He found the page in one of Uncle Peter's books.
It was a single folded leaf, the handwriting clear but not neat, a list of peculiar things. An image of the petitioner, the bone of a black cat, graveyard soil. Gerry had a vague idea that "yarrow" was a kind of plant. The other two items he'd never heard of at all, and he thought he'd have to ask Uncle Peter about them later. At the bottom, it said, All these buried at a crossroads for the heart's desire, and for ten years will you enjoy the fruits of the bargain.
Then dinner was ready and Gerry went to eat it. He had to go home tomorrow, but Uncle Peter would drive him.
He'd been at Oxford only a few months when they called him back to Denver. The pater had had one of his attacks and they wanted Gerry at home in case he…well, in case. It turned out this had been a bad one, so they wouldn't let him see him till they were pretty sure he was going to be all right.
Gerry sat at his father's bedside for an uncomfortable hour, trying to talk to him about things he knew he liked. Finally he said, "You oughtn't to scare me like this. I'm not ready to be the duke, you know." He smiled as he said it, thinking it was a joke.
The pater just looked at him for a long time, and then said heavily, "Will you ever be?"
He'd never been sure why he'd gone about collecting the things; it wasn't as if magic really worked. But he had them, anyway, except for the bone, and that was easy; Gerry remembered Uncle Peter helping him to bury Midnight, after his father had snapped at him for crying over a cat of all things.
He stood in the crossroads down from the drive to the house, box in hand, wondering if he didn't feel foolish only because he was so drunk. It made the digging of the hole an awkward operation all around, but he managed it. He put the box in the hole and covered it back up and then stood there, waiting.
Gerry had just about convinced himself that nothing was going to happen when a voice behind him said, "You're not the type for this, I'd have thought."
He whirled, and nearly tipped over with the motion, and there stood a girl, or a woman really. She was pretty and smiling, standing there in a black dress with a rather daring décolletage.
"Not the type for what?" Gerry asked, nearly stupefied.
"Oh," she said airily, coming closer. "Deals, my dear." She met his gaze, and even in the light of the clear full moon he could see her eyes flash red all over. "Aren't you going to be duke? What more could you want?"
"I don't want to be duke," Gerry snarled. "The pater, he thinks I ought to be, be grateful and be responsible, and I don't want it."
"You want to make a deal," the woman said slowly, "so that you don't have to be Duke of Denver."
"Yes," Gerry said, around the feeling that was telling him he oughtn't do this. "I want the pater's attacks to stop so I don't have to be duke." He knew how close this one had been; no one had wanted to tell him, but he knew. "Uncle Peter will be better at it than I would be."
"Your uncle will be duke only if you're dead," the woman said. Though Gerry was starting to wonder if 'woman' was really the right word for her.
"The paper said ten years," Gerry said. "That's a long time."
She smiled at him then, slow and cruel. "You won't think so when it's over," she said.
Gerry shrugged, trying to look casual. He knew he wasn't making a good job of it, but he was drunk; one had to make allowances.
"Very well," the woman said. "Your father's heart for ten years, and at the end of it you'll come to us."
"And Uncle Peter," Gerry said on impulse, though he was trying not to think about what come to us might mean. "If he's going to be for it, he should have someone. A…a nice woman. Someone who'll help him."
"A nice woman for your uncle Peter, too," she said. "Anything else?"
"I…" Gerry said, and squared his shoulders. Drunk or not, he was the Duke of Denver's son. "I want the pater to be proud of me when I go."
"You'll die a hero," the woman said. She sounded almost comforting. "There'll be plenty of opportunity by then, I'd think."
"Right then," Gerry said, and held out a hand. The woman laughed and stepped closer to him. He caught on right before their lips met.
"Look at this," Harriet said, and turned to show Peter the paper. "It looks like a spell."
Peter looked up from the book he was paging through, weary curiosity on his face. They'd been sorting the books all afternoon; Lord St. George had had quite a number of them, for a young man who was so concerned with making sure everyone thought he was only a fool, and had left them all to Peter.
They studied the paper together, heads bent over it like children over a schoolbook. "Ten years will you enjoy the fruits of the bargain," Peter quoted. "I've heard of this sort of thing, I think—supposedly one can make deals with the devil of the crossroads. I wonder where Gerry got it."
"He's had it a long time," Harriet said.
"They say the crossroads devil can give you anything you ask for," Peter said, with a smile that Harriet did not care for.
Briskly, she said, "I don't know about you, but I find the setting of a time limit a bit unsettling. Not quite Faustus, but I think one wouldn't care to find out what happened when one's ten years were up." She folded the paper again along the worn-in line and tucked it back into the book it had come from.
"Besides, what could I want that I don't already have?" Peter asked, his smile becoming more real as he looked at her.
"I'm sure I don't know," Harriet replied, and kissed him. They said nothing more about it.
Later, while Peter was out, she burned the paper.