Sunday morning light leaked through the window over a tousled mess of brown hair at the end of a misshapen lump under the blanket. The figure at the door looked on in annoyance.

"Richie?"

The lump shuddered, uttered a muffled curse, and was still once more.

"Richie, get your ass out of bed now."

The lumped grunted something that sounded vaguely like "whatever."

"I'm serious, Richie. I will not have us missing church because of your laziness."

Richie waited until he heard the thump of footsteps down the hall before he turned over and kicked off the covers, mumbling another curse.

He rubbed his eyes and sat up, pulling his feet under him. He was beginning to hate Sundays as much as Mondays. His mother's pointless pursuit of superficial piety dragged him into the longest and most useless hour and a half of every week. She was fooling herself along with half the congregation.

Once the grogginess of sleep started to lift, Richie sneered. His mother's real reason for this excruciating ritual was no real mystery to him. It was just another excuse to flaunt herself at the guys, to spot new prospects willing to fuck her with no questions asked.

Richie yawned, his anger draining away with it. He refused to be upset with his mother anymore. The Darkness drove her. It was the way it got to other people, by making Sandra Gardner have sex with them so it could take them over in that moment of weakness.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and paused. Frowning, he looked at the feeble sunlight streaked across his bed, then at the clock. "What the fuck?"

Richie shot to his feet and barreled towards the door, still in only his briefs. He burst out of his room, shouting, "Hey, Mom, what the hell?! It's only seven fucking o'clock in the morning! Mom? Where are you?"

"In the bedroom, Richie."

Eyes blazing, he started to dash for Sandra's door. He brought himself up short after only a few strides, his foot thumping hard to the floor with the effort to stop.

Aw, fuck, on a friggin' Sunday?

Richie was not religious, but he wondered -- if there were a deity -- whether it would ding him for what his mother wanted to do with him that morning. He shook his head at the foolish thought. The choice had been taken from him.

Just refuse her. Just tell her no.

"Richie, get in here," Sandra snapped. After a pause, her voice became husky if hesitant. "I-I have something I want to show you. Something you'll like."

Richie swallowed and leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair as his eyes danced. Yeah, right, tell her no, he thought, his teeth clenched. His cock stirred in anticipation and betrayal.

He wanted to believe it was the Darkness, that it induced arousal in him at will, that he could never be attracted to his own mother. Never mind her voluptuous figure or big boobs, or her shaved pussy, or her nice ass.

Richie clenched his hands into fists and wanted to pound the wall even as his cock expanded and hardened. It had to be some sort of dark influence. He was not so perverted that he would lust after his own mother! He didn't fantasize about her! He didn't go seeking it!

Yeah, but you don't refuse it, do you?

"Richie, get your lazy ass in here!"

He longed to hear more of that, more of the mother he knew, or thought he knew. He would rather argue with her. Every day it became harder to distinguish his real mother from his Dark mother.

As he started towards the bedroom again, he turned his head and looked over the railing into the living room. The house no longer was his own. Working so fast as if in some bizarre time warp, Sandra had managed to exchange most of the furniture for new. She had rid the old office of its accumulated storage of broken appliances and historical detritus, leaving it an empty husk. She was working on changing out even the kitchen utensils now.

He had even caught her on her computer pricing used cars.

Richie stepped into the bedroom doorway. His insides unclenched. He had expected to find her naked already. Instead, she was wrapped in a flowing white robe (also brand new), clutching it closed across her ample bosom and holding her legs clamped shut. It stood out in sharp contrast to the swirling black snakelike tendrils of her Aura.

Their eyes met. He saw the reluctance in hers. It helped him manage his emotions. The Darkness was forcing her. She had to obey or it would punish her. That's why he went along with it, so she would not get hurt.

Yeah, right, came his irritated thought. He glanced past her. The sheets and blanket were new as well. The bed itself was old, but likely would not be for long. "Okay, fine, I'm here," said Richie, trying to sound bored. "What the hell do you want?"

Sandra shuddered and let out a husky sigh. The reluctance disappeared from her eyes, and her hands loosened. "I bought something yesterday, something just for you."

Richie tried to think of a smart-ass comeback, but it died on his lips when Sandra let her robe drop to the floor.

This was worse than seeing her naked. Her breasts were pushed up in a lacy, black bra. The areolae surrounding her hardened nipples peeked through the thin fabric as it strained to contain the plump flesh. A matching triangle of black lace covered her crotch, pulled tight so that it outlined the labia in perfect relief.

She's even changing out her clothes, just to stop me from using my power, Richie thought.

Richie's power to see the past had revealed the Darkness taking his mother, and later driving his father from his life. The Darkness had put two and two together and understood what it needed to do to stop him from gleaning any more information.

Richie wished his father was there now, even if it were to rail against Richie for giving in to his carnal urges.

His cock became rock-hard, tenting his briefs. It would have appeared comical in any other context. Sandra started towards him with a provocative swing to her hips. She tugged at the straps of her bra, bouncing her breasts inside the flimsy lace.

"I know you like lingerie, Richie," said Sandra, her lips curling into a lusty smile. "Especially the black, lacy kind."

Richie tried to feel anger. His mother had to have dipped into Richie's hard drive to learn about that. Another mother would have screamed at him for having porn on his computer. He wished for that kind of mother at that moment.

Sandra's eyes slid over Richie's crotch. "Oh yeah, I can see you really like it."

Sandra's resistance seemed weak anymore. All her hesitation was already gone. The black lace over her pussy glistened. Her breath was a light pant, her breasts enticing him with each swell from her inhaled breath.

Tell her no! Walk away! Run! Leave the house!

And miss out on some incredible sex? That's not like you, Richie.

Richie gasped and staggered. He looked down. A thin wisp of Sandra's Aura had slithered around his wrist. He snatched his hand back and stared as the thin tentacle of Dark energy swirled in the air like smoke, then withdrew back to its host.

The Darkness had never tried to speak to him outside of the act before. He stared at his mother, his feet poised to retreat. Sandra stopped, her eyes clouded and her body trembling. It lasted no more than a few seconds. She took another step forward and reached for his crotch.

Richie shivered and watched the entrails of Darkness play about his mother's arm, swaying in perverted excitement. He always expected to feel something cold and clammy whenever any part of the Darkness touched him. He felt nothing each time, as if it were all in his head.

Sandra pulled down Richie's briefs and wrapped her fingers around his pulsing cock. Richie let out a ragged moan. Darkness slithered about his waist and hips.

Yes, that's it, you know you can't resist it. Why would you want to?

Richie closed his eyes. Sexual pleasure was not equal to working for the Darkness. He let that thought burn in his mind to avoid the trap. He could get all sex he wanted on his own.

Oh, you mean Linda Davis? The Darkness sounded bored. Of course, you could. Feel free to use my power like that.

IT'S NOT YOUR FUCKING POWER! Richie screamed at it in his head.

He got no response. Instead, he was forced to open his eyes when he felt the soft, warm touch of Sandra's boobs against his face. His nose slipped into the cleft between them, drawing in his mother's lightly perfumed scent, his skin flushing hot in anticipation. Sandra stroked his cock with the slow, deliberate slide of fingers across firm flesh, drawing another moan from him.

Richie reminded himself that the influence he still held over his teacher was not the doing of the Darkness. It was a moot point, anyway; he had stopped, just as he had promised the other Harbingers. He even used the Book to make her even forget that she ever wanted to be his slave.

"I want your cock inside me, Richie," Sandra moaned into Richie's ear. Her fingers tightened. "Come and fuck me now ... I'm so wet for you ..."

Cassie stands before the veil with trepidation. Penetrating the subconscious sanctum of Melissa did not feel quite the same. There she was unwanted, an intruder, someone performing the mental equivalent of breaking-and-entering. This veil shimmers translucent. She sees shapes moving beyond it, like a movie that has started without her.

It is the ease in which she can pass that worries her.

She raises her hand and reaches forward. The veil parts like flowing water around her hand. She feels no touch upon her skin. Only when she steps through does she feel a momentary chill, but her shiver is gone as quickly as it came. The mind still has an innate reluctance to her presence, despite Ned's willingness. She is still an intruder to his subconscious, and that was its token resistance.

The veil closes behind her like a stream around a rock, and she is inside. Her senses assail her, more vivid each time, despite her wish for the ability to dampen it.

Ned is arguing with his father. She should be used to it by now. She wrinkles her nose at the smell of sweat, cigarettes, and stale beer from the big, pot-bellied bear of a man that looms over his son. The man sways with the beginning haze of intoxication.

Cassie alternately wants to cover her ears or break down in tears. They're arguing about her. The epithets Ned's father hurls at her mean little to her. She has heard every one of them before. He favors "little Miss Rich Bitch," far more mild than others heaped on her by her peers. It is the trouble she is causing for Ned that tears at her heart.

Cutlery banging in the kitchen startles her. That is all anyone will hear from Ned's mother. The more Ned and his father argue, the more she bangs around in the kitchen. Cassie wants to scream at her to be a proper mother, but checks herself when she realizes her own mother is no resource for what a proper mother is supposed to be.

The argument ends, and the scene shimmers. Now Ned is in his room, reading a magazine. She edges closer and sees it is National Geographic. The door bursts open and Ned's mother enters, a leathery woman with scraggly, graying hair. She berates Ned for picking fights with his father.

Cassie wants to slap this woman, and then blushes at her own vehemence. She did not see the start of the argument, but she sensed something from Ned, that his father was the aggressor. She shivers. Now she could read Ned's thoughts and emotions, even from his memories.

Ned is tuning out his mother, but he turns the pages with such violence he almost tears them from the spine. Cassie feels the repressed fury coming in thick waves. Finally, Ned's mother gets frustrated and leaves.

Then Ned does something that nearly makes Cassie shriek in shock.

He kicks out his foot and somersaults one of his slippers into his waiting hand in a very liquid movement. His hand rises just as the door is closing behind his mother. A split second after the slam of the door comes the thump of Ned's hurtled footwear. Where it strikes the door are many other rubber scuff marks.

Cassie tells herself that this woman must truly be frustrating to rile someone as easy-going as Ned. She tells herself that he would never mean to harm his mother in the least.

An odd shimmering around Ned distracts her from her disturbing thoughts. She approaches, and her eyes widen as she realizes it is a sparkling curtain, like the veil she had first stepped through. Without thinking, she parts it with her hand ...

... and suddenly she is somewhere else.

She stands atop a low dais, and before her lies a cavernous room of opulent splendor, with a high, vaulted ceiling like a cathedral. A wide carpet of purple edged with gold stretches towards two towering, gilded doors, standing open. Between them stands a figure in light chain mail armor. In one of his hands is a large, round shield, and inscribed upon it is a stylized dragon with glowing red jewels for eyes.

The room is incomplete. Far corners to either side of the door, as well as parts of the ceiling above it, lie in impenetrable darkness, even though the rest of the chamber seethes in brilliance.

Cassie understands. She is witnessing a dream. Dreams contain only those details that the mind would deem necessary. Anything else is left blurred or an empty void, filled in only if the mind's eye turns to it.

A faint smile greets Ned as he steps away from the door and strikes a wide-footed dramatic stance. He often idealized himself in some of his dreams. This one is broad of shoulder and hard of muscle and sinew. Yet the nose is the same as reality, as it he had accepted it as unique to him, as his signature.

Ned lowers his shield and raises his other arm, pointing. "And now, o foul and evil witch, I have vanquished your poor, enslaved minions and given them back their minds. Begone to the deepest levels of hell with you!"

For a worried moment, she thinks he is speaking to her. When she realizes he is pointing just to her left, she turns her head and nearly bolts.

Melissa!

Cassie forces herself to remain calm. This is not the real Melissa, only a representation of her in Ned's head. Her non-reality is emphasized by the rather interesting costume that Ned has imagined. Tight leather wraps a body far more curvaceous and voluptuous than Melissa ever was. A long cloak of inky black swirls about legs clad in boots laced up the length of her calves.

Melissa tosses her head back and utters a mocking laugh. "You think you can best me armed with nothing but a simple shield? You are truly the fool!" She raises her hands above her head and is enveloped in an acid green glow. Cassie shivers at how reminiscent it is of what she witnessed at the Rite of Power. "And now, you will bow before me as my total slave!"

Cassie gasps as Melissa levels her arms and fires an orb of poisonous green towards Ned. He drops to one knee and raises the shield. The explodes to harmless sparks upon impact.

Melissa gasps. "No! How can this be?!"

Ned stands and advances, brandishing the shield before him as if it is a weapon as well as a defense. "This shield holds the same power of the mind as you wield yourself, sorceress! It is how I have freed all your hapless minions. Now, you will release your hold on the Queen and remove your evil presence from this land."

Cassie puzzles over this. Queen? What Queen?

"No! Never!" Melissa screams, and renews the assault. Ned advances, leaning into the shots as he approaches, as if walking into a rising gale.

Cassie tries to take a step back, but her foot fetches up against something. She turns her head. It is a throne. She looks down at herself. Flowing, bejeweled robes of blue and purple adorn her body. As she tilts her head, she feels something encircling it. She raises her hand, and her fingers trace the fine gold and glittering jewels of a crown.

"I cannot be the Queen," Cassie murmurs before she can catch herself.

There is a bright flash of light. Melissa lets out an anguished cry as her last attack explodes at her fingertips. She staggers until Ned backs her up against a column. Melissa gasps and raises her arms as if to ward off a blow as Ned raises the shield.

"You will be Queen again, Your Majesty!" declares Ned. "You will no longer be slave to this foul wench!"

Cassie's hand flies to her breast. He HEARD her?

"YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!" Melissa screams.

Cassie feels a chill. Those were the exact words that the real defeated Melissa said.

"Only your evil plans, demoness." Ned swings the shield like a sword and Melissa vanishes in a flash of green light.

Cassie's heart pounds by the time Ned turns to her. He places one step on the dais and gazes up at her. "Your Majesty, I have vanquished the sorceress for all time. Please, tell me that her evil enchantment has been lifted from your mind."

Cassie can only stare, wide-eyed, her lips parting but no words coming forth.

Ned steps fully onto the dais, raising his shield. "Or has she left some final spell in you, to attempt to attack me when my guard is down? Has she possessed you with some sliver of her spirit in hopes that ..."

"No!" Cassie finally blurts. "I-I mean ... no, my ... my knight ... I am unaffected by her, um, her enchantment."

Her mind reels. This should not be happening. She never could participate in someone's dream before this. She could only observe.

Ned bows his head. "I am honored you would consider me a knight, Your Majesty, but I am but someone fortunate enough to have the Shield of Power bestowed upon me in hopes that I will use it wisely."

Cassie smiles, and tries to guess what Ned is expecting to hear. "And you have, um, done your task admirably. I thank you for your, um, your service to me and to the kingdom."

Yet Ned keeps his shield raised. "I am sorry, Your Majesty, but I must be sure you are completely free of any lingering influence. Please, look at the shield. This will not take long if you indulge me for but a short time."

Cassie levels her eyes with the shield. The eyes of the dragon glow, and her mind is filled with new purpose: submit and obey. Or rather, it wishes to do so. She can resist it if she chooses. She is still in control.

Curiosity overcomes shock. Now she wants to see what will happen. She allows herself to be affected by the magic of the shield.

The words rise to Cassie's mouth: "I will obey."

Though she speaks them as she was compelled to, she feels she can wrest herself from it at any time, as if she is still just playing a role.

Ned's voice grows soft. "Some evil enchantments and curses leave marks of their master upon the body. I must search for these. You will remove your clothing."

Cassie undoes each layer of her clothing, letting her movements be dictated by the "enchantment." The underwear he envisions for her is decidedly not with the medieval theme, all sparse and delicate lace. Her body flushes with pleasure as she removes it and stands nude before him.

"My apologies for this violation of your body, Your Majesty," says Ned as he sets the shield aside. "But it is necessary. I will make it pleasant for you."

His hands slide over her, first up her sides, then down to her hips and legs. Cassie squirms and moans as each touch sends tiny shivers of pleasure through her body. Heat moistens her sex as his hands cup her breasts.

"I find no marks upon you, Your Majesty," says Ned behind her, his hands still squeezing her breasts and stroking her hard and erect nipples. "But for the good of the kingdom, I must maintain my influence over you until we are all sure you are free of any taint from the sorceress."

One of his hands leaves her breasts and slips between her legs. Cassie gasps as his fingers touch wet folds. The power from the shield compels her to submit to the waves of sexual delight.

"We will seal it thusly." His fingers stroke her slick womanhood. Cassie writhes and pants as her pleasure inexorably rises at his touch. "I must share your bed frequently, Your Majesty, as repeated sexual pleasure will surely drive out any remaining curse."

Cassie spreads her feet apart. His fingers enter her. She moans and leans into him, his free hand still squeezing one of her breasts. Her pleasure soars, her eyes closing as the sexual rapture envelops her, forever sealing her will to his ...

Cassie's eyes snapped open, and she drew her breath as a massive gasp. She let it go as a loud moan, shivering and writhing under the blanket as her pussy burst into orgasm.

Her moan became a hard pant as her climax swept over her. The imagery of the dream was slow to fade, breaking up only when it did in Ned's mind. The last vision she saw was of Ned carrying her naked and still lustful body towards the bed chamber.

The thought of Ned consummating the act in a much more direct manner set her off again. She rolled onto her back, helpless to do anything but let her pussy throb. For a very brief moment, his every wish was hers, her own pleasure second to his ...

Cassie covered her face with her hands and forced herself to take a slow, deep breath. She pulled herself completely into the real world again only when her climax ebbed. She waited another minute before she pulled the covers back and sat up.

Her nipples still tented the fabric of her nightgown, but they no longer tingled with desire. Part of it was the cold. She glanced towards the window and saw the light dusting of frosty snow deposited overnight. A baseboard heater ticked as it activated.

Cassie stood up. Goodness, that couldn't have been his actual dream. I couldn't have actually participated in it. That's never happened before!

Cassie sighed and wrapped her arms around herself and shivered as if cold. Her denial stopped. All that remained now was to determine the extent. Could she have controlled Ned's dream if she had tried? Even Ned's "control" over her was only at her discretion. She could have rejected it, or so she hoped.

She started towards the bathroom. Her eyes fell on the calendar and stared at the date: October 23rd, a full week and a day before Halloween.

Cassie let out another short sigh, this one of satisfaction. At least this kept her other visions at bay, the frustrating ones that always started about this time. Perhaps she would not hate Halloween so much this year.

Sandra lay sprawled on her back, her body trembling with need. Her pussy ached for release, straining ever closer to orgasm without reaching it. Her moans became cries, her breath a frenzied pant. Her hands slid along the sides of Richie's body like the touch of an intimate lover.

Richie's rear clenched as his hips dove against her with a slap of their bodies and the creak of the bedsprings. His cock speared her slick folds with a wet sound that could be heard over their lustful moans.

Richie closed his eyes to shut out the Darkness from his sight. He was tempted to just stare at her until the Aura faded, but that stirred the fear that it would somehow make it easier for the Darkness to get at him.

Isn't this fun, Richie? You could do this all time.

Richie told himself that he kept doing this only so that she would not be punished. This was for her and not for him.

Oh, but you get a nice hard fuck out of the deal, huh? You are so noble, Richie!

Richie did not need to look to know that Sandra's Aura was swirling and slithering around him like a hundred snakes, just like the way the phony hypnotherapist had taken his mother into the Darkness ten years ago. He had lured her with induced lust and overcame her with sex.

Just like his mother was trying to do to him now.

Richie uttered a strangled moan. His cock ached to let go. He could never go this long without cumming. Something was holding him back.

Why rush something like this? It just makes your orgasm all that much more powerful.

The "voice" of the Darkness was hot and liquid in his head with lust not for sex but for power. It broke down the resistance of its victims at the moment of orgasm, when the will was most vulnerable, yet Richie had managed to resist it. He had no idea from where his strength came.

Richie moaned. He strained hard at the very edge.

This is going to be so pleasurable for you, Richie. Just give in to it. Just imagine feeling it many, many times a day.

Richie shuddered and groaned as his cock erupted inside her. Sandra threw her head back and cried out as her pussy throbbed. The sides of her cunt squeezed and pulsed around his shaft, as if tugging his cock deeper into herself. The rest of him wanted to follow, to be drawn in, to fall into her ...

Richie nearly pulled his cock from her. Instead, the swollen head brushed her clit before burying itself again. He triggered a second orgasm in her, and she quivered and moaned as it swept over her. Her Aura wavered, its tendrils falling away from Richie like rainwater sluicing from his body.

Don't worry, Richie, we'll get to do this again soon. Real soon.

The Darkness' voice faded. He felt exhausted, both physically and emotionally, doubts looming as to how long this hidden reservoir of strength would last him.

He pulled out of her and settled back on his feet. The muscles in his rear and thighs ached. He tried to forget the fact that he had just done this with his own mother. For so long he had considered her anything but his mother. He almost wished it could be like that again.

Sandra lay still for awhile before she sat up. Her eyes would not seek his. Her Aura was quiescent, and her face tight with unshed emotion. She turned her head towards him, her mouth opening as if to speak, but nothing would come out. Her eyes grew liquid and blurred.

Richie forced a smirk. "Yeah, well, that was great, Mom, but we gotta get ready for church. Don't wanna be late to praise the Lord and pass the loot."

"Don't call it that, Richie," Sandra said in weak admonishment. Her eyes betrayed a small measure of gratitude. She swung her legs over the bed. "Well, don't dawdle, go get yourself dressed."

Richie nodded and jumped off the bed. He grabbed his underwear and dashed out of the room.

Face it, buddy, you enjoyed that. A nice fuck with a big-boobed slut, just up your alley.

He could not blame the Darkness for those words. Those came from his own head.

Richie entered his room and threw the briefs at the hamper, where they bounced off and slid down to join a heap on the floor. He grabbed a fresh pair from his dresser and slammed the drawer shut. Yes, he had enjoyed it. He always enjoyed it despite having to deal with the Darkness trying to get into his head. Sometimes he even looked forward to it, even if he protested each time.

Dad would think this is sick. He'd think I was sick.

Richie gathered his other clothing, slamming every drawer and door closed. When that did little to quell his growing rage, he pummeled the mattress with his fists until he was panting from the exertion

Yeah. I'm a fucking pervert.

He dropped to the edge of the bed. He reached under the bed and pulled out a shoe-box and yanked off the lid. From within, he took out a baseball, scuffed on one side and charred on the other. He rolled it around in his hand until the char mark stared at him like a blackened eye.

The baseball was his dewomer, the magical symbol of his shining moment when he really came through for the Harbingers. He had thrown it at the box containing the souls of Heather, Diane, Susan, and Ann that Melissa had captured to perform her Rite, forcing them to return to their bodies and stopping the Darkness from emerging from the node.

His fingers tightened until the knuckles turned white. His eyes squeezed shut. Like so many times before, he tried to divine a vision from it. Like so many times before, he achieved nothing more than fleeting images of his father that were likely just his own memories and wishful thinking.

He opened his eyes and let the ball thump back into the box. He kicked it back under the bed with his heel.

Jason had promised he would find out as much information as he could about the divorce, when Mike Gardner was forced to abandon his family. He hoped it would somehow let the Harbingers help his mother, but that was not what he really wanted to know.

"Just where the fuck are you, Dad?" Richie muttered darkly.

Ned burst out of his room and dashed for the stairs, side-stepping or leaping over old boxes and stacks of yellowing newspapers that had become such a permanent fixture he could maneuver around them in the dark. Yet a tipped stack of newspapers carpeted the bottom steps, and one foot flew out from under him as if greased. He clutched the banister and righted himself, but not after a few vehement curses erupted from his mouth. Yet nothing was louder in his mind than the jangling of the phone.

As it was Sunday morning, he was the official Phone Answerer. His parents took this chore very seriously, and God help him if he failed to answer it before it roused them from liquor-induced slumber and pounded against their hung-over skulls. Ned was supposed to be downstairs, but he got bored anywhere other than his room, and who the hell would call them at this time on a Sunday morning?

Ned snatched the receiver from the hook just as it was about to ring a third time, stopping it after a single abortive "ding" from the clapper. He paused, and was greeted with a loud snore from upstairs before lifting the receiver to his ear. "Ned's 'No Questions Asked' Mortuary. You stab 'em, we slab 'em."

"Ned, is that you?"

Ned's eyes widened. "Babe? Why are you ...?! Is something ...? Um, hold on a sec."

He picked up the phone, hoping the cord would stretch, and slipped behind the basement door under the stairs. He closed the door as far as he dared without pinching the cord.

"Sorry, I just needed some privacy," Ned said in a low voice.

"If this is a bad time to call, I can talk to you later," said Cassie.

From the anxiety in her voice, Ned concluded that she very much did not want to wait until later. "No, no, it's fine, babe. I can talk."

"You just said you're generally up early on Sundays. Though I don't think I would have stayed on the line if your parents answered."

"Hey, no prob, it's okay. What's up? Is something wrong?"

"Well ... maybe not, I'm not sure."

Ned frowned and tensed. "Something weird going on in yer mansion?"

"No, nothing like that." She sighed. "Ned, did you have any sort of strange dream last night?"

Ned smirked. "Heh, now that ya mention it, yeah, I kinda had an odd one."

"Was ... was I in it?"

Ned ran a hand through his hair, his cheeks faintly pink. "Um, yeah, you were, kinda. Okay, you were in it big time. You were like this queen or something, and I had to rescue you from this sorceress chick that was a little like Melissa."

"Oh no ..."

"Um ... well ... I didn't mean ta dream about ya, I just ..."

"No, that's not what I meant, Ned. I ... oh God ... I think I was actually in your dream last night."

"Uh ... yeah, I just said ya were ..."

Cassie uttered a short but harsh sigh. "No, I mean I was in your dream. I was actually experiencing your dream while I was in your head last night."

Ned stared like a deer in the headlights.

"Ned? Are you still ..."

"Um, Cassie, just how much of that dream didja see?" Ned asked.

"The whole thing, I think. You defeated Melissa ... I mean, the sorceress, but then you used your shield to hypnotize me and make me take off my ..."

"Oh, holy shit ... oh God, Cassie, I'm sorry! Aw, fuck, I'm such a moron! Nice going, Nose!"

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"I controlled you like a damn slave! I did all the things ya don't want anyone doin' to ya! How could I be so ..."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Ned! Do I sound like I'm upset with you? You don't have control over what you dream about, and I'm not one to go judging other people's fantasies, either. Please, just stop worrying about it."

Ned let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry, babe, I just go crazy when I think I could hurt ya somehow."

"I really appreciate that," said Cassie in a softer voice. "Ned, there's something else about this. Maybe it will make you feel better even if it scares me to death."

Ned blinked. "What is it?"

"Even when you were trying to control me in the dream, you succeeded because I let you. I felt like I was in control the whole time. Like ... like maybe I could have actually taken control of the dream if I wanted to."

"Wow! Are ya serious?"

"I really hope I'm wrong."

"But if yer not ... holy ... that's incredible!"

Cassie's voice became as sharp as Ned's was excited. "This is nothing to be amazed at."

"But why not? That's an incredible talent to have!"

"What, controlling people in their dreams?"

"C'mon, what if we have some bad guy we have ta face again and you can get into his head like that? Wow, if ya coulda done that with Melissa, we might've stopped her cold before ..."

"I don't want to control people," Cassie declared.

"Okay, okay, babe, I know," Ned said, raising one hand in a stopping gesture. "But think about it, if ya could get into people's dreams and just nudge 'em along a bit, ya could learn something about 'em. I mean, just the ones we're up against, that sorta thing."

"I'm just afraid it could get out of control." A long pause, then in a tiny voice, "That I might like doing it, like when Nyssa made me go after Richie. And I don't know if I can actually do it. I don't know how far I could control someone else's dream."

"Then we gotta find out, and I'm yer man."

Cassie gasped. "What? No!"

"C'mon, Cassie, why not? Just get yerself inta my next dream tonight and see if ya can tweak it somehow. Look, if I have another one where I'm trying ta control ya, try resisting or something, or ..." He stopped. He was about to say "or turn it around on me," but knew how Cassie would react to that.

"Or what?"

Ned scrambled for something else to say instead. "Um, or just stopping the dream, or something like that. C'mon, it'll be fine, Cassie, ya haven't done anything bad ta me yet."

"No, I just made you think you had done something terribly wrong when I called you," Cassie said testily.

Ned waved his hand in dismissal. "Aw, ferget that. Yer right, I worry too much about that sorta thing. If I was gonna do something bad to ya, I woulda done it by now."

"Let me think about it, Ned. Though I have a feeling I won't have much choice. I can't stop getting into someone's head at night anymore. It's like I can't turn it off. I may try it just out of curiosity."

"That's cool, Babe. Hey, ya think we should tell Jason and the others about this?"

"I really don't want to, Ned, but we all promised Jason we would tell him everything so we don't get caught by surprise. It's how we learned about Melissa in the first place."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Ned paused. "Um ... but, uh, ya don't hafta tell him about ..."

"I won't mention the specific details of the dream, no," Cassie said, sounding amused.

Ned sighed in relief. "Thanks, Babe."

"And if it helps any, there's a reason I let you control me in the dream. Well, two reasons."

"Um, okay?" Ned said, plucking the line between the headset and phone.

"First, I knew you wouldn't really hurt me, even in a dream. Second ... well ... I knew you'd know how to make it very, um, pleasurable."

Ned grinned, even though he blushed at the same time. "Babe, if anyone ever buys ya the book 'Stroking the Male Ego for Dummies,' have them take it back, cuz you got that down cold."

Cassie giggled. Ned never got tired of hearing that.

Richie met the absolute silence in the car on the way to church with a sullen resentment that didn't know to what or whom to direct itself.

Richie and his mother were very good at finding fodder for argument, and at no time was this more prevalent than a trip in the car. Before Richie knew about the Darkness, it derived from the usual tension rising from a son that alternated between wanting to be left along and wanting a mother that was there more often for him, and a mother that seemed to view his son as an inconvenience.

Then when Richie knew about the Darkness, that itself was the source of their friction. Thus the silence was a new and unsettling phase of their relationship.

You just don't want to screw up your chances of fucking her again.

Richie clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. Not like it really mattered what he wanted. The Darkness pushed the both of them into doing it anyway.

Yeah, just keep thinking that. Right.

The car pulled to the curb with a crunch as the tire broke through the thin layer of ice over the stagnant gutter runoff, and stopped with a final squeal of worn brakes.

Richie turned his head and froze. Not ten feet from the car were Heather and Melinda.

He stared at them through the window, his breath slowly fogging the glass. Melinda looked upset, but that was not unusual for her anymore, especially on Sunday. She hated the frilly dress that her mother insisted she wear, and he guessed that was what she was sulking about now.

Melinda suddenly whirled towards her sister, looking indignant. Richie grabbed the window handle and gave it a few turns.

" ... fair that Dad gets to skip church but we still get dragged along!" Melinda piped, her words carrying well despite the thin and cold air.

"Shut up, Melinda!" Heather hissed. "You want Mom to hear?"

"I don't care. I told you over and over that I don't give a shit what she thinks anymore."

"You will if she decides to ground you."

Melinda huffed and wrapped her arms around herself.

"Dad got an emergency call from the office," Heather said.

Melinda snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Well, that's what Mom said."

"And you believe her? How can you believe anything she says?"

Heather sighed. "Look, what difference does it make? Why are you trying to make trouble?"

"I'm not. I just don't like being dragged down here every Sunday. And then she leaves us freezing to death out here while she yaks it up with the Reverend! God, I don't even want to think about what they're talking about, not since he ... the Reverend ..." Melinda trailed off and shivered.

Heather snorted. "Yeah, you and me both, runt."

Richie looked past them, tilting his head until he could see the front door of the church. His eyes widened.

Penny Sovert stood just off to the side of the main door of the church, her back to him. Before her was Reverend Sommer, a slim, reserved man with graying hair and glasses with tiny round lenses.

What surprised Richie was not the Aura around Penny. That had been there ever since they all gained the ability to see them. What was new was the one around the Reverend himself.

Despite his lack of serious religious faith, something about this struck him as particularly evil and revolting.

Just as the Reverend put something back in his pocket, Richie's view was blocked. He flinched when his mother loomed. "Richie, get the hell out here. And close the fucking window, you're letting all the heat out of the car."

Richie ached to make a smart-ass comeback, but he jacked the window back up with a grunt and bolted from the car. His eyes met those of Heather and Melinda.

Melinda looked away, as if she had found something more interesting to look at in the bushes. Heather's gaze flicked from Richie to his mother. She looked as if she wanted to say something, and she even appeared as if she were about to take a step towards him.

"Heather! Melinda!"

Richie looked towards the stairs of the church again. Penny Sovert had turned away from the Reverend and was now gesturing towards her daughters. Heather and Melinda reluctantly complied and approached their mother.

"What the hell are you staring at?" Sandra demanded.

Richie shook his head. "Nothin'."

Sandra looked towards the retreating girls. Her eyes shimmered for a few seconds before she let out a sigh. "Really, Richie, you should listen to me and ... and not associate with people like that anymore. They're just bad news."

Richie nodded and said nothing. He fell into step beside his mother, feet crunching against crusty snow and rock salt.

The Reverend greeted them at the door with a smile as they approached, light flashing from his glasses as he bobbed his head. "Good morning to you, Ms. Gardner, and you, Richie, and God bless."

Richie muttered something under his breath. Sandra nudged him hard. He glared at her, but forced himself to look into the center of that black miasma and grunted a greeting in return.

"Sorry, Reverend, but he got up on the wrong side of bed this morning or something," Sandra said with a polite smile.

"Of course, Ms. Gardner, I understand." He craned his neck. "Oh, one moment, you appear to have a smudge of lipstick on your chin."

"Richie, go to the car and grab the tissues."

"No need, Ms. Gardner. Here."

The Reverend reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. It caught on the corner of his wallet, and sent it tumbling down the steps. Richie's gaze followed it as it came to rest about two steps from the bottom.

Sandra smiled and took the handkerchief "Oh, thank you, Reverend, you're too kind."

Richie stared at the fallen wallet. He should leave it alone. He hated his power and what it could tell him. But the Darkness didn't want him to do it either, and that was enough for him.

He scrambled down the steps and picked up the wallet ...

... and reality shifted.

Penny Sovert and Reverend Sommer were having their private conversation again, except this time it was no longer private; Richie was right there and could see and hear it as if he had been standing there when it first happened.

"... pay you now?" the Reverend said as he pulled the wallet from his pocket.

Penny draped her hand over his. Her eyes smoldered, a sly smile creasing her lips. "No more payment," she whispered, her voice breathy and seductive. "Not money, anyway. You pay with the ... favors you've done."

The Reverend smiled. "How wonderful that I can get the teenagers to trust me now far more than they did before."

Penny's lips twisted into a wicked smile. "Especially the female ones, Reverend?"

"Oh, indeed, my dear," said Reverend Sommer with a relish that made Richie shiver. "I was amazed at what I could get them to tell me under the guise of counseling. Oh, I do hope that the information was useful."

"It was, Reverend, very much so."

"But from what you told me, it sounds like the choice is already made this year ..."

Richie frowned in confusion. For a moment he thought he had seen relief in Penny's face. It disappeared before he could study it, replaced with another sly smile and a finger to her lips. "Shh. No more about that. You're ... probably right ... but there is always the Inn."

The Reverend tried to raise the wallet again. "Speaking of which, my dear, if I am not to pay you, does that mean we ..."

Penny pushed the wallet down again. Her lips quivered for a second as she smiled. "You don't understand, Reverend. We owe you now. You can come to the Inn, and ... and I'll be yours."

The Reverend's eyes widened. "Mine? As in ... I can control you?"

Richie's jaw ached from how hard he was clenching it. The look of lustful anticipation on the Reverend's face made his stomach churn.

Penny let out a short, husky sigh. "Yes. You can make me do whatever you want."

The Reverend's voice turned husky, the dirty kind of husky heard on obscene phone calls. "Even dress the way I want?"

"Did you have something in mind?"

Reverend Sommer leaned forward, his voice quavering with unholy excitement. "If you could find a Catholic schoolgirl outfit I would most obliged."

Penny smiled. "I thought you and this church were Protestant, Reverend."

"Well, then," the Reverend said as he slipped the wallet back into his pocket. "Perhaps we can play at me, ah, converting you to my faith ... in a most unorthodox but far more pleasurable way ..."

The wallet disappeared, and so did they. He was left staring at an empty corner between the front of the church and the line of bushes marking the side of the property.

"Ah, I do believe that is mine, Richie."

Richie spun around. The Reverend -- the real one of the present -- smiled.

Richie's fingers tightened around the wallet, his eyes growing hard.

"Richie, don't dawdle," Sandra said through her teeth. "Give the Reverend back his wallet and come on."

Sandra turned and marched into the church.

Richie stared at the wallet for a moment, then lifted his eyes to the Reverend again. The Aura about him writhed as if agitated despite the man's calm demeanor.

"God bless you for picking that up for me. With my back these days, it is better I avoid ... oof!"

Richie had thrown the wallet at the Reverend as hard as he could, striking him hard in the sternum. His hands scrambled to catch it like a football receiver trying to salvage a bad throw. He cast two startled eyes at Richie, his lips parted in shock.

Richie's hands clenched into fists. He stared with icy venom at the Reverend for another pregnant moment before trudging past him and into the church.

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