'll do as you think best, and if there is a baby, then I will take responsibility for its care. However, I think you'll see what I mean if you talk to her about it, and perhaps that will convince you that I'm not asking this out of some whim. Still, you have to do what you think best. I know that.

            "Whatever happens, I wish you the best in life, Kat O'Dell, and I do hope that you will be happy. Till we meet again, I remain: Yours, Stephen."

            Hastily folding the letter as though its very touch was fatal to him, he stood up and went to the mini-bar and found one of the little bottles of scotch kept there. Downing it in a few swallows, he began pacing angrily, thinking back to the evening when he had done the same thing while waiting for Barrett to take him to his first meeting with the Conjure Woman. Now that he was freed of the responsibility of telling Kathleen about Julia, there was nothing else to think about, nothing else to occupy his mind. So he thought about Barrett and his fear-stricken face as he recognized his own failure to live up to the demands of his position as High Priest of the island faith. He saw Kathleen standing tall and shadowy in the ancient temple and almost consumed by the power which had seduced her as it had seduced Julia; and at last, he saw Vangie--Vangie, who gave all she had to protect everyone else from the evil that threatened these islands and who, for all he knew now, was buried somewhere just as Barrett had been. When he thought of this, he reproached himself that he had not fulfilled his duty as her partner. He had not dug her grave.

            So what could he do? How could he do something to assuage his conscience? Then, as he continued to pace the length of the room in silence, he hit upon an idea. What about Barrett's Bungalow? Surely someone would have to go through it and get things in order. He supposed it would have been Vangie's duty to do so, and indeed, he could imagine her pouring over the masses of paper and becoming somewhat perplexed, and then he began imagining that he was there with her, explaining what she had found and showing her the sheer genius of this man who had influenced him so greatly and whom, in their own ways, they had both loved. This last thought was what settled his mind. He had not yet scheduled a flight home, and tomorrow, he decided, he would go to the bungalow and would do what had to be done. The alcohol finally doing its work, he soon felt able to sleep, and having made up his mind, he got undressed and lay down on the bed, the small gold cross which Kathleen had just given him hanging around his neck and the letter he had just written safely sealed and ready for delivery first thing in the morning.

            He fell asleep quickly, but by the time he woke to the sound of the alarm buzzing on the bedside table, he felt more confused and less energetic than ever. His dreams had been even stranger than they had on Maljardin, and though they had all involved Vangie, this time, there was no special communion between them. Instead, she was elusive and mysterious, always dancing just out of his reach down twisting jungle paths and through labyrinthine catacombs. He knew that she was leading him to some great secret, but after a while, he began to see that he was wandering in circles, always catching a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye or hearing the rustling of her robe as she fled down yet another branching way. He did know one thing, however, and this impression stayed with him as he climbed out of bed, shaved and showered, and otherwise made himself presentable before heading off to Barrett's house. No matter how elusive and difficult to pin down she had been in the dreams, Vangie Abbott had been alive, and now, as he walked out into the gloomy morning streets of Port French Leave, he knew beyond a doubt that she must be alive in the waking world as well.

            The pendent that Barrett had given him was in his pants pocket, and on a whim he had retrieved the serpent staff from the corner of the hotel room closet where he had placed it on his return from the Desmond chateau. He thought perhaps that he would know what to do with it once he was inside Barrett's house. As he walked through the winding streets of the little seaside town, he felt strange, almost as though he were walking in Barrett's own footsteps, as though he were Barrett's own ghost, and though the day was warm, there was a strong wind blowing in from the channel which smelled of coming rain. He longed to get into the little bungalow and to lose himself in repetitive, almost mindless work. If Vangie was alive, he would know by this evening, for he planned to visit her cabin. Until then, there was this task to do, and he would do it, despite his fatigue, to the best of his abilities.

            During the time he was helping to organize his former mentor's files, the old professor had given him a key to his place and he still had it. However, when he got to the door of the house and tried the knob, he found that it offered no resistance to his efforts. All at once, he was tensed and ready for a fight, fearing burglars or other mischief-makers, but as he opened the door, the sight that met his eyes was the last thing he expected; for there in the doorway stood none other than Martine, the young housekeeper at the residence of Bishop Oliver French, the one who had given him the copy of the Roman Ritual to take with him to Maljardin.

            "Hello, Fr. Dawson," she said in her light, musical voice. "I wondered if you might be coming."

            "Why are you here?" He realized that this question had come out rather sharply, but he was growing sick of surprises and he wanted, for once, to have control of the situation in which he found himself.

            "We take care of our own, Father," the girl said as she stood back to let him in. "Professor Barrett, or Papa Robert as we called him, was one of us, so I'm here to see that his things are properly dealt with per his instructions."

            "Did he leave a will?"

            "Oh, nothing so legal as that, I'm afraid. However, he did leave letters to be opened upon his death. There's one for you, if you'd like to read it."

            "I would, yes," he said, following her into the main room which was piled with folders, notebooks and accordion files literally from floor to ceiling.

            "I see you have his staff," said Martine.

            "Yes," he said, "and perhaps you should take it back."

            "I'm not the one to give it to," she said.

            "What about this?" He withdrew the serpent pendent from his pocket and held it out to her.

            "Oh! I didn't know!" Suddenly, her entire manner with him changed. There was a distinct deference in her expression and actions once she saw the ornament, and by now, he knew what it meant.

            "So, I must call you Papa Stephen then," she said, "and I can tell you now that both this and the staff are yours, and they can only be relinquished to one person and at her will."

            "Then it's true?" He felt faint with the strength of the hope he was now experiencing. "She's--she's--the Conjure Woman is alive?"

            "Can you not feel her presence?"

            "I--I can," he said. "I had some very strange dreams last night, and when I woke up this morning, I just knew that she had to be alive. Still, it would ease my mind to hear it spoken aloud by one who has seen her."

            "Then I will say it. The Conjure Woman known as Evangeline Abbott is alive, and you may see her at any time."

            "I planned to go to the cabin tonight. I wanted to help with all this first." He indicated the massive piles in the room. "Could you use some help? I am an anthropologist as he was. Perhaps I can make sense of all this."

            "I must confess that I didn't know how I'd get through all this. Thank you. I have a kettle boiling. Would you like some tea?"

            "I'd love some," he said, "if it's anything like the tea you gave me at Bishop French's place. By the way, how were you able to get the time off to come here?"

            "He's at a conference. He left the day after your meeting actually. When he's away, I only have to go in once a week to dust and to air the place out."

            "And perhaps to return stolen books?" He was smiling as he said this, but a little part of him felt shame for having taken the book when Martine had offered it. "I have it here in my bag."

            "I'll be sure to return it," she said. "He'll never know it was missing." Stephen took out the worn volume and handed it to her.

            "Don't give it another thought," she said, taking it and placing it in a basket she had with her. "Now, what about that tea?"

            As it turned out, the cup she soon brought him was the first of many which he drank to keep himself awake as the hours stretched on. The rain he had smelled earlier finally began to fall, and the consequent thunder and lightning played havoc with the electricity. There were many times when the little bungalow got so dark that he could no longer see to read the papers he was examining. Still, Martine was at his side through it all, offering him by turns another cup of tea or a flashlight, and finally, though the work was far from finished, he felt as though he had accomplished something at least.

            "It's getting late," she said as she finished taping a box which he was holding closed. "Shouldn't you be getting back to the hotel for your dinner?"

            "Why? What time is it?"

            "Almost seven," she said. "We've been at this for almost ten hours, and I think you have another appointment to keep. Haven't you?"

            "I suppose so," he said, straightening up to ease the muscles in his back. "Will you be here again tomorrow?"

            "If you'd like me to," she said.

            "You've been a great help, Martine. Thank you. If we have keys to his--to Papa Robert's truck, then perhaps we can get these boxes shipped to the university tomorrow."

            "I think I can scrounge up some keys," she said, handing him the serpent staff gingerly, as though it might burn her if she held it too long.

            "See you tomorrow then," he said.

            "Wait! Don't go yet! You're forgetting the letter. I'll get it," she said, and after a few moments spent rummaging through papers in Barrett's ancient-looking mahogany desk, she soon returned with an envelope. It bore no stamp and was addressed simply 'to Stephen Dawson.'

            "I'll read it soon," he assured her, taking the envelope and putting it in his bag. "Thanks again, Martine!"

            "We take care of our own, Papa Stephen," she said gently, holding the door for him to exit. "Remember that!"

            "I will," he replied, and walked slowly out into the descending day, where the sun, now cleared of storm-clouds, was beginning to sprinkle the sky with glowing embers as it set.

            In the cafe back at the hotel, he found Chris, apparently enjoying a night off with some of his friends. However, when the young man caught sight of him, he left his carousing and came over.

            "I just wanted to let you know that I gave Miss O'Dell the letter," he said. "And," he continued in a conspiratorial whisper, "I happened to hear her talking on the phone to Miss Desmond, and it seems that Her Majesty has chosen to stay down here for a while. I thought she couldn't stand the place!"

            "Well Chris, I think it sort of grows on a person the longer they stay. Who knows? You might be seeing a lot of me around here too!"

            "Oh no," he said. "I'm getting out as soon as I can. If it weren't for the amazing waves, I'd have been gone long ago! Still, I think I'm getting tired of being a surfer."

            Stephen couldn't help noticing that Chris was already rather drunk, and he had the distinct impression that the young man had made speeches of this kind many times before.

            "Well," he said, "I won't keep you any longer. Have a drink for me, will you?"

            "Oh don't worry," said Chris. "I'll have so many drinks for you that you'll be the one with the hangover in the morning!"

            Stephen could not help laughing as the young man rejoined his friends. He remembered his own wild days before he had decided to become a serious anthropologist and before the seminary. He had been studious as a rule, but was not without the ability to let loose and kick back when the mood struck him. Indeed, whenever it did strike, it was as though that side of him were making up for its rarity by overstating itself and plunging him into a fay and wild turn of temperament. He played pranks on some people, led others into feats of mad daring do, and generally caused havoc wherever he went. Still, for all this impish glee, he had eventually found what he wanted to do with his life and had pursued both goals fervently, channeling all his untamed vigour into shaping his life as he wished it to be.

            So why now did that life seem insipid and cloying to him? Why did he fear to return to it? As he ate a pungent rice curry for dinner, he thought about this. He had tried to live two lives at once, and as a result, he had not realized either of them to their fullest potential. It was not that the life of a priest and that of an Anthropology professor were in distinct conflict, but it was more about the fact that he himself had realized that trying to serve two masters was something that he was finding increasingly difficult to do. The business on Maljardin had illustrated this point very nicely. There, he had tried to function in both his official capacity (though doing so unofficially, he reflected with a smile,) and had also tried to fill the role that Barrett had thrust upon him at his death. He had also fallen in love with a woman, and he knew that he could not just let that feeling go as though it had never been. He had to see it through. He had to take a stand and to find a way to stop trying to tread multiple paths.

            His dinner finished, he was about to signal his waitress to bring his bill when he thought about Barrett's letter. So instead of asking for the bill right away, he ordered a scotch and soda, opened the envelope and began to read. The letter was dated the day before they had taken the trip to Maljardin and began immediately and without salutation:

            "Well, I suppose that if you're reading this, old boy, it means that what comes to us all has finally come to me. I hope it didn't happen on that benighted island across the channel, but if it did, then I hope I died well and nobly. Like as not, however, I simply grew feeble and weak and died of this damned Cancer here, surrounded by a mountain of unfinished work. Well, whatever happened, I suppose it doesn't matter anymore.

            "I do have some few things to say to you, Dawson, so I hope you'll give this posthumous epistle its due attention. Firstly, I know how you feel about Evangeline and I know how she feels about you. I don't know what you'll ultimately choose to do about it of course, but I hope very much that you can put aside whatever pride you have in your identity as a Catholic priest and can love her as she ought to be loved. She has been through a lot and has face most of it alone, and though I was with her at the end, my own progressively weak condition did not allow her to rely on me as she should have been able to do.

            "The first time she saw you, Stephen, she was surprised at the depth of feeling she had for you. That had never happened to her before, or well, not to this extent. She told me this, Stephen, in the strictest confidence. Of course, she would minimize it for you and would not want you to be bound to her by something so tenuous as mere emotion, but I truly hope that you can find a place in your heart for this very special woman. I think you could make her very happy, Stephen, and I also believe that she could do the same for you.

            "Well, I suppose I've said the most important things that needed saying, but I have a few more little instructions for you. If you would go through my papers and decide which ones should be saved by the university and which ones should be scattered to the four winds, I should be very much obliged to you. There aren't many alive who can decipher either my handwriting or my shorthand, so I'm leaving this task in your very qualified hands. Also, I hope that you will be able to continue working on the book I'm writing about Maljardin. You can even take all the credit for it if you like. I simply think that the story of this island has to be told, and perhaps now it can be. Talk to Evangeline about it, and don't be put off by her reserve. You can get her to open up if you don't press her too hard.

            "I wish I had some words of wisdom to leave you with, but if anything, my time in this place has made me feel more foolish than wise. So, I'll simply bid you goodbye and thank you for taking my request that you come so seriously. It meant a lot to see you again before the end, and it means a lot to know that you will be around to set all my affairs in order. My words cannot express my debt to you, so just know that I am sensible of it. Whether we may meet again on some other plain I do not know, but I will hold out every hope for it. Till then, I remain: Yours, R. J. B."

            His drink having arrived, Stephen made a silent toast to absent friends and, downing it in a few gulps, he folded the letter and replaced it in his bag. All that Barrett had written made sense to him, especially the part about the pride he felt in his identity as a Catholic priest. A part of him had always known that he had chosen to become a priest so that he could truly seal the deal and make what he had considered to be an irrevocable break with the vaguely Protestant culture of his family. Their vehement opposition to his becoming a Catholic had hardened him and had made him want to shock them further. So, when the opportunity had come up, he had announced proudly across a laden Thanksgiving table that he was becoming a priest. While they had not gone so far as to disown him, they had made it clear that they felt that no good could come of this decision and had never attended any ceremonies associated with his progression toward Holy Orders.

            Well, he decided, it was time to change his attitude. It was time to do something that he knew to be right simply because he knew it and not because of what it might prove to his family. He and Vangie did share something deep that went beyond mere emotion, and if she truly was alive and had not been consumed by the evil forces on Maljardin or indeed by the powers for which she had been made a fit vessel, he had to find her and to do what he could to fulfill their communion. Even if it meant throwing his old life away and leaving the priesthood behind, he knew that he would do it. He had to do it. It was the right thing. At least his heart would be in this way of life much more than it had been in the old one. Vangie had shaken and stirred him to the very core, and knowing how desolate he had felt when he thought she was dead and how elated he had become at that first intuitive impression of her continued existence on this side of the mortal veil helped him to solidify what he had to do now without hesitation. Once he paid his bill, he would return to his room, dawn the ceremonial regalia he had inherited from Barrett, and before the night was over, he would take the sacred path to the cabin, alone this time, but without fear. Now, he was not taking a journey into the unknown; now, he knew beyond any doubt, he was coming home, really coming home for the first time in his life. What would happen tomorrow he had no way of knowing, but he knew that tonight would always be for him the night he went to meet his destiny.

Chapter forty-five

            For the woman known now as Evangeline Abbott, life had never been a straightforward affair. Hers had never been the path of romance or of marriage, of rearing children or of running a household. Even if she did hold a job, at least a part of the reason for doing so was so that she could find a foothold in a world which had changed dramatically from the time when she was young, the time before the strange and secret ritual which she had undergone to prolong her life over three-hundred years ago. Instead, she had lived a life of conflict, conflict between the calling which she knew she must inherit from her father one day and the vistas which the world as it moved on began to open before her. Yet, after her father's death and her own feigned passing on Maljardin, she began to realize that the old ways did have meaning, and after forty years of steeping herself in them, she had become what her father had been to the people during his time as the Conjure Man: a font of wisdom, a healer and a leader, yes, but never a true friend to any. Even the servant-girl who had given her life for that ritual had been more of an acolyte, she knew, when she had decided to allow herself to be sacrificed on the altar of blood. And as far as the people she had met on Maljardin when Jean Paul Desmond had been its master, few had truly believed in her abilities and even fewer had really made an effort to come to know her, with the possible exception of the Reverend Matthew Dawson of course. She had known that he was trying as far as he could to enter into the battle and to be her ally, but he had come to believe in the evil too late, and she had not been able to help him to fight it.

            Now, however, everything had changed, and the change had begun with the coming of Robert Barrett to these islands, even if at their first meeting she regarded him with disdain. She had thought him a mere dilatant, an intellectual popinjay who just wanted to worm a few secrets out of her so he could publish them for his own financial and academic gains, but as she had come to know him, she realized that he genuinely cared about her people's way of life and wanted to learn to live it. So, little by little and in spite of his declining health, she had trained him and taught him and had, after long deliberation, made him her High Priest, and yes, her lover. However, she knew that theirs was not a true communion of souls. No, the only time she had ever approached even a glimpse of that kind of communion had been during some of her talks with the Reverend Dawson, and when she saw his nephew for the first time, she knew that he was made of the same stuff.

            Then there was Kathleen O'Dell. She had no business being a simple assistant to Miss Julia Desmond. She was strong and steadfast, and could, if she had not been touched by evil, have learned to use her gifts to help others in her own right. Still, Vangie thought as the dawn after their last meeting came creeping across the floor of her little cabin, perhaps it was ordained to be so. Perhaps she had to discover the danger as well as the power. Perhaps...

            "No," she said aloud to the empty room. "I mustn't dwell on what might be. The present is all I have that is certain," and with that, she stood up from the stool where she had passed a sleepless night and began going about her daily chores. There was the garden to weed and herbs to cull while the dew still lay upon them, and she was grateful for all this activity. It would keep her mind off the events of the past few days. Though, she reflected ruefully, if she ever did need reminding, all she would have to do would be to stop and let herself be sensible of the deep cold which still seemed to be a part of her being no matter how warm the day might be. It had never left her since that last night on Maljardin, and though her healer's knowledge told her otherwise, a part of her felt that it never would.

            As the morning dropped down humid and thick upon the island and the outdoor chores became too much for her in that atmosphere, she went back inside and brewed some tea. She surprised herself by setting out two cups and by brewing more than her usual amount, but just as the kettle boiled and she was pouring the water over the leaves, a sudden knock informed her that she had known subconsciously that someone would be coming, and after setting the tea to steep, she opened the door to find a red-eyed and raging Kathleen waiting there.

            "Kat?" The anger coming from the other woman seemed to hit her like the blast of heat from an oven when it is opened quickly. "Are you--"

            "I didn't know where else to come," she said, stepping in and allowing Vangie to close the door behind her and to guide her to a seat. "He's mad! Stephen Dawson is raving mad!"

            "Have some tea, Kat," Vangie said in what she hoped was a soothing and not a tired tone, "and tell me what this is about."

            "He wrote me a letter," she began without preamble. "He told me that he thought that Julia would like to be pregnant as a result of--of that encounter between them or between Erica and Jacques, I suppose. He said that during his talk with her yesterday, she seemed not to remember that encounter, but something in her eyes told him that she really did. I thought we'd beaten Erica! I thought she was gone! I can't do what he wants me to do, Vangie! I can't!"

            "What does he want you to do?" She was trying very hard to keep her voice level and her expression calm, but what Kathleen was saying chilled her to the bone. If Jacques Eloi Des Mondes were to find a way to incarnate in a living body from its infancy as he had originally planned, there would be no telling what evil might be unleashed.

            "He asked me to try, if Julia in fact is pregnant of course, to convince her not to have the child. I can't possibly do that, Vangie!"

            "Well, Kat, you have to do what your heart and conscience tell you to do. I'm sure that Stephen would understand it if you declined to do what he wanted. Anyhow, the point may be moot. Before I came to you that last time on Maljardin, I found the conjure doll of Jacques Eloi Des Mondes and also the silver pin. I wove the spell again and put the doll with the pin in its temples into the coffin. Stephen himself saw it there if he fulfilled the promise he made to me."

            "He did. I was with him and saw it," said Kathleen, "but there's something else. Julia wants to stay here for the remainder of her life. She wants to live in the house, Vangie! What if--what if she's tempted?"

            "Then she must be the one to fight it. It isn't as though she has not been touched by evil before, Kat. Now she knows more! Surely that will weigh heavily in the balance if he--if that devil tries to coerce her to set him free."

            "But what if he doesn't have to coerce her? What if she's really not completely free of him or--of Erica?"

            "Then those who can will have to join the battle again. I can see, however, that you mustn't get involved again, Kat, no matter how much you love your friend."

            "You're right," she said, and this shook Vangie. Never before had Kathleen agreed with anything she had to say which involved leaving Julia behind.

            "I'm surprised to hear you say that!"

            "You shouldn't be," the other woman said, and all at once, Vangie felt the hardness in her come to the fore. "I'm finished with all of this once and for all. I'm tendering my resignation and leaving here as soon as I can."

            "I can't say that I won't miss you," said Vangie, taking her friend's hand in hers, "but I can say that your plan has lifted a weight from my mind. You do have a gift, Kathleen, and I have a feeling that it will not leave you entirely alone, but to remain here or to live on Maljardin would be dangerous for you. Even with the island cleansed, it is still a place of power. You will need to do something that is, I think, very difficult for you. You will have to let life take whatever course it will take. I hope you will be happy, whatever you end up doing."

            "I intend to try my best, Vangie, and if that means letting Stephen down, then so be it."

            "I think his request was born out of fear, and if I can, I'll tell him as much, though I will not tell him you came to see me."

            "You can tell him. He'll know soon enough that I've left, after all. Let him think what he will of me! I have to do what is best for me."

            "Yes you do," said Vangie sadly. "I would expect nothing less from you after all you've been through."

            "You know what it's going to lead to, don't you?" Kathleen's green eyes bore into hers. "You know that my decision will lead to more evil!"

            "I know nothing of the sort," she replied. "We don't even know if Julia is truly pregnant." But just then, she remembered standing on the roof of the north tower of the chateau and looking into Julia's eyes. She had thought then that another life lay nestled inside her, but until today, she had not been certain of it. "I only know that what will come will come, and that our choices are what define us as people, Kat! If you had agreed to Stephen's request, I think you would have ceased to be your true self. Please understand that if evil does come as a result of this, I will never reproach you for beginning it. It began a very long time ago and it is for those who can and who are willing to deal with it as it rebounds across time. There will always be someone manning the front lines, Kat. Never fear!"

            "Well then," Kathleen announced as she got to her feet, "I suppose that this is truly goodbye!"

            "Never that, Kathleen O'Dell," said Vangie as they embraced. "Never that. We will meet again before the end. That much I can see. So, I'll say farewell for the present. May your journey through life be rich and filled with wonders!"

            "Thank you again for everything, Vangie! I'll think of you often," and suddenly breaking from the hug, she walked deliberately to the door and put her hand on the latch.

            "I will come, you know," she said. "I will come if you call me."

            "I know, Kat. I know, and thank you." And watching the woman out of sight and onto the path through a mist of tears, she once again found herself alone with only the surrounding silence for a companion.

            She suddenly felt the familiar weakness come over her. It always dismayed her to experience it, but she knew that it would ebb in time. She had laid herself open and unshielded in the path of the elemental powers of these islands after all, even reaching beyond mere physicality, and for that there had to be a price. She had felt the change the moment the power had left her barely conscious on a deserted beach of this island and when Michel had carried her from there to this cabin. She had been grateful that her psychic call to him had been received and acted upon with such alacrity and that Martine and some of the other women had come to tend her while she had lain feverish and unable to move, and while she had known very clearly that she would not die, she had also felt certain that the mysterious  life force which had sustained her for more than three-hundred years had now been spent and that she had at last rejoined the truly mortal world. Now, as the morning was advancing to noon and as the rain which had thickened the air was beginning to fall, she found that she could do nothing but lie down on her bed and listen to the wind and the thunder as they vied for sonic supremacy and drift in and out of sleep despite the noise of the storm.

            When she at last fully woke from this lethargy, she heard the sounds of the night around her and saw a clear and star-filled sky outside her window. The drums were beating at the sacred gathering place. Her people were performing yet another rite to beg the Great Serpent that she be returned to full health, but there was also another drum beating much closer at hand. It was this sound, she realized, which had brought her out of her stupor, and as she listened to the beat, she smiled. Only one person could be in the other room. Only one person could have called her back. He had come at last. He had sensed her living presence and had come. This was what she had hoped for, but now that it had come to the point, she was uncertain how to proceed. It was not only herself she had to consider. There were her people as well. Would they accept him? And what about the news that Kathleen had told her? Was he indeed a worthy partner for her? She did not know anything for certain, but as his drumming continued, she knew that she could no longer ignore it.

            Getting slowly to her feet and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she moved softly across the floor and into the main room of the cabin. A fire was glowing on the hearth and Stephen sat where he had been on the night when she had told him that she loved him, her drum between his knees and his hands playing like lightning across its head. He was wearing Barrett's robe and pendent, and the serpent staff lay beside his chair. He had come. He had really come and he had made his choice. He would not be conflicted, she knew. He would choose her every time, and in choosing her, he would also choose her people. He would be what a true priest ought to be, and he would also be someone with whom she could share however many days and nights she had left to her. Never again would she have to face the long wastes of lonely years stretching into the unknown. Still, she had to be certain. She had to ask.

            "So," she said softly, caressing and thereby stilling his hands on the drum, "you've come at last!"

            "I have, my Lady," he said, setting the drum down and taking her into his arms.

            "And will you stay? Will you stay with me?"

            "I couldn't do anything else," he said, sobs choking his words.

            "Then welcome home, Stephen Matthew Dawson," she said, herself beginning to cry. "Welcome home!" The kiss which followed was long and lingering, and as she led him gently to the bedroom, no words were exchanged. Instead, the two went silently and joyfully, leaving all worries and fears behind them, and lay twined for hours in each other's arms. What would happen later was unknown, but Vangie decided to let it stay a mystery for now. For her, the present was too glorious. Here at last she had found a kindred soul. Here at last she had found fulfillment. Here at last and beyond all hope, she could finally rest.

THE END