In Gina's mindscape, Stephanie let out a contented sigh and closed her eyes, suffused with the warmth of Debby's hug. She smiled, and her eyes threatened tears again. "God, it's been so long since I felt just simple affection like this. I feel so guilty now for all the times I shied away from my mother when all she wanted to do was hug me."

"I wish we could go back to her," Gina said. "She still thinks your dead."

"I am, in a way. My body -- my old body -- is just a shell now. And you still love your mother. I guess that makes her our mother now."

"Oh, goodness, I didn't think of that!" Cassie said. "Your mother is still Victor's slave!"

"I think it will be all right, Cassie," said Gina. "She really doesn't have very much of Victor's power. It was my upbringing that made me what I was."

"We'll be eighteen in two years," Stephanie said. "That's still the legal age of adulthood, right?"

Cassie nodded. "Are you sure you won't have trouble with her?"

Stephanie smiled. "That depends. Can we call on you and your friends if we do?"

Cassie smiled and hugged her, then Gina. "Of course you can! Please, don't hesitate to come to us if you need help for anything."

"Is everything going to be okay with your friends?" Gina asked.

"I think so. They're being let go. Thank goodness all this fighting is over."

"For now, anyway," Stephanie said. "Something bigger is going on. When I projected myself through the energy lines, I sensed something at that node in the center of town, something dark and cold. I tried to stay away from it."

"Stephanie, if there's any way I can give back some of the powers you--"

Stephanie shook her head. "I wouldn't know how to do it even if I wanted to. No, you have them for good. You can use them better than I ever could."

"I'm not sure I understand," Gina said. "But I guess I will in time."

"I really hope I can learn to use them properly," Cassie said. "I wish you could give me more instruction on them."

"You already know more than I do," said Stephanie.

Gina turned her gaze to the side. "Cassie, you have to go now, don't you?"

Cassie had felt a tug at the back of her mind for the past few minutes, and now she noticed Gina's gaze and followed it. A door had appeared in the middle of the leaf-strewn meadow. It clicked and swung open, revealing the pastel lights of the Dreamverse beyond.

Stephanie took Cassie's hands and squeezed. "Cassie, please come visit me now and then."

"Yes, you're always welcome here!" Gina piped.

"You know you can just talk to me in person at school, too," said Cassie.

Stephanie smirked. "I know, but this way we can gossip without anyone else hearing us."

All three girls giggled. The tug in Cassie's mind became a pull. She squeezed Stephanie's hands in return as she took a step backwards towards the door. Gina rushed up to Cassie and gave her one last quick hug. "Thank you for everything. I couldn't have done this without you."

Cassie smiled at them one last time before she plunged through the doorway. As the door closed behind her, she gasped at the sight she beheld.

The door to Lydia's mind lay open to an empty black nothing, a literal ending of reality at the plane of the door frame. She stepped forward and gazed into it, looking for anything that might be left. She saw and felt only an emptiness that wanted to subsume her into its nonexistence.

Her hand caught the edge of the door and pushed it closed. The door sealed with a click, then faded away until nothing remained.

Cassie shed a single tear for the old Stephanie. She looked back at the door to the new Gina and the new Stephanie. She slid her hand over it, as if to reassure her of its solidity, before finally turning back towards the door to her own mind.

"Heh, perfect timin', she's comin' outta it now," said Ned.

Cassie blinked rapidly. She tried to sit up and winced as her stiffened muscles protested. She looked up at Ned and threw her arms around his neck with a gushing sigh in his ear. She embraced him as much as the awkward angle would allow.

"Ya did it, babe," Ned said. "I'm real proud of ya."

"Oh, Ned, I have so much to tell you about it, but I'm just so drained right now."

Ned pulled back and grinned. "It can keep, babe."

Cassie smiled and nodded. "Is Gina here?"

Ned stepped back. Gina appeared, wrapped in a blanket Debby had retrieved from her emergency kit in the back of the van. Gina had refused to put her costume back on; she had wanted nothing that had been touched by Victor.

Gina leaned in and hugged Cassie. "This is so weird, I feel like I've known you for so long even though this is the first time we've met," Gina said in a tremulous voice. "I-I'm not sure I understand all of it, my head is still sort of spinning."

Cassie squeezed her arm. "It's okay, Gina, you'll understand eventually."

"That's what something keeps telling me." She smiled faintly. "I used to think I had demons in my head. That was never it, was it?"

Debby stepped into view as Gina drew back. "I'm going to help her as much as I can," Debby said. "She has two spirits residing inside her now. It's going to be a little confusing for her at first."

"The other one is Stephanie, isn't it?" Gina asked, looking from Cassie to Debby. "She was the one talking to Victor when I was still on the altar. I have all these memories now that are sort of mine but not quite."

Debby squeezed Gina's shoulder. "It's all right, honey, I'll help you understand."

Cassie's eyes sought Ned again. "Ned, where are the rest of the Harbingers?"

"Richie's just hangin' out," said Ned. "Jason and Melinda are sorta havin' a private moment. Ditto fer Heather and Diane."

Cassie sighed and shivered. "Victor really messed things up between some of us. I'm not sure any of us will be the same again."

"Babe, I think we stopped bein' the same since we started this lark," Ned drawled. He took Cassie's hand. "'sides, I kinda like some of the changes that happened in the relationship department, ya know?"

Cassie smiled, her eyes blurring. She pulled Ned to her again and kissed him.

Diane had wandered away from the others, standing by the edge of the road looking towards the trees on the other side of Old Fairview. She saw little more than dark outlines against hard, cold points of light scattered against a moonless sky. A Halloween at new moon made little sense to her now. At least a bright full moon would have been something she could grasp and would have dispelled some of the darkness, if only in a figurative sense in her mind.

Gravel crunched behind her, and she jerked her head towards the sound. She repressed the urge to snap at whoever had disturbed her, and instead let out a quick, exasperated sigh. "I'll be back in a little while. I just need another minute."

"It's me, Diane," said Heather.

Diane drew in her breath as if she were about to say something, but released it as a sigh and abandoned the words in her head. She returned to staring at the trees.

Heather came alongside her. She lifted an arm, thought better of it, and let it fall to her side again. "Diane, I'm sorry."

Diane again tried to speak, but the words she had before no longer seemed adequate. She snapped at Heather after all. "Sorry for what? Just what the hell is there to be sorry for?"

To Diane's surprise, Heather replied, "I'm not sure."

Diane turned to face her, but she appeared as little more than a vague form in the dark. A light snapped on in Heather's hand, and she guided the flashlight beam between them.

"So what are you going to tell me now?" Diane said. "That this isn't my fault? That I'm not to blame? That I didn't do this to myself?!"

Heather had no idea how to respond; she had never seen Diane this angry.

"Okay, fine, yeah, he screwed with my head. But he had something to work with."

"He took it too far," Heather said.

Diane blinked. "What?"

"You've always been submissive, but he pushed it too far."

Diane stared. "That's what you think this is about? My fucking submissive streak?"

Heather fell silent, her lips parting in confusion.

"I don't think you really understand why I'm submissive, Heather! Or if you ever wanted to find out."

Heather flinched as if struck, her eyes shimmering.

Diane sighed and dropped her face into her hands for a few seconds. "All right, I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. It's not your job to know what goes on in my head. I wasn't helping, either. I went along with being your little slave whenever you wanted."

"But I thought that was what you wanted," Heather said. "I mean, no, not like Victor did to you, but--"

"But that would be the end result, right? That's what it would lead to."

"It doesn't have to! The only reason I almost did it to you permanently that one time was because of Melissa."

"You're still not getting it!"

"Then explain it to me!" Heather cried. "You're getting mad as fucking hell at me and I think I deserve to know why!"

Diane was forced to pause to prevent herself from exploding again. She wanted to feel the anger. It was easier to understand. She felt more in control. Someone who was angry could not be so easily deterred from it. Others were forced to give her a wide berth. "It's not you," she finally said, her voice taut. "But I'm letting you enable it."

"Enable what?"

"My problems with self esteem. My feelings of worthlessness."

"I've told you over and over that you're not--"

"And you think that fixes it? It runs deeper than that, Heather. I don't expect you to understand. You've always had it better. If you weren't popular, you always had your head on straight and knew what you wanted to do."

"Not when Melinda was threatened!" Heather cried. "When she was trapped in Victor's cult, I had no fucking clue what to do!"

"I'm sorry," Diane said in a more contrite voice. "But you don't feel it all the time like I do."

Heather remained silent. She was still grasping for understanding, and anything she could say would not be helpful.

"I realized all this when I could see the Auras," Diane said in a low voice. "It made me understand what I was really feeling. I'm not submissive because I want to be submissive, but because I feel like I can't do anything else. And now that I was forced to be totally submissive all the time, when I had no choice but to watch myself do it ..." She paused and wrapped her arms around herself. "I-I don't want to do it anymore."

Heather bit her lip. "Shit, if Ned hadn't--"

Diane shook her head. "No, don't blame him. Don't you dare, or you'll make me do it too just to follow along with you."

"I'm not controlling you, Diane."

"It's not control! Dammit, listen to what I'm saying! I follow along because I think everyone else is wiser than me. That's why I can't do this anymore."

Heather looked stricken.

Diane looked at Heather, her eyes wet. "I thought I loved you. Maybe I do. But maybe I latched on to you because I thought it would be so much easier to just follow along and let you make the decisions."

Heather nodded, her throat too tight for words.

Diane swallowed. "Heather, I-I do care for you, but ... I just don't know how much of my feelings are real anymore and how much is just some need for comfort."

"D-Diane, please don't say you want to br ... break ..." Heather's words dissolved into a choked sob. She sniffled and wiped her eyes with her free hand.

"Break up? We can't anyway," Diane said, her voice soft. "The link, remember? Have to have sex to keep that up."

"Sex is not the same as love."

Diane's eyes shimmered. "I know. But if I broke it off, I would have to do it completely, and that's impossible. I'm not sure I would want to."

Heather tentatively took Diane's hand, and wondered if Diane could hear her heart hammering at the fear of Diane rejecting the touch. To her relief, Diane wrapped her slender fingers around Heather's hand and squeezed.

"No, I don't want to break it off," Diane said. "But our relationship has to be more on my terms, Heather, and you're going to have to be patient with me because I don't know what those terms are yet. All I know is I can't be your slave anymore. Ever. Not even pretend. Just don't."

Heather nodded. "Yes, Diane, I understand."

"Please, Heather, make sure you do. Please. Because if you do anything to me, I won't stop you. I can't stop you, not until I understand how to tell you 'no.'"

Heather's eyes teared. "I p-promise."

Diane hugged Heather, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears. Heather shuddered and let out a single sob.

Diane pulled out of the embrace first. A smile ghosted her lips. "I have other reasons I don't want to break up. Even when you were treating me like a slave, you still worried about my pleasure. You still made it feel good."

Heather's lips trembled into a smile. "Maybe that was part of the problem. I made it too enjoyable."

Diane managed a weak chuckle. She tilted her head when Heather's face took on an unexpected look. "What is it?"

Heather's eyes widened, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "Maybe ... maybe what you need ... maybe you need to be in charge instead."

"But that's what ... wait, you don't mean--?"

"Maybe you should be the Mistress, and I'll be the slave."

Diane shook her head. "God, Heather, I can't do that to you!"

"Why not? It would only be fair."

"It doesn't work that way. It won't magically fix my problems."

"I know, but it should help, right? And it avoids me messing with you even by accident."

"But, Heather, you're going to have Ms. Bendon keeping you every other week! You really want me to do this to you on top of that?"

Heather smiled. "I have a feeling you'd be a kinder Mistress to me than she ever would."

Diane slowly smiled. "Well ... maybe."

Heather stared. "Maybe?"

Diane grinned. "I'm just kidding. Let me think about it, okay? Tonight's probably not the night to decide something like this."

Heather nodded. They looked into each other's eyes for a moment, then drew together in a short, soft kiss. "Let's get back to the others," Diane said.

Melinda never thought she would be happy to be in the fairy costume again, but it was better than standing naked in the cold. She still shivered, lacking a coat to wear over it. She clung to Jason more for warmth than anything else. At least that was what she insisted on telling herself.

They stood not too far from the van, where its interior light gave them just enough illumination to convince Melinda she was not standing in a void. Jason felt her trembling. He wrapped her arms around her, thinking she was simply cold. Instead, her trembling became worse, and her fingers dug into his shirt.

"Are you all right?" Jason asked.

Melinda wanted to both laugh and rage at him. He still asked the stupidest questions of her! He had not learned a single thing about dealing with girls. She had no idea why she even bothered trying to teach him.

She responded in the only way she knew. "What do you think?" She lay her head against his chest and heard the outtake of breath of his sigh. Guilt flooded her eyes, and she closed them for a moment. "Sorry," she said in a tiny voice.

"It's okay."

Melinda's fingers curled into a fist, and she thumped it lightly against his chest. "No it isn't! I treat you like shit! Why do you still like me?"

Jason stared, confused. "I just--"

"And then I get mad when you can't respond right away after I say something stupid like that." She pushed him away. "Forget it, just leave me alone."

"Melinda, what is it?" Jason said. "Why are you being so hard on yourself?"

"B-Because it's better than being scared."

"Victor's gone. After what Heather told us about her last vision--"

"It's not him, and it's not Kelly."

Jason remained silent. Contrary to Melinda's opinion, he had learned something: that it was best to wait out pauses like this rather than guess at what she meant and make her more upset.

"Before Cassie ... before she went under to do whatever she did ... I heard her say something to Ned." She swallowed hard, her eyes liquid. "S-Something I wanted to say to you."

Jason had not heard a word of what had passed between Ned and Cassie, but from their reactions he could have guessed. His heart pounded, but he managed not to panic.

"I'm scared something will happen to me -- or to you -- before I can say it."

"Why can't you say it?"

"What about you? Can you say it?"

Jason realized how dumb his question was as soon as he had said it, but he had not expected her to throw it back at him. Nor did he have an answer.

Melinda sighed. "We're both hopeless."

"No, we're not."

"Then why can't I say it? Why can't you?"

"You really want me to try and answer that?" Jason said. "For me, I mean?"

Melinda shook her head. "Well, yeah, I do, actually, but that's not fair. Not until I can tell you why I can't."

Jason noticed the change. She was thinking of someone else's feelings first. That alone almost prompted him to say it. "I over-analyze everything," Jason said instead.

"Huh?"

"It's why I can't say it. I think too hard about it. I can't stop looking for more evidence about how I feel."

Melinda's eyes narrowed. "Evidence? That's not how it works!"

"I know. That's my problem."

Melinda was quiet for a moment, then let out a relieved sigh. "Well that's better than what I thought it might be."

Jason slipped an arm around her waist. "Melinda, I do care for you. Were you afraid I was going to tell you I didn't?"

Melinda placed her hands against his shoulders as if intending to push him back, though she applied nothing more than gentle pressure. He ignored it and pulled her closer. Her skin flushed hot. "I-I don't know," she said in a low voice.

"I think of you differently than the other girls in the Harbingers," Jason said. "I mean, I care about everyone in the group, but you're special."

Melinda's eyes widened. Now her cheeks felt hot.

Jason shuddered as he let out his next breath. She felt him trembling as well. "Please don't ask me to explain it any further than that, I just--"

Melinda's fingers curled into his shirt and yanked him forward, mashing her lips to his. She had no idea how long she kissed him; by the time it was over, her cheeks burned, and she was panting. His arms had wrapped around her. Something hard pressed against her body, and she squirmed.

I'm blushing like a stupid, bubbleheaded schoolgirl, Melinda thought.

And, suddenly, she had her answer. "Dammit."

"What is it?" Jason said.

Melinda looked up at him. She could not bring herself to tell him that the only reason she couldn't say it was because it felt too girly to her. It sounded stupid even to her when she thought about it, but she was not going to get over it that night.

"Nothing." She hugged him again, trying to ignore his arousal. "Okay, maybe we're not hopeless. And that's about as romantic as I can get right now, okay?"

Jason noted her odd use of the term "romantic," and enlightenment dawned on him as well. He understood what Melinda had, and let out his own relieved sigh; she was not the only one that had worried about rejection.

Jason smiled. "Sure thing, Melinda."

Charles stood stone still, his hands folded behind him, his face a rigid mask. Before him, Lydia sat up straight in a chair, feet flat on the floor, eyes wide and open, face slack. Her hands lay on her thighs. Her bosom heaved in monotonous rhythm.

Charles' maid stepped forward. "Lydia, stand."

Eyes and face unmoving, Lydia rose, her arms dropping to her sides. She became a statue again.

"Raise your right arm."

Lydia's arm rose and hung in the air in front of her.

"Raise your other arm."

Lydia complied, both arms perfectly suspended as if by wires wrapped around her wrists.

The maid reached behind Lydia and slapped her ass. Charles flinched at the noise. Lydia did not react, as if she had not even felt it.

"Sit cross-legged on the floor."

Lydia dropped to her knees, then crossed her legs. She left her arms raised before her, her impotent gaze locked forward.

The maid crouched beside Lydia and nudged a shoulder until she began to tip. Lydia fell to her side, making no attempt to stop herself. Her legs remained crossed, her arms stretched in front of her. Charles averted his eyes from her zombie-like stare.

The maid turned to him. "She's been like this for the past two hours. It's like her head is totally empty."

Charles' eyes glistened, and his voice was strained when he spoke. "Right her, please. Have her sit in the chair again."

The maid gave the necessary orders. Lydia returned to her previous state, as if she had never moved from that spot.

Charles forced himself to step forward, the maid drawing back in haste. He stared into Lydia's eyes. The emptiness was tangible. It wanted to draw him in and erase him as well. Or perhaps that was his own guilt. After all, he had helped murder a mind.

"What is it, Prophet?" the maid asked in a hushed voice. "What does it mean?"

Charles' stomach clenched. The maid sounded reverent, as if she thought this were some divine sign from her so-called god. She had not attended the ceremony; he sensed she was desperate for news and curious as to why Charles was home so early.

Charles was curious as well. He had no reason to return to his mansion, not when he had a plane waiting to take him out of the country.

He looked into Lydia's hollow, empty eyes and had his answer. "Prepare some more of the sedative, if you would."

The maid hesitated.

"What is it?"

"Well ... I mean, yes, I will get it for you, Prophet, but--"

"But does she need it?" Charles said with a soft smile. "That is what you want to ask."

The maid nodded, wide-eyed.

"Yes, I can assure you, she absolutely needs it."

The maid nodded again, albeit more slowly. She left the room and returned a few minutes later with a syringe and a vial of clear liquid. She was about to jab the needle into the top of the vial.

"I will prepare it," said Charles. "Bring it here, then leave."

The maid delivered the hypodermic and vial into Charles' hands. She paused for another second, then curtsied and left, closing the door behind her.

Charles stared first at Lydia and then at the items in his hands. He mused that it would have been better if it had been the sedative all along. A lapse of judgment in the short term was something he could accept; a guilt that went back twenty-one years he could not.

He drew the fluid into a third of the syringe, paused, then drew the plunger back again and did not stop until the hypo was full. He set the vial aside with a trembling hand.

Charles approached Lydia. He arranged her hair so it was neat, brushing a few strands out of her eyes. He inserted the needle into Lydia's arm and emptied the contents of the hypodermic into her bloodstream.

"You're free now, Lydia," Charles said, smiling as Lydia's eyes began to flutter. "You're finally free."

The chamber lay buried beneath the Inn, a place forgotten soon after the Inn's original ancestor, the whorehouse, was first built. There seemed to be no reason for its construction. It served no purpose, and thus was ignored, the entrance to the passage that led to it boarded over and left to decay.

In the floor lay the pit, a deep blue sore in the center of a depression of stones, node energy pulsing and whirling within. Vast power lay just out of reach, a reservoir of raw supernatural energy, something that Victor would have paid a high price to tap at that moment. Both body and mind were exhausted, a sensation alien to him.

Perhaps he had experienced such feelings once. Then came the day when he realized that his power was such that he could shape his own perceptions, and thus he granted himself a sort of immortality through supreme application of will. His belief had become so powerful that it could manifest, shaping his body to physical perfection and his mind to crystal sharpness.

He let go of the Book out of self-preservation, as if some part of his psyche realized that if he pushed himself too far, he would realize his self-deception and would feel his true age. This was the fear that Heather had sensed in her vision.

Victor staggered backwards, beating the flames that had latched on to his sleeves. His hands throbbed where the fire had scorched them. He watched with wary eyes as the Darkness siphoned power from the Book, drawing it down to where the entity lie shapeless in the node.

The floor shook, and he grabbed the wall for support, pain blistering through his hands.

"You would have betrayed me, you bastard," the Darkness roared. "You would have let my energies wane and left me to rot. You should be happy I did not punish you further."

Victor forced himself to stand before it. He refused to be intimidated. Yet when he spoke, he could not leave the desperate plea out of his voice. "Remove your taint from me, and from my cult!"

"No. I have no reason to trust them now, except as my slaves. Or you, but I am sparing you that fate. Consider yourself fortunate. Get out of Haven and do not come back. You will never find me as accommodating as you did before."

With a final scream, the charred remainder of the Book was sucked down into the pit. Energy waned and settled, and the seething pool calmed, until it appeared as no more than a serene pool of glowing water.

Victor turned from the pit, wheezing. He had yet to contemplate the scope of his failure. Even as his mind now confirmed the betrayal of both Charles and Kelly, it would not yet fit with his own perceptions. He could not recall giving the order to free Gina, though he understood she was lost to him.

His life's work! Sixteen years, all unraveled in a far fewer span of days!

As he left the chamber and staggered through the passage, he wanted to punish someone. The Harbingers for their interference. His cult for their weakness. Terri for her incompetence. Laura for her selfishness. Stephanie for her stubbornness. Roberta for her disloyalty.

His mind spun and still delivered him back to the same point, a circle with no break. No root cause could be found. He had no one to hold before his judgment save for himself.

He reached the end of the corridor, entering the office of the Inn's manager through a hidden door behind the bookcase. He had regained some of his strength and some clarity of thought. He needed a place to start his analysis of his failure. As he had become obsessed twenty-one years ago with finding the reasons behind the mistakes, he would obsess over it now.

Lamenting over the cessation of his future business in Haven was useless; only understanding what had happened and how to prevent it from happening again mattered now. For that he would have to turn to Charles. Despite his disloyalty at the eleventh hour, he was a valuable resource. Perhaps he could impart some final words of wisdom before Victor severed their partnership.

The cold night air helped invigorate Victor once more. He could hold off the physical exhaustion long enough to drive to Charles' mansion.

Seeger drummed his fingers against the top of his desk to drown out the music that still reverberated through the walls. He could no longer bring himself to patrol the hallways, as his meager efforts now seemed useless to him.

He looked at his watch for the twentieth time. The party would end in a half hour. Then he could go home and write his letter of resignation, which he would deliver to Laura in the morning. He could not live with himself if he remained with the belief that he had failed the school and himself.

"Mr. Seeger?"

Seeger jerked back in his seat. "What?!"

"Sorry," Jason said as he stepped inside. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Mr. Conner, what ... what are you doing back here?"

"I wanted Debby ... Mrs. Radson to stop by the school on our way back so I could talk to you," Jason said. He smiled faintly. "We did it, Mr. Seeger. We stopped Victor."

Seeger stared at Jason and scowled. He had been one step away from disbelieving everything he had been told, and for a few seconds he resented Jason for forcing him to think about it again. His face sagged, and he let out a windy sigh. "I was quite concerned about the lot of you, Mr. Conner. I am quite relieved to hear this."

"You were a big help," Jason said. "I wanted you to know that."

Seeger frowned. "Will I be getting Ms. Hollis back as a teacher tomorrow?"

"I think so. We, um, reversed what we did to her."

"And the threat of mind control at this school?"

"It's still with us, but a lot less now."

Seeger sighed. "I assume there's still Laura to contend with."

"Yes, unfortunately."

Seeger drummed his fingers again. "Well, Mr. Conner, I trust you and your friends will be back in school tomorrow morning?" He paused. "All of you? Including Miss Caligano?"

Jason smiled and nodded. "Yes, Mr. Seeger, all of them. And her."

Seeger managed a tiny smile as well and shook Jason's hand.

Terri Hollis yanked the front door of her house closed with a slam that rattled the walls. A vase teetered and fell from the mantle, shattering against the bricks of the fireplace. Terri ignored it and stomped upstairs, stripping off her costume. She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the smell of both genders of cum.

She threw her costume to the floor upon entering the bedroom. "Those fucking little bastards," she growled as she tore off her bra and panties.

She marched into the bathroom and twisted the controls of the shower, a spray of water billowing steam in less than a minute. She turned towards the mirror. "And you let it happen, Victor, you miserable backstabber!" she screamed.

Terri forced herself to take a deep breath and let it go. To describe her feelings as humiliation seemed inadequate. She recalled every moment of what it had been like to be a brainless slut for several hours.

"If they think I was hard on Heather before, they fucking haven't seen anything yet. And not just her but every one of those miserable little toads. I'll start with Richie. I'll--"

You will do nothing.

Terri gasped and whirled around.

You will do only what you are told to do.

Terri's eyes widened. "Who is it? Where are--"

A trembling, husky sigh passed her parted lips as her pussy swelled and ached with sudden, hard arousal. She swallowed and scrabbled for the edge of the sink, but the pleasure overcame her senses in seconds. She let out a deep moan and trembled until the mirror above the sink rattled.

"G-Get out of my head!" Terri cried as she fell against the wall under the window, panting. "I can push you out, Richie!"

It is not Richie. It is not the Harbingers.

Terri whimpered as lust ran hot in her pussy. She slid towards the floor as steam beaded on her skin. Her pants turned to gasps. "Oh, G-God ... uhnngg!"

And you cannot push me out.

Terri cried out as her pussy throbbed. Her eyes flew open wide as something dark and cold slithered into her mind, her body shivering from revulsion as well as pleasure. A second orgasm swept over her, and she fell to the floor in paroxysms of ecstasy that invited the invader deeper into her mind.

"N-No ... no, oh God ... uhhhnng ..."

From now on, you do nothing without my order or my permission.

Terri closed her eyes, shuddering as sweet, erotic pleasure suffused her. Only the voice in her mind mattered now. Each time it spoke, waves of sexual bliss wrapped her in a warm, sodden blanket of lust. "Uhng ... oh God ... wh-who ... who are you? ... ohhh! ..."

I am your new Mistress.

Terri whimpered and moaned as her pussy rose again.

And you will obey me.

Terri screamed her pleasure as her pussy throbbed in a third wrenching orgasm that blew all remaining resistance out of her mind.

Because you want to be a good little girl for me.

Terri panted as her hips jerked to her fading climax. Her eyes opened, languid and half-lidded. "Yes ... uhnn ... y-yes, I'll be your good little girl ..." Terri moaned.

Victor had sensed the pandemonium when he was still a mile from Charles' mansion. His burned hands were raw and blistered, pain searing across the tortured flesh as they gripped the steering wheel. He screeched around a corner, fish-tailing the car as he turned down Charles' lane. He slammed the brake and bumped the curb, a headlight flickering out in a tinkle of broken glass where it struck a landscaping boulder.

He bolted from the car and dashed towards the mansion. He was met with an anguished cry as soon as he stepped inside. Several of Charles' servants ran to him at once, their hands folded in supplication.

"Help us, Glorious One!" one cried.

"Glorious One, we do not know what happened!" another bawled.

"Please, do not punish us, we knew not what to do!" blubbered a third.

"ENOUGH!" Victor bellowed. "What is happening here? You!"

He thrust a finger at Charles' maid. She gasped, her eyes wide. He knees trembled and dropped her to the floor. She clasped her shaking hands and lowered her eyes. "Yes, Glorious One!"

"What is going on here? Why is everyone so upset?"

The maid looked up, her eyes blurring with tears. "Glorious One ... it's ... it's Lydia ... "

"What about her? Speak up!"

The maid cringed, tears leaking down her face. "She's dead!"

Victor pushed past the supplicants. He pounded down the hallway to Lydia's room and burst inside.

Lydia sat in the chair, unmoving, her eyes closed. Her body listed to one side, her head lolling. Victor stepped forward and lowered a hand to her shoulder. His footfalls disturbed the floorboards enough to tip Lydia out of her chair before he could touch her, and she tumbled to the floor.

Behind him, the maid sobbed.

Victor swallowed and let out a ragged breath. "Where's Charles? Where's the Prophet?"

"H-He's in his office, Glorious One," the maid stammered. "He locked the door and will not--"

From down the hall came a single, sharp crack of thunder.

Victor nearly threw the maid to one side when he exploded from the room. His heart hammered in his chest as he reached the door to Charles' office. He pounded on it, bellowing Charles' name. Finally, he stood back and ran into the door with his shoulder, splintering the wood around the lock.

He took two steps inside and stopped. Behind him, the maid screamed.

Charles lay slumped over the desk, his head the center of an expanding pool of blood, the gun still in his limp and lifeless fingers.

Victor stared. His eyes were stone. His muscles remained tensed. Then, finally, he turned and walked out of the office.

"G-Glorious One ..." the maid burbled.

Victor did not acknowledge her. He kept walking.

"Glorious One!" she shouted.

He kept walking towards the front door.

"Glorious One, what do we do?!"

Victor walked out the front door, never breaking his stride. He got into his car, started the engine, and drove away. He did not stop until he had left Haven behind.

He tried to ignore the tiny wisp of gray in the lock of hair that had fallen before his eyes.

Deeper under the Inn, energy roiled in a void of endless blue, like pastel shades of paint stirred into a slow vortex of color. Here, power gathered and pooled, fed by the lines of energy that crossed under Haven. Here lay the power that a girl named Melissa once tried to tap. Here lay the heart of the town, a thing that beat and pulsed to the rhythm of its sole resident.

In the center of the soft chaos came form.

It drew up from deep below, from its place of protection, a tentacle of inky black. It swirled as it rose, gathering shape and solidity. It flowed into a form it had taken only twice before. It required energy to do so, and here it needed no form whatsoever. Yet this was a matter of both pride and expedience.

In the center floated a shapely vision, a woman of perfect form, skin so white it gleamed. Legs stretched before it, slim and lithe, breasts swelled upon its chest, a regal face rose high and proud. It cloaked itself in absolute darkness, its own Aura, the one from which all others flowed. The black trailed away from it like drops of ink in water. Its hair was the same, flowing away in gently pulsing waves.

It had taken energy from the Book -- what it could from what had not immolated itself -- but not all of it.

This had not been the plan. The Darkness had simply wanted power. But it had not expected Victor to become a traitor, nor for the former possessors of the Book to impart so much of their personalities to the pages that the Book developed an instinct for survival, and then when it was faced with its inevitable demise, the emotion of spite.

But the Darkness realized that it could leave open the possibility for greater power if it made one more sacrifice. The Darkness was tired of sacrifices. It seethed at Victor for forcing yet another one upon it.

It would not have long to act. It had more power now, but the Harbingers would be on guard. They would expect another attack soon. It would not disappoint them. The power it had absorbed had increased its ability for logical thought. It would be more rational and less emotional.

The Dark Entity held out its arms, and the Book materialized before it.

The Book was a shadow of its former self. Barely a tenth of the original pages had remained in readable form. Yet they were very important pages, pages that spoke of the energy lines: how to tap them; how to change them; how to move them.

Many of the spells were incomplete, but no matter. It only needed the basic knowledge. It could derive the rest. Then it would be ready for a direct attack against the Harbingers.

The Entity opened the Book and began to read.

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