The cold settles around her like a thin, wet web, both cloying and slick. Her steps are hesitant, as if afraid the moisture would collect around her feet and spill her to the cold stones. She hears only her own breathing until the soft sobs drift to her once more from the darkness, like slim tentacles wrapping around her psyche and tugging her forward.

Cassie remains standing where she is. The clammy air swirls around her, brushing its icy fingers against her naked body. She draws in her arms and shivers, but the touch follows her, and the tendrils of emotion strain as they seek to pull her forward.

She takes a tentative step forward, her leg trembling, her breath harsh and short. She wills the dream to be different, but she has no idea in which direction to guide it.

As before, she tries to move faster. She is again resisted. Someone does not want her to change the script. It is content to watch her play out this useless and frustrating scene, a repeat performance for an unknown audience.

Cassie pushes her will as far as she can. She attempts to run.

At once, the air gels before her. Her legs strain, and her teeth clench. She gasps for air against the enormous pressure, and for a frightened moment she is convinced she will suffocate if she continues. It forces her to relent and stumble back, and at once the resistance is gone.

Yet something still tugs her forward with gentle force. She can see it as a wisp of gray trailing into the black ahead of her as shapes dance once more in the distance. Her eyes widen as she realizes that the two forces are different. She is caught in the middle of a battle of two wills.

This is different. The dream has finally changed, but it is not Cassie's doing.

Cassie's heart pounds. She eases forward, and the resistance does not return. She is back on script, but the tug continues. Someone else is not performing her lines, and the director of this grand dreamscape set has yet to notice.

The cage appears to her again, as does its ragged-haired, naked prisoner.

Cassie opens her mouth to speak but closes it again without a word. It's not time for her line yet. The girl is supposed to speak first. Then Cassie is supposed to notice the latch and how easy it is to open.

She grips the bars of the cage and forces the words to her mouth. "I'm here. Please, talk to me. Say something to me."

The girl shudders and suddenly quiets, until there is only the sound of her ragged breathing. At first Cassie imagines that the girl has missed her line and now has to improvise. But as she stares, she sees that is not it at all. The girl is simply surprised.

"H-he's making me do it," the girl says. "D-do it with more guys ..."

"Do what?" Cassie demands. "You have to tell me."

The girl shook and drew her knees to her body. "I'm not ready for this ... I don't want to become this ..."

Cassie swallows. Her eyes keep flicking towards the latch. No. NO. She knows all about it. There is no need to look at it or touch it. It will only bring her keeper back. That is his cue to enter the set.

"I wish I could escape ... I want to be normal again ..."

Cassie's eyes again dart to the latch. She could open it.

NO.

She stares hard at the girl. "Who is making you do this? Tell me."

The girl's breath becomes raspy, as if her own throat threatens to close up and suffocate her just to prevent her from revealing the identity of her keeper. She finally whimpers and shakes her head.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me!"

"I-I don't know who he is ... what he is ... or ... p-please ... you have to help ..."

Cassie's hands feel numb, and she has to look at them to know they are still grasping the bars of the cage. Fear numbs the rest of her. Something about the girl is frightening Cassie beyond comprehension, and only her willpower is keeping her from running away screaming.

But it's not in the script. Something else is making her scared, something deep inside herself.

Cassie's eyes shift to the latch and will not leave. Her heart pounds in her ears. She draws back and her hands slide away from the bars.

(Pound Pound Pound)

The latch is all that matters. There is no lock. Lift it, and the door will open.

(Pound Pound Step)

Free the girl. Never mind about her captor.

(Pound Step Step)

Open the cage. Go inside and see if she is okay.

(Step Step Step)

Comfort her. Dry her tears. Soothe her.

(STEP STEP STEP)

Movement flickers in the corner of Cassie's eye. Her head twitches towards it enough to break the mesmerizing train of thoughts. She spins away from the cage as if slapped hard across the face. She stumbles and falls, and the cold crystallizes in her body. A dark, cloaked figure rises like a monolith from the darkness surrounding the cage, his footsteps marching to the same staccato beat of her own heart.

Alien thoughts try to worm their way into her head, to convince her that her blood has frozen in her veins and her muscles have turned to ice -- anything to keep her there just a little longer. It gives her flagging resistance a jolt like an electric shock. In the space of a single hypnotic beat she throws off the cold and bursts into a run.

She is out of the chamber and back into the gray-black of the corridor. The beat falls silent, but she cannot will herself to slow down. She emerges from the corridor and plows into the veil before the girl's captor can sing his soothing words of false comfort into her weakened psyche.

Cassie sat up in bed, heart still pounding as in her dream, but her panic ebbed as reality reasserted itself in her twilight-tinged room. Despite the surprising speed that her dreamscape had retreated, she still paused a few moments before she pulled the blanket away.

She slid out of bed in a single smooth movement despite the lingering tremors in her body. They were like the ripples of a stone tossed into the center of a pond. The water had calmed, but tiny waves still crisscrossed her psyche, a reverberation of her dreamscape in the recesses of her mind.

She took a few deep breaths and applied critical thinking to what had just transpired in order to keep the fear at bay. If she had succumbed to the image of the girl's captor, she would have simply awakened. He was just a manifestation of another person's fear, much in the same way that Ned had conjured Melissa to serve as a symbol of evil he wished to defeat. It could have done no more to her than Melissa could have in Ned's dream.

Cassie shivered. She wanted to believe that. She had to believe it, just like she had to believe that she was connecting to someone that was living. Maybe after she participated in this tryst with Heather and the rest of the Harbingers, she would have enough power to finally ...

Cassie sighed and fell back onto the edge of the bed. She couldn't have agreed to this. If she did, she couldn't go through with it. If she did, she would be too scared to enjoy any of it. Heather would have to exert so much control to force a response from her that she would resent it afterward.

She feared that the most, that she would hate Heather -- or Jason, or any of the other Harbingers -- when it was over. Or, worse, she would blame Ned for not stopping her, or for enjoying it himself.

Cassie forced herself to stand and marched into the bathroom to make some tea. Ned would think she was worrying too much. She could not fathom what Heather was thinking.

This was going to be a trying day, no matter how it turned out.

Jason rushed out of the bathroom, buttoning his shirt, his hair still damp from the shower. His mother had been upset when he had gone to bed the night before, so he was not going to dally. He would have to forgo reading any further in Elizabeth's journal.

He would, however, indulge himself with the morning news and the weather.

Waiting for the computer to boot up, however, gave him too much time to think. Logic had failed him, and letting his unresolved doubts spin in his head would do little more than set him on edge. He indulged anyway.

Cassie was foremost on his mind. He felt foolish for convincing her to do something based on no hard evidence but only a vague sense that it seemed right. He worried that his ability for critical thinking was failing him.

He wondered if this was what Richie had felt for so long, a sense of little or no control over his life. Things seemed to just happen to him, forcing him to react and improvise.

Jason breezed through the national and state news. Political events meant nothing in Haven, as Haven operated as if it sat at the center of its own private universe. The weather was uneventful: turning colder with snow by the weekend. He checked the local news, and was met by a single, screaming headline:

ANONYMOUS TIP MAKES COLD CASE HOT - POSSIBLE REMAINS OF SARAH WORDER FOUND IN AIRFIELD

The name was familiar to Jason. He had come across it while digging up information on Richie's family. He read on to the article itself.

Haven police have exhumed remains in the abandoned airfield north of Haven that are believed to belong to Sarah Worder, victim of Samuel Toldon, the infamous Sex Strangler of Haven.

In 1995, unemployed building maintenance worker Samuel Toldon is believed to have lured sixteen year old Sarah Worder to the wooded area in the hills to the west of Haven. There he is alleged to have had sex with the young girl, only to slowly strangle her with a long scarf wrapped about her neck in the middle of the sex act. After he was apprehended, Toldon confessed to the crime but refused to tell police authorities where he buried the body. While being transferred to another jail, he managed to wrestle a gun from a police officer and escape, only to commit suicide with the gun a short time later.

Since that time, parents of Sarah Worder have begged for any information on the whereabouts of her daughter. In 1997, the Worders paid for a 30-second local TV spot where a tearful Victoria Worder pleaded for any word of the location of her daughter's body. "We were denied justice when this monster killed himself rather than face up to what he had done," said the girl's father Robert Worder at the time when asked about the TV spot. "At least grant us the peace of mind that we can lay her to final rest and say goodbye."

When news of this possible breakthrough reached the Worders, who are still living in Haven, Victoria burst into tears. "The only reason we stayed in this town is because we can't leave knowing she's still here," she explained. "Her spirit is still waiting to be put to rest. Finally, we will get to do that. She can finally leave this earth and we can leave this town."

Police caution that genetic tests will need to be run to confirm the identity of the badly-decomposed remains, but the body was found with the exact locket that Sarah was known to be carrying the night she disappeared.

While no official word has come forth, a source within the Haven Police Department wishing to remain anonymous says there is hope that this will shed some light on the string of unsolved copycat "sex strangler" murders that occurred over the following years. In those cases, the situation was the opposite. The victim was all too readily found and identified, and it is the killer that vanished like smoke, leaving no evidence and no leads. It is likely that the police hope to find something that will put to rest the many lurid stories of a disembodied spirit committing these crimes.

Jason fell back in his seat, stunned.

The first thing that entered his head was Melissa. The situation sounded too similar to the circumstances surrounding the way Melissa had gained her powers. Yet the idea that her dark phantom was the spirit of the dead murderer recruited by the Darkness sounded corny to him, like something out of a bad horror movie.

The next thing he thought of was Richie.

(The dude in the cemetery had killed someone so he was going on about that)

(It was years ago and people knew he did it)

Jason glanced at the clock and cursed. He shut down his computer and gathered his things for school. He pulled out the Book and the pendant remnants from under the bed. He slipped the one fragment and its chain around his neck and took the Book into his hands.

As before, he felt a strange tingling sensation and heard the sound of a voice. This time it was not as faint or distant.

Not ready.

"Not ready for what?"

Almost.

"Almost what?" Jason demanded, but the voice remained silent.

He slipped the chain from his neck. He stared at the fragment for a moment, then stuffed it in his pocket, kicked the Book back under the bed, and headed out.

Richie met the morning ritual with equanimity. When his mother slipped into his room that morning, Richie was still wearing only his briefs. He made her remove them as a token resistance. His cock offered none, as it was hard by the time his briefs fell down his legs.

Sandra hugged him in a perverted parody of motherly affection. Her hot breath panted in his ear, the swell of her breasts warm and heavy against his chest. His cock ached by the time she pulled him down with her onto his own bed and spread her legs under him.

Richie didn't hesitate, as there was no point. He dipped his cock into her pussy and let it slide into her.

"Ohhh, Richie!" Sandra burbled. "I love your cock inside me ... oh, fuck me ... fuck me so hard ..."

Her hands guided his hips for the first few thrusts, but she need not have bothered. Richie pumped his hips, his body slapping hard against hers. Sandra gasped from her Darkness-induced lust and soaring pleasure, her cunt responding to him no matter how clumsy his approach became in his insistence to finish it.

Why in such a rush, Richie?

Richie tried to close down his mind. He focused only on the sex and his mother's rocking, writhing body below him. He tried to ignore both pangs of desire and twinges of guilt.

No answer? No declarations of defiance? You disappoint me.

The tendrils of black slithered around his hips, waist, and thighs. They quivered and swirled, as if unsure of where to go. Richie panted through his teeth in a serpentine hiss. He wanted to think about Heather instead, about how sex with her was so far above anything he could experience at the Darkness' bidding.

There is no pleasure greater than what I can give you, Richie. Just give in to me and find out.

Richie wanted to clamp down on his thoughts, but that would only let his mind wander again. He focused on that one thought in order to crowd out anything else. He thought only about the sex. No speculation. No thoughts about any higher purpose. Just the raw, wet, hard sex.

Hiding something from me again? How naughty of you.

Richie panted as he slammed into Sandra, his cock climbing closer to climax. He imagined Heather again, moaning and sighing in pleasure, looking up at him in both desire and adoration.

And not obedience? Or mindless devotion? Such a pity, the Darkness sneered. You can do better than that.

Richie strained at the edge and could go no further. Sandra, however, moaned and shuddered as her pussy throbbed. Her cunt tensed around his cock, her passage tight, squeezing his cock each time he slid it home again. His own orgasm still remained just out of reach.

I can do better for you. I'll appreciate you far more than the Harbingers ever would.

Richie was amused. Bribery now? Did it decide that threats would no longer work with him? Or that Richie no longer needed it to satisfy his sexual desires?

The Dark Aura shuddered and tried to cocoon itself around Richie's body, only to dissolve into smoke at the edges when it attempted to complete the encapsulation. It twisted and undulated, then retreated.

Heather doesn't want you! the Darkness growled, its voice edged with frustration. She just needs a cock in her twat. That's all you are to her.

Sandra cried out as she came a second time. Her hands clutched at Richie, pulling him towards her, her hips rising to his thrusts. "Fuck me! ... Oh yeah, Richie! ... Fuck me more! ... I need you! ... I need you so much!"

Richie wanted to scream at the Darkness, but he refused to communicate with it. He wanted it to hear nothing but silence from him. He refused to give it any clues to what he was thinking. No matter how much his terrible need for release was distracting him, his need to the Harbingers was greater.

They did want him, and not just for Heather's self-energizing sex-fests. They wanted him to be a part of their group. He had to believe that. He had to make the Darkness believe that he believed that.

They don't want you. No one does, except me, the Darkness crooned. Something happened yesterday, didn't it? You can't keep it from me. I can find out for myself, but I want you to tell me.

Richie called bullshit. The Darkness didn't know, or it wouldn't badger him for the information.

You do know something! Tell me now, and I will reward you.

Richie fell upon his mother, thrusting so hard and fast that the slapping noise became comical to even his ears. He planted his hands on either side of his mother and lifted himself just far enough so he could look at her and remind himself who she was and what she was supposed to be.

She can be your slave.

No more threats. All promises and enticement now. Carrot and stick. He wasn't going for it. He could hold out.

Or would you want Heather as your slave? Or Melinda? Or even Diane? I'll bet you could get her to like cock.

The Aura shuddered again as it gathered itself back around Sandra. His cock twitched and strained one last time. He let go with a loud grunt as his cock finally released.

Sandra threw her head back as her senses drowned once more in orgasm. Richie's breath became ragged as his cock throbbed hard and long. He let himself fall onto her again, burying himself deep inside so his climax would play out in her depths.

The Darkness remained silent as his climax faded. He lifted himself from Sandra and rolled onto his back. She was quiet as well as she climbed out of bed, retrieved her robe, and slipped out the door without a single word or glance. Her Aura seemed quiescent as she left.

He lay there unmoving until he was convinced that the Darkness was no longer in his head.

Richie had found it easier to resist the Darkness. Not by much, but enough to notice. The Darkness had noticed as well. It knew his resistance was growing stronger instead of weaker.

And all after a roll in the hay with Heather.

Richie cursed. Now he had to tell the other Harbingers.

Gina had awoken that morning from the throes of an erotic dream, leaving behind a haze of arousal that fogged her mind. She writhed under the sheets and longed to part her legs and touch her pussy until she came. Her hand flirted with her sex, longing to consummate what had started in her dreams, a moan escaping her lips.

Trembling, Gina withdrew her hand and pulled the sheets from her naked body. One of her arms brushed against her own hard, sensitive nipples, and she shuddered through another husky sigh. She rose to her feet and ducked into the bathroom before her mother could come fetch her.

She closed the door behind her and stood panting at the sink, trying to ignore her growing need. She looked up as she heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

Her mother would just talk about the same things if she walked in on Gina: how she should enjoy her sexuality; how she should show the counselor what she had learned; how she should act with Brad.

Gina's pussy throbbed in a weak, abortive orgasm. Her inner thighs were slick with moisture. Just shifting her weight was enough to stimulate her. The footsteps grew louder. Her mother would unravel everything, and she would revert to ...

To ...

To what? What was it? What was happening to her?

Gina's eyes swept the room, as if looking for an escape route, and fell on the shower stall. She lunged for the controls, the surge of pleasure in her pussy weakening her knees. She stumbled and almost ripped the spigot from the wall as she grabbed it to steady herself. She opened it full, the blast of cold water making her flinch. She pulled herself out from under it and waited.

Gina heard her bedroom door open above the rush of the shower. After a pause, she heard it close again.

Gina let out a sigh, then a moan. Her escape was a temporary reprieve. As soon as she let the warm water of the shower hit her, she would remember her mother's words and masturbate herself silly.

Gina adjusted the temperature of the water and stepped into the shower.

Pleasure rushed to her sex. She staggered against the side of the stall, fingers sinking into her folds. She came at once, her pussy throbbing and squeezing her fingers. It threatened to sweep her away just like it had so many times before. She could sense the voice in her head, the one that told her to be obedient, to be the good girl, to submit, to let herself float like a log on a river and not worry about where it was taking her.

She thrust her fingers into her tunnel. Two at first, then three. Then it was Brad's cock. Then it was Victor's cock. But he never had sex with her. But her mother would surely tell her to offer herself. But she had done it with Victor ... no she hadn't, it was Brad ... but ...

Gina whimpered as she came a second time, her knees buckling. She sank to the floor, panting and coughing now and then as she occasionally inhaled water.

Obey.

She wanted to stop, but her fingers kept moving. She was still cumming. She needed to cum. It felt good.

Trust.

She didn't want to trust anyone anymore. But she couldn't turn away from the pleasure.

Submit.

Gina struggled to stand up. Her hand kept going, as if possessed. She started to rise towards a third orgasm. It would feel so good. It would help her relax and clear her head.

Good girl.

She wanted to be a good girl. She didn't want to cause anyone any trouble. She wanted to do what was right.

"Unnnghh!!"

The third and most powerful of her orgasms reverberated through her body like a gong. It drowned out all her other senses, until the shower was no more than a warm, pleasant fog surrounding her like a comforting cocoon. She felt herself slipping away, the resistance she had somehow gained during her sleep again banished to the deep, dark dungeons of her mind.

Heather looked up as her naked little sister trotted from the bathroom to her dresser. She lowered her eyes just before Melinda's wary gaze fell on her.

Melinda had extracted a promise from Heather: don't look at Melinda until she had her clothes on. Heather hated the restriction and thought it futile. Any affection she felt towards her little sister would manifest regardless of whether Heather was looking at her or not.

Melinda would not speak until she had thrown on her underwear, as if hoping Heather would not notice she was even in the room. "You still think Cassie's going to go for this?"

Heather kept her eyes on her task, which was packing her book-bag. "We've been over this, runt. She has to."

"Only if you make her."

"Then I make her do it."

Melinda put her hands on her hips and huffed. "God, this is all about you all the time!"

Heather looked up. She again noted how much her little sister's boobs had swelled since the semester started, but buried the thought before it could lead anywhere. "I'm not the one driving this."

"Yeah, it's the little voice in your head. Most people that hear voices are simply nuts. And stop looking at me like that!"

Heather sighed and dropped her eyes. "It's only in your own mind," she muttered.

"No, it isn't." Melinda grabbed her jeans and thrust her foot into them. "I can feel something."

"It's not me."

"Yeah, right." But Melinda's conviction was weak. She thrust the other foot into her jeans and yanked them up her legs.

"Maybe you just want it yourself," said Heather.

"Like hell I do."

"Right. You keep telling yourself that, runt."

Melinda stared as she buttoned her jeans and pulled up the zipper. Her eyes darted over her big sister's body. Heather shifted position on the bed, her legs spreading apart a bit. Melinda's gaze flicked towards Heather's crotch and lingered there for a moment, a low heat burning in her own. She frowned and yanked her gaze away, opening a drawer to pull out a blouse and slamming it shut.

Heather looked up again. "What?"

"You did this to me," Melinda said as she pulled on her blouse. "You made me this way. You made me like you."

Heather gave her sister a perplexed look. "Made you like what?"

"Bi. Like you."

"I don't know what to tell you, Melinda. It's not like I set out to do that, you know?"

Melinda said nothing and focused on buttoning her blouse.

"And are you really sure about that?" Heather asked. "When I make you lick Diane, you felt horny towards her on your own."

Melinda frowned as her pussy tingled. She wanted to accuse Heather of doing that to her just now, but she knew it wasn't true. "Yes, I'm sure," she said in a low voice.

"Well, what's so bad about it?"

Melinda sighed. "I don't know, okay?!" she cried, throwing up her hands and falling on the edge of her bed. "It's not me. I don't know what's 'me' anymore."

"Yeah, join the club. I'm the one being pushed into something I'd never do myself. When was the last time you remember me trying to organize a freaking orgy before this past summer?"

Melinda folded her arms, but her expression softened. She risked a glance at her big sister. "I know. We're on the same side."

Heather pushed her book-bag aside and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Melinda, there's a reason I agreed to your restrictions around the house and why I don't try to mess with you anymore in the mornings."

"Whenever I get horny now I can't tell whether it's me or someone doing it to me. I don't know my own head anymore."

"I'm hoping to know my own after today."

"You think it might stop after that? That you won't have to keep doing this to us?"

Heather shook her head. "You know as much as I do."

"I just want things to go back to normal for awhile! At least after the House, even after we started seeing the Auras, things were sorta normal for a bit. Even after Nyssa, things were kinda normal again. It's like we didn't even get a break this time. We just went right from Melissa into this."

Heather thought that Melinda had a much looser definition of "normal" than she did, but chose not to belabor the point. "I know, it's been really crazy."

"I want this to be over with! I want us to get rid of this thing!"

"You want to go back to where you don't have to have sex with me?"

Melinda opened her mouth, paused, and closed it again.

"You don't know, do you?"

"Shut up," Melinda growled.

"I'm not being sarcastic, Melinda, it's a serious question."

"Okay, maybe I will. But I want a chance to figure it out for myself. Then maybe I won't feel like--"

Melinda cut off her words when there was a knock at the door. Before anyone in the room could respond, the door opened, revealing their mother.

"What?" Melinda demanded.

"If you're finished getting ready for school, I want to speak with Heather," Penny said.

Melinda folded her arms again and planted her feet on the floor. "Go ahead."

"Alone, Melinda."

"No."

"Melinda, get your things and go downstairs, I won't tell you again."

"Good, so I don't have to tell you 'no' again."

Heather stood up. "Please, Mom, let Melinda stay. Otherwise we'll be at this all morning."

Penny frowned, her eyes flicking from Melinda to Heather. "Very well. Heather, I wanted to know if you wish me to contact the school and get you out of this punishment with Ms. Hollis."

Melinda had opened her mouth to prepare a rebuttal for whatever her mother had said, but this stunned her into silence.

"Why do you want to do that?" Heather asked.

"It's what I told you before," Penny said in a low voice. "I want to protect you. I want you to stay home on Halloween."

"Then tell me what the danger is. Is it Ms. Hollis?"

Penny hesitated. "I don't know."

"Liar," Melinda said.

"Melinda, I really don't know!"

"But you know something is going on," said Heather.

Penny remained silent.

"Mom, if something is going to happen, then someone is going to fall to the Darkness."

"No, Heather, this time it's not the ... I mean ... it won't be you. I'm pretty sure it won't be you, but I just don't want to take any chances."

Heather narrowed her eyes.

Melinda leapt from the bed. "Heather, you can't trust anything she's saying, not after what she let Nyssa and Melissa do to us!"

Heather turned her head towards her sister. "Hush. Please."

Heat flashed in Melinda's pussy. She cast a shocked and hurt look at Heather, and saw her sister's urgent look in return. She glanced at her mother, then realized the same thing that Heather had. She stamped her foot and turned away in a huff.

Heather looked back at her mother. "Fine, Mom. If you want to try to get me out of it, go ahead. But I'm not holding my breath. Come on, Melinda, we need to get to the bus stop."

Melinda grabbed her book-bag. "Yeah, for all we know, she really wants you at home because this is where they're coming to get you," she muttered as she followed her sister out, keeping her eyes averted from her mother.

The two said not a word to one another until they headed out the front door. Heather glanced behind her. "Did you catch the same thing I did?"

"That she was about to say that it's not the Darkness this time, right?"

"Yeah, exactly. Thank you for not blowing it right there."

"So you did mess with my head right then!"

"Just to get your attention. It makes sense, Melinda. That's why there's never any Aura on me."

"But I still don't get it," Melinda protested. "Ms. Hollis has an Aura and she's the one doing this to you. What the fuck is it if it's not the Darkness? Where's her power coming from?"

Heather shook her head. "I don't know."

Melinda frowned. "Mom could be lying to us. She could be trying to distract us or something."

"Maybe. All I know is it means that this is not as simple as we thought. We'll tell Jason about it and see what he thinks."

"So far I have noticed nothing out of the ordinary in Terri Hollis' classes," said Seeger.

Laura leaned back in her chair, face frozen in the same tiny frown that she had worn ever since the Vice Principal started his report. "And what about Heather Sovert?"

"If anything is happening to her, Laura, it's not in Terri's class."

Laura drew herself forward, her elbows on the desk. She folded her raised hands and rested her chin on them.

"If you really think something is going on here that I'm not seeing, you should report it to the proper authorities and let them investigate it," said Seeger. "Admittedly, I have only one day of observations to go by, but frankly, I am not comfortable with this sort of surveillance on fellow faculty members."

"I'll decide how to investigate such matters, Seymour," Laura said. "And you'll do what I ask if it is in the best interest of this school."

Seeger frowned. "There is only so much I can do."

"Can do, or will do?"

"Really, Laura, why is every conversation with you these days a confrontation? It was never like this before the start of this semester."

"You stated it yourself at our last meeting, Seymour. The sense of morality and decorum has been eroding at this school. It should be little wonder to you why I would take a more hard-line stance. I thought you would appreciate that."

Seeger did not mention what he was thinking, that Laura had acted strange from day one of the semester. For one thing, he would never have sanctioned that ridiculous medical program, and he had been very glad to see it go along with the nurse's rather abrupt departure.

"I do, Laura," said Seeger. "But I fear we're treading on dubious ethical and legal ground."

Anger flashed in Laura's eyes, but Seeger did not flinch. That was the closest he would come to accusing Laura of hiding something. He refused to play the part of a pawn in whatever game Laura may be playing.

Laura let out a slow sigh. She leaned back in her chair and gripped the hand rests. "What would you suggest we do at this point?"

"First of all, if you are as concerned about Terri's interaction with Miss Sovert as you appear to be, remove as much contact between them as possible. Switch her to class rotation B, which has a different teacher for that subject. Then cancel Miss Sovert's punishment."

"I cannot cancel it. What she did was a serious breach of decorum. I'm surprised to hear you suggest it."

Seeger frowned. "Then change it to something else! I don't know why Terri didn't just assign detention like everyone else."

Laura steepled her fingers and tapped her fingertips. "I suppose I could handle her discipline myself."

Seeger did not like that any better. "Most detention is served with me," he stated.

"I thought you wanted out of that business."

"I've resigned myself to it. I am not far from retirement anyway. What's a few more times?"

Laura paused. "I'll consider it. That's all."

Seeger stiffened at such an abrupt dismissal, but he nodded once and headed out of the office.

Victor was not at all pleased.

He had sensed the partial shattering of his work on Gina the day before. He had reasserted some control by the time Gina was ready for bed, only to see it vacillate again by morning. Two steps forward, one step back. She was not as far along as she should be and would never get there at this rate.

The power behind her resistance was unknown to him, but it had to be an outside source. Roberta may have faltered over the past year, but her initial training and conditioning of Gina had taken. Gina should not have this much power to resist.

Then there was that odd sensation to which his avatar had alerted him that morning.

Every slave that he claimed hosted an avatar, a intelligent presence inside the mind of the taken that was linked to Victor's consciousness. It helped nudge the mind towards total subservience and obedience, and acted as a warning system when the subject became resistant to conditioning. He planted the seed in advance of Halloween, and nurtured it until it spread its tendrils into every part of the intended slave's mind.

The sensation he had received through his avatar in Gina was vague and weak, but it originated from somewhere nearby. Victor realized he could be mistaken. Avatars possessed intelligence but not intuition. Concern for his experiment and a determination not to repeat his biggest mistake threatened to blur the line between real threats and imagined. No one in Haven had the ability to counter the power of his avatar.

Except one.

He pulled out his cell phone as he walked into his office. He closed the door as he thumbed his speed-dial list and brought the phone to his ear.

"Charles? This is Victor." He sat down behind his desk. "I want to drop by for a chat. In fact, I was hoping you had time this afternoon. I wish to see how Lydia is doing." He paused and smiled humorlessly. "Perceptive as always. It is likely my own conscience. If things are as good as you say, I should have my mind at ease by the time I leave. Very good. I will see you early this afternoon."

Victor lowered the cell phone and looked thoughtful. His thoughts stirred the Darkness.

No, it declared. It does not work that way.

"She was very unusual," Victor said. "Her mind may have operated partially on another plane."

Presence does not work that way, the Darkness repeated peevishly. Presence is for the dead. It cannot be harnessed by the living.

Victor mused, steepling his fingers as he leaned back in his chair. He considered what he had heard on the local news that morning.

A perfect example, the Darkness said, sounding smug. She was buried far from the lines. No Presence. Nothing will ever be discovered from her body.

Victor shut off his thoughts from the Darkness' perceptions.

Victor knew when to admit his mistakes and work towards preventing them from happening again. He felt the Darkness failed in this regard. Using Toldon had been a mistake, both his living form and his Presence after death. Such unnecessary brutality culminating in power passing to an unstable teenage girl had done the Darkness more harm than good.

He needed to get that Book from the Harbingers, but he refused to act as rash as the Darkness may have wished. On his first day, he could very well have marched to the house of every Harbinger until he found the one that had the Book. He could then bring the full might of his perception-altering powers upon Jason to convince him to hand the Book to his trusted friend Victor. But the control would not have lasted, and once it faded, he would have all the Harbingers descending on him at once and possibly disrupt his plans concerning Gina.

Victor was not willing to sacrifice his own carefully laid plans. The Book was important, but retrieving it could be done in a way that would delay the Harbingers from retaliating in strength and allow him to be away from Haven with Gina.

So far it appeared that his manipulation of Diane had gone unnoticed. The Harbingers were not suspecting a more "conventional" tactic. True hypnosis had its limitations and was not direct "mind control," but it would offer a conduit to his more passive powers and allow him a measure of stealth.

Moreover, the Harbingers would find no Dark taint. Terri Hollis served as a very nice distraction. The Darkness was convinced that Richie was the weak link, but it was really Diane.

Victor opened the drawer of his desk and pulled out a blank sheet of paper and an absence slip, and he began to write.

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