Evil Unearthed: Chapter 7

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!"

Evil Unearthed: Chapter 8

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."

Evil Unearthed: Chapter 9

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.

Evil Unearthed: Chapter 10

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.

Evil Unearthed: Chapter 11

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.

Evil Unearthed: Chapter 12

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!"