A séance has been held at the Great House on the Collinwood Estate. Four people came together to seek information about a mysterious artifact. As a result, Maggie Collins was cast backward in time to the year 1897. There she came face-to-face with a fate meant for another. For the residents of Collinwood in 1897 believe her to be Kitty Soames, and her remarkable resemblance to Josette DuPres has led her to Widows' Hill to meet the same fate as that woman did more than a century before.
"No!" Maggie screamed. Her body shook visibly; there were tears in her eyes.
"Maggie, are you all right? What happened?" came Quentin's concerned voice.
She was back at Collinwood, back in the drawing room. In a moment, she began to make sense of her surroundings. Quentin, Julia, and Professor Stokes were there. Their hands were still on the table. The séance! They were holding a séance. She took them in with her eyes. She scanned the room—the drawing room was modern. It was her Collinwood—it was the Collinwood of 1969. She was home—back in her own time.
Her tears quickly subsided and her entire countenance shifted. "You knew!" she spat angrily at them. "You all knew!" She stood. Her face was pale and she trembled slightly. The circle was broken. She took a few halting steps away from the table.
"Knew what, Maggie?" Julia was the first to recover from Maggie's shockingly accusatory tone.
"You all knew about Barnabas," she continued. "You know what he is, what he does." Now fully taking onboard what she'd experienced, she added, "What he did to me!"
"Maggie …" Quentin began, but fueled by anger and shock, Maggie turned on her heel and fled through the drawing room doors, across the foyer, and out into the night.
All three were on their feet now. "Perhaps it's best to give her some time to collect herself," Professor Stokes said, seemingly to Quentin.
Quentin turned on him angrily, "When I want advice on how to handle my wife, I'll ask someone who's experienced the state of marriage. If you'll excuse me, I need to see to her," he added then followed Maggie out of the Great House.
Quentin found Maggie where he suspected she'd be—still on the grounds of the Great House, supporting herself against the railing of the odd gazebo. "Maggie," he began again as he had moments before.
She turned to face him. Her face was pale. He'd never seen her look so pale—but her expression was resolute. "You should have told me."
"I offered …"
She cut him off. "No—no, you didn't."
"You said you wanted to leave the past in the past and look forward. I wanted that too."
"Do you want to know how I found out?" she asked, fury in her eyes. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, as her words and breaths came out in short, percussive gulps. "He … he gave me Josette's music box. Well, not me." Her hand went to her head, as she tried to recount what happened. "He thought I was Lady Hampshire and that I was somehow a reincarnation of Josette. He placed Josette's music-box in my hands." She held out her hands and looked as them as though they were somehow sullied. "And when I held it, I knew I'd held it before … and when he opened it, and the music … oh, Quentin …" The fear and anger threatened to overtake her, but she went on. "The music brought it all back to me. He kidnapped me—Barnabas kidnapped me—he tried to remake me as Josette, and when I … when I resisted, he locked me away."
She began to tremble, and at last gave in to her tears. "I ran from him. I found myself on Widows' Hill, and there, Angelique showed me the future Barnabas envisioned for me—for Kitty, for Josette. And then the bluffs gave way, and I … I fell. Quentin, I fell!" The words tumbled out, punctuated by Maggie's sobs.
"I don't understand," Quentin began. "What did you see during the séance?"
"See? I've been gone for days."
"Maggie," he said gently. "Only a few minutes passed. You were in a trance …"
"No," she cut him off. "I was there—in 1897 for days—right here at Collinwood. I met Edward and Judith, Jamison and Nora, and Evan Hanley. I lived it—I lived her life—Kitty Soames's life."
He took her in his arms and held her close. "It's all right, Maggie. You're here. You're safe. I won't let anyone hurt you, I promise."
She pulled back and sought his eyes with hers. "Kitty—Lady Hampshire," she said softly. "I died her death. If I'm here now, Kitty must be …" Maggie's voice broke. "Kitty must be dead on the rocks below Widows' Hill." He pulled her close again. He kissed her forehead and stroked her hair. He held her until her gentle quaking began to subside. "Poor Edward. He'll be devastated."
"Edward?" Now Quentin pulled back and studied her face. "Edward and Kitty Soames?"
"Her husband died—committed suicide," Maggie said softly.
"Gerald must have left her well situated, if Edward was interested in her," Quentin said in a derisive tone.
"I believe Edward genuinely cares … cared for her," Maggie sniffed in response.
When her tears threatened to return, he said, "It's over now, Maggie. You're home. You're safe."
"No—no one is safe, but I learned a great deal that will help us."
"Come," he said, taking her hand and leading her back toward the house. "You must tell us everything you learned."
Maggie surprised Quentin by stopping mid-motion. He turned back to face her. "What is it? What's wrong?" he asked.
"I don't want anything to do with Julia," she said emphatically. "She was complicit in what happened to me—she had to have been. Every time I would start to remember what happened to me, Julia would intervene. Her so-called treatments weren't designed to help me; they were to help Barnabas—to prevent my memory from returning. What a fool I've been!"
"Maggie, you should at least give her a chance to explain."
"Why are you defending her? She put Barnabas's wellbeing above mine. I was her patient," she said in exasperation. "What kind of doctor … what kind of psychiatrist would do such a thing?"
"Maybe she was trying to protect you," he ventured.
"Protect me?"
"What do you think Barnabas would have done if your memory had returned?" Quentin's hand found her cheek, and tilted her face toward his. A petulant scowl greeted him. "At least give her a chance to explain."
"Fine," she said in a tone that matched her expression.
Quentin put his arm around her shoulder and led her back into the house.
When Maggie and Quentin returned to the drawing room, they found Julia and Professor Stokes sitting side-by-side on the couch, sipping sherry and speaking in hushed tones.
A long silence ensued as Quentin poured Maggie a stiff brandy, and then one for himself. Maggie sat in the armchair beside the fireplace; Quentin stood sentry beside her. She took a large sip of brandy into her mouth, let it expand then slowly swallowed it.
When she was ready, she began, "The séance transported me to Collinwood in 1897. I somehow changed places with—or became Kitty Soames, Lady Hampshire. And I lived her life for days."
"Extraordinary," the professor interjected.
"She fell to her death on Widows' Hill. And I died her death," Maggie said with appropriate gravitas.
"You don't know that for sure, Maggie," Quentin said to reassure his wife.
For the first time since she'd come out of the trance, Maggie's expression softened. "I know you're trying to make me feel better, but I don't see how she could have survived." She pushed back against her tears. She went on, "I learned a great deal about what's happening to Joe … and to Quentin."
Maggie selectively recounted her time in 1897, focusing on what she'd learned about the puzzle-box.
"How did it come to be here at Collinwood?" Julia asked.
"Evan didn't know," Maggie said sharply in response, still wearing her irritation on her sleeve. "He said he was charged with protecting it and it was safe." She turned to Quentin, "But I think he and Judith were close. Perhaps he left his possessions to her, or perhaps he died unexpectedly and she, or Edward, claimed his possessions. He had no family to speak of."
"Yes, perhaps," Quentin murmured in response. "And tell me, how was Judith?"
Maggie shook her head. "Not well, I'm afraid. I saw very little of her. She keeps to her room mostly." Then she looked pointedly at Julia. "Barnabas is the only one she looks forward to seeing."
Julia narrowed her eyes, and a dark expression crossed her face, but she said nothing.
"And Jamison?" Quentin asked.
"He was fine—and so much like David," Maggie said. "But I—Kitty—didn't interact much with him and Nora."
"No, I don't suppose she would," Quentin observed mildly.
"She was a governess too, you know—Kitty, I mean. Before she married Gerald, she was the family governess," Maggie said, sadness again overtaking her. She stood and found Quentin's eyes with hers. "I'm tired. I'd like to go home—I've missed it."
"We should make plans," Stokes said.
"Tomorrow. Let's reconvene tomorrow after Maggie's rested," Quentin told him.
The professor nodded and lifted his large frame from his seat on the couch.
"Would you give Julia and me a few minutes alone please?" Maggie asked.
Quentin started to object, but Maggie's expression told him that she would brook no opposition. "Sure," he said, giving Julia a significant look.
Once he and Professor Stokes were out of the room, and the doors were closed, Maggie turned to Julia, but before she could speak, Julia began, "I was trying to protect you, Maggie."
Maggie folded her arms across her chest and gave her friend a withering look. "Even if I believe you Julia, aren't you forgetting something?"
"Oh?" the psychiatrist said. "Like what? What am I forgetting?"
"Willie Loomis is being treated at Windcliff for something he didn't do."
"Maggie," the doctor began.
"You need to get him out, Julia—tomorrow."
"Maggie, how can I? What am I supposed to do, show up and announce that he's suddenly cured?"
"It was easy enough for you and Barnabas to arrange for him to be committed."
"That's because he still feels quite guilty," Julia pushed back. "As long as he behaves as if he's responsible for what happened to you …"
Maggie cut her off brusquely, "Well, I don't care how you do it, only that you do."
"And if I can't?"
"The Collins name still means something around here—and at Windcliff, and as I've learned there are always options available to people of means. Or maybe my memory will suddenly come back, and I'll have to tell the world who really hurt me."
"Are you threatening me, Maggie?"
"No, because I trust you to take care of this. But you should know, Julia, that I won't let Willie continue to pay for something Barnabas did."
Later that night, Quentin and Maggie lay in their bed in the second floor bedroom of the old farmhouse. Quentin held Maggie, but sleep eluded them.
"I've missed this," Maggie said.
"I'm having a hard comprehending that in your mind you've been away for days," he responded.
"What happened here during the séance?" she asked, in a now-sleepy voice.
"You went into a trance. You warned us that there was danger. Then the candles blew out and the room was pitch black. 'We mustn't break the circle,' the professor warned us. 'For Maggie's sake.' It was the only reason I didn't end it at once. You continued to murmur about there being danger. Then you cried out 'No!' and you were back with us. You know the rest."
"That's it? That's all? How odd that while only a few moments passed for you, I spent so much time at Collinwood—your Collinwood, with your friends and family," she said. Then she added, "I learned a lot about you."
"Oh?" He narrowed his eyes; a worried look came to his features.
"Evan told me a lot about you," she said, but didn't elaborate. "I think he really misses you."
"Evan was a good friend," Quentin said.
Maggie found comfort in the sound of her husband's voice resonating through his chest to her ear that rested on it.
"I suppose he told you about Jenny."
"Yes, and Laura too—how you followed her across the world and caused the rift with Edward," she said softly.
"It was along time ago, Maggie. I've changed—the curse and the I Ching changed me."
"Um hm," she purred.
"I paid dearly for what happened to Jenny, and I learned from it. I'm happy here, Maggie, and I would never do anything to jeopardize what we have together," he said as though convincing her was somehow necessary.
When she didn't respond he snuck a peek at her face, pulling her dark veil of hair aside to reveal her sleeping face.
The next day was as normal a day as one could expect at Collinwood. Quentin went to work at the mill as usual; Maggie went to the Great House.
Professor Stokes had called before she left the farmhouse that morning to check on her, and make arrangements to meet later that day as they'd agreed the previous night. After his solicitous inquiries, and her copious reassurances, they'd agree to meet that evening at 9:00 at the professor's home in Collinsport. That would give him time to conduct further research on demonic possession, and her time to have an early dinner at the inn with Quentin.
Throughout the day, conflicting emotions warred within her. She was truly happy and appreciative of being back in her own time—back at her own Collinwood. Even David and Amy remarked on her cheery countenance. Still, she knew that beneath the veneer of happiness, the darkness still lurked. Now she knew that yet another dark presence—a new malevolence was at work in Collinwood—and that that presence now took the form of friendly, trusted Joe Haskell.
If she were honest, she would admit that putting the demonic possession of Joe in the forefront of her mind, kept at bay both the disturbing truth she'd learned about her own kidnapping, and the trauma of experiencing Kitty's death on Widows' Hill.
When their lessons were done, David had gone to his room to play until dinnertime, but Amy had stayed close by Maggie, trailing after her wherever she went. Maggie had taken a change of clothes with her so that she could go into Collinsport without returning home to dress for dinner.
Amy had followed Maggie to one of the guest bedrooms where Maggie had left her dress and makeup bag. "Can I watch you do your hair and makeup?" she asked.
"Sure," Maggie said.
"Why aren't you using your old room near mine?" Amy asked.
"I like this room with this old-fashioned vanity," Maggie told her. She couldn't explain that she had once occupied the room in 1897 and still felt strangely drawn to it.
As Maggie brushed her hair, she asked Amy, "Wouldn't you rather play with David?"
"No," Amy told her. "I like watching you. Besides, I'm going to miss you when you're gone."
"Gone?" Maggie's voice was shrill.
"David says it's only a matter of time now that you're married to Quentin. You won't be our governess anymore."
Maggie was quiet. What could she say? She didn't want to lie to Amy—especially given the disappointment she suffered at the hands of her absentee brother. At least Joe's disinterest in reconnecting with his young cousin was now explained.
"What do you think?" Maggie asked her young charge. "A ponytail like this?" She gathered her hair at the nape of her neck. "Or loose."
"I like it when you put the top up, but wear the rest down," Amy said.
"Then that's how I'll wear it."
As Maggie finished her toilette, she was aware that Amy was prattling on. From time to time, she would pull her mind back to the child, but mostly her mind was looking ahead. When her hair and makeup were done, Maggie went into the small adjoining dressing room and slipped on her dress.
"You look beautiful, Maggie," Amy told her when she emerged from the dressing room.
"Thank you, Amy."
When they descended the stairs, Amy was still staying close to Maggie. Maggie retrieved her coat from the entryway and returned to the foyer for her handbag. Just then the doors to the drawing room opened and Carolyn emerged.
"Carolyn!" Maggie was genuinely happy to see her friend. Then added, "I feel like I haven't seen you in ages."
Carolyn laughed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm certain it hasn't been that long."
"I wish I could stay and get caught up, but …" Maggie began before Amy cut in.
"Maggie has a date."
"Oh?" Carolyn asked with a wicked smile and a raised eyebrow.
"Yes," Maggie confirmed. "I'm meeting Quentin for dinner at the Inn. Then we're having drinks with Professor Stokes and Julia afterward."
"You two sound like an old married couple," Carolyn laughed but Maggie winced inside. "And what have you been up to, Amy?"
"She's been helping me with my toilette. Haven't you, Amy?" Maggie offered. To Amy she said, "I don't want you to be at loose-ends now that I'm leaving. Perhaps you should go and find David now."
Carolyn sized up the situation. "I have a better idea. Why don't we go find a game to play—just the two of us?"
"There is one game that David will never play with me," Amy said with an unselfconscious grin.
"Great—let's go get it." Carolyn took Amy's hand, and received a grateful parting smile from Maggie.
When Quentin and Maggie arrived at Professor Stokes's home shortly after 9:00, the professor welcomed them, and assumed the role of genial host. "Julia has been detained at Windcliff, but should be here soon," he said as he took Maggie's coat.
While they settled themselves on the couch, the professor went to his liquor cabinet. When he returned, he brought a tray with four drinks, one presumably for the late-arriving Julia. He set the tray on the coffee table then handed Maggie one of the small, stemmed glasses. "Since you've already eaten, I opened a bottle of port. I hope you enjoy it." To Quentin, he handed the lone brandy snifter among the drinks, "I believe you're a brandy man."
"Yes, thank you," Quentin said, taking the proffered glass.
Maggie ended the niceties by asking, "Did you know about Barnabas, Professor?"
Stokes lowered himself into an armchair opposite her. "I suspected rather than knew," he said. "In saying so, I'm not trying to split hairs or avoid responibility. At first, he drew my suspicions, but in the end, I ignored the oddities and eccentricities that ordinarily fuel my curiosity. And then, of course, the strange occurrences abated."
"I see," Maggie said, finding it easier to accept the professor's explanation than Julia's. She took a sip of the port. "The port is excellent," she said.
"I'm so pleased you think so," he said. His words were accompanied by a knock at the door. He rose and a moment later ushered Julia Hoffman into his sitting room.
Quentin welcomed her. "Good evening, Julia."
Maggie offered her a stiff, formal nod of her head.
Professor Stokes took over. "Now that we're all assembled, we must decide how to proceed. I've spent the day pouring over texts on demonic possession," he said, indicating a pile of books on a desk in the far corner of the room. "It seems to me that there is only one solution—the demon must be exorcised from its host."
"Well, that's good news, isn't it?" Maggie said.
"It is, isn't it Eliot?" Julia echoed. "All we need to do is bring Joe to you, and you can conduct the exorcism."
"While I'm flattered by your confidence in me, I'm afraid it's not that simple," the professor demurred.
"It never is," Quentin added in a sarcastic tone.
The professor turned to Maggie. "You told us that Mr. Hanley apprenticed for a powerful practitioner of the dark arts—a sorcerer of sorts."
"Yes," Maggie said.
"And it was he who forced the demon out of its host and back into its vessel," the professor continued.
"Yes."
"I fear that I'm ill-equipped to take on a demon."
Maggie was confused and disappointed. She wore it on her face. "But Evan also said that it was a minor demon."
"But even a minor demon is a formidable opponent. It's true that I have performed successful exorcisms—of discontented spirits or displaced souls. I'm sorry, my dear, only a powerful sorcerer will do," the professor told his dejected friend.
"Or a powerful sorceress," Quentin said.
"No, Quentin. There must be another way," Julia said.
"Like what? Place a classified ad—'powerful sorcerer wanted to exorcise an unwelcome demon'," Quentin returned.
"Angelique cannot be trusted, Quentin. You know that as well as I," Julia said flatly.
"Angelique?" Maggie asked. The witch's voice and laugh were still fresh in her mind.
"She is powerful—she cured me of the curse. And she will come if I summon her," Quentin concluded confidently, drawing a pointed look from his wife.
"I daresay she would," Professor Stokes said. "But there's no need. I am up to the task."
"Even if she does respond to your summons," Julia countered, "what's in it for her? What do you have to offer her? Or do you think she'll do it out of the goodness of her heart? Because, frankly, she doesn't have one."
Julia's words hung in the air, before Maggie broke the silence. "If you can summon her, I have something to offer her."
"Oh?" Julia asked. "What?"
"Leave that to me," Maggie returned in a curt tone. "When can we do it?" she asked.
"Tomorrow evening, if you'll be ready then," the professor said. "Quentin?"
"Yes, I'd like to be there," Quentin said in a world-weary voice. "I may be useful, if persuasion is necessary."
"Very well. Shall we meet at the Old House at midnight?" the professor asked.
"The Old House?" Julia was incredulous.
"Yes," Stokes said soberly. "For a variety of reasons, the Old House is perfect."
"Oh?" Julia narrowed her eyes.
"I can enumerate the reasons, if you think it necessary," Stokes began.
Julia emitted a deep sigh, but relented. "Fine."
"A toast to our success." The professor raised his glass in a futile attempt to cut the tension. The others followed suit, but each harbored reservations that remained unspoken.
That night, elusive dreamscapes flitted across Maggie's mind. Deep sleep eluded her, so she settled for dozing and waking by turns. Predawn darkness still blanketed the farm when she decided to get up. Quentin lay asleep beside her, his right arm draped across her. He stirred as she gently extricated herself, but then burrowed further into his pillow and went back to sleep.
In the semi-darkness, she found a pair of slacks, a pullover sweater, and a pair of sneakers. She changed as quietly as she could, then made her way downstairs. She had intended to curl up in the armchair and wait until the sun was up—until Quentin was awake—before undertaking the task before her. But she found an overwhelming sense of restlessness animated her. She could not sit still and she no longer wanted to wait. She wanted to move—to act.
She found a flashlight, grabbed her pea-coat, then crept out of the house and into the woods. With luck, she would get to the Old House and back before Quentin woke.
As the Old House came into view, Maggie encountered something unexpected. All the feelings of foreboding that she'd experienced suddenly came into sharp focus. Her subconscious had been telling her all along—it was there, she just couldn't access it—until now. Now she remembered—the sound of the music, the feel of the clothes, and the fear—above all the fear. She had come all this way without thinking how it would feel to return to the place where she was held captive—to the place where Barnabas tried to wipe away all trace of Maggie Evans, and replace her with Josette DuPres.
For a moment, a wave of unnamable emotions swept over her. She should feel emboldened knowing that, for the moment, she was beyond Barnabas's reach. She closed her eyes, to steady herself, but the images kept coming—Josette's room, the dress that Barnabas insisted she wear, and the cell where he locked her away when she wouldn't submit. She should have woken Quentin and asked him to come with her, she realized. But she was here now—and the only way to conquer her fear was to face it.
She willed her feet to move and kept up a quick pace. Before long she reached the Old House. She approached the front door and to her surprise, she found it unlocked. She would have broken a window to gain access, had she needed to, but instead the door gave way at her touch. The rusty hinges moaned the door open.
The house, which was largely vacant, save for those times that Julia visited, smelled musty. The pungent, yet comforting, aroma of fireplace fires and burnt candles permeated the air. Maggie's stomach seized as she convinced her legs to climb the stairs. As she approached Josette's room, more memories flooded back—not just broad outlines of what happened, but details and discrete moments.
She stepped inside and looked around the room. It had to be there. How had it transcended the years? she wondered. She pushed that thought aside. It had transcended the years—that was all that mattered. She set about searching the room. For all of its ornate furnishings, there were few places it could be—and Josette's trousseau chest seemed the most likely place. It was there that she began her search, carelessly pulling out Josette's perfectly preserved clothing and accessories, leaving them in a heap on the floor beside the chest.
Her hunch proved to be right. It was there at the bottom of the trunk. As soon as she saw the small velvet wrapping, she knew she'd found it. She took it from the chest, feeling its contours beneath the velvet fabric. How had it found its way home again? Maggie wondered about the small music-box. Barnabas must have retrieved it from Kitty's room, after ... after Widows' Hill. It was the only explanation.
"Maggie? What … what are you doing here?"
Maggie nearly dropped the small ornate music-box at the sound of her name. Maggie turned to face the familiar voice. "Willie! I could ask you the same thing."
"Julia got me out of Windcliff yesterday."
"And she brought you here?" Maggie asked, incredulity in her eyes and voice.
"I … I got nowhere else to go, Maggie. I can't stay in town. Everyone there thinks I …" his voice trailed off. Then he added, "And I'm not exactly welcome at the Great House."
Maggie suddenly felt guilty. She hadn't thought about what would happen to Willie when he was released from Windcliff, only that his being there was a miscarriage of justice. "I see," she said at last.
"And you, what are you … what are you doing here, Maggie?" Willie asked nervously. He pulled his hair back with a jittery hand. "I heard a noise."
"I was looking for something. I didn't know anyone was here." Her eyes involuntarily dropped to the small package in her hands.
"Don't open it, Maggie," Willie told her urgently, taking a step toward her.
"Don't worry, Willie. I won't." She added for emphasis, "I have no intention of opening it."
"Then what do you want it for?" Willie asked, wringing his hands.
"So much has happened since you've been away. I can't explain it all right now," Maggie deflected. "How did Julia get you released?"
"I don't know. She wasn't exactly in a chatty mood, if you know what I mean."
"Well, you didn't belong there in the first place, Willie. I remember everything now and I'm sorry I didn't remember sooner. I could have told them you didn't do it."
The anxious young man turned away from her. "I should've done more to help you, Maggie, but I couldn't." There were tears in his voice.
Maggie approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You did what you could, Willie. I understand that now."
"And Barnabas? Julia said he's not here."
"I don't know where Barnabas is, but he's not here. He can't hurt you anymore, Willie," she said.
He nodded his head. "I know you're right. I … I'm just not ready to face him."
"It's okay. You won't have to. I have to go now, Willie. Did Julia tell you that I got married? I have to get home before my husband wakes up and gets worried about me. We live at the old Peabody Farm."
Maggie moved toward the door. Willie followed her out the door. "Do you want me to see you home? It's still dark out—the sun is just starting to come up."
"It's okay, Willie. I'm not afraid anymore. I told you—things have changed since you've been away."
Willie accompanied Maggie back through the Old House and down the stairs to the front door. As he opened the door for her, he said, "Don't forget, Maggie, don't open that thing." He pointed to the velvet wrapped object in her hands.
Maggie smiled. "Don't worry, Willie. I won't."
Later that evening, Maggie and Quentin arrived at the Old House and found Julia waiting for them. "Come in," she said as though welcoming them to her home. They followed her into the sitting room. The Old House, in contrast to the newer Great House, was more compact and organized in the style of an 18th century manor house. Thus the sitting room was much smaller than the drawing room at the Great House, and the fact that Barnabas had restored it to its 18th century glory meant it was now lit by candlelight alone. A fire burning in the fireplace provided the room's only warmth.
"Eliot—Professor Stokes will be here shortly," Julia continued.
"And Willie?" Maggie asked.
"I sent him to bed," Julia replied as though speaking about a child. "It's been a long day. We spent a good deal of time talking about what comes next for him. But in the meantime, I've asked him to stay on here as the caretaker."
The stain of a blush crossed Maggie's cheeks. She still felt guilty about Willie—about the time he spent in Windcliff and about how he was released without any plan or thought for his future. Poor Willie was forever a pawn at Collinwood. Even Maggie had used him as a tool in response to her anger with Julia.
Quentin spoke up. "That seems like a reasonable solution."
"Yes, and the house does need looking after," Julia said.
An awkward moment ensued before Maggie said, "Julia, I think we should clear the air."
"Yes," Julia drawled. "But not now. We have much to accomplish tonight." She tapped into her psychiatry training and continued, "I'd like to believe we can still work together on a common goal, Maggie."
"Yes, I'd like that too," Maggie said, her anger already dissipating. Seeing Willie released but set adrift had tempered her sense of knowing what was right.
Maggie crossed the room to warm herself in front of the fireplace. They had pinned all of their hopes on this. What if it failed? Maggie felt Quentin's hands on her shoulders. He bent down to whisper in her ear. "It's going to be all right."
A knock at the door signaled Professor Stokes's arrival. He entered the sitting room looking serious to the point of grim. He carried a briefcase that contained what he described as an occult toolkit—a large wooden cross, a silver pentagram, a vial of holy water, a wooden stake with a mallet, and several black candles. It was the latter he would need this night. He set the case on the table and retrieved the candles. Then he replaced the candles in one of the sitting room candelabras with the black ones. He and Julia chatted softly, just out of earshot from Maggie and Quentin who still stood together beside the fire.
When he felt ready to proceed, the professor drew a deep, audible breath and said, "I am ready to begin."
Quentin gave Maggie's shoulders a reassuring squeeze and then drew her a few steps away from the fireplace. The professor approached and placed the candelabra on the mantelpiece. Then he lit the black candles as Julia looked on—an unhappy crease furrowed her brow.
Professor Stokes positioned himself in front of the fireplace. He closed his eyes and spread his arms wide. He began in a rich voice, "Angelique, I summon you. Come to me. Angelique, I summon you. Hear me and answer my call. I summon you—come from the darkness into the light … into the light of the black candles … come forth …"
Julia's eyebrows arched as she watched Stokes enter a trance-like state. "Hear me and answer my call. I summon you—come from the darkness into the light … into the light of the black candles … heed my call and come to me," Stokes intoned. His three companions still looked on, but Stokes had entered a solitary place in his mind, with a single focus—calling forth the sorceress, Angelique. When she did not appear, he drew a deep breath and began anew with added force in his voice. "I summon you—come from the darkness into the light … into the light of the black candles. Heed my call—heed my command and come to me." His voice seemed to fill the room, touching every corner with his vibrato. "I command you to come to me."
Now the flames sprang to life. The fire in the fireplace roared and flames threaded up the flue. Every candle in the room sparked and jumped at once. The flames of the black candles reached impossible heights then died away, totally consuming the candles. Only puddles of molten black wax remained.
A woman's laugh reverberated through the room. Maggie covered her ears, turned, and sought Quentin's embrace. Quentin held his trembling wife and whispered in her ear, "Let's go. I'll take you away from here."
Maggie shook her head in response. "I have to stay and face her."
The laughter died away. The still disembodied voice asked, "Who dares to command me?"
"I do," the professor said in a steady voice. "Timothy Eliot Stokes commands you."
"A Stokes commands me?" she asked as she materialized at last. Emerging from the fireplace flames, Angelique appeared. She wore a fashionable green suit, over a floral blouse. Her blond hair was pulled into chignon.
For a moment, Stokes felt in danger of becoming besotted with her. Then his common sense rallied, and he replied, "Yes, but not my ancestor that you bewitched and manipulated into doing your bidding."
Angelique laughed heartily. "So, I see. The Stokes family appears to have come a long way," she sneered.
"Indeed—far enough for it to be me summoning you to do my bidding," he said confidently, earning a look of admiration from Julia.
Now Angelique began to acclimate and take in her surroundings. "The Old House," she said, "in the year?"
"1969," he answered. His eyes never left hers. "We have great need of you here, Angelique."
"We?" Now she scanned the room with her eyes. "Dr. Hoffman—Julia." Then seeing Quentin, who still held Maggie in his arms, she said, "And Quentin—so you've emerged from the I Ching trance and found someone new to share your embrace." Her laugh was cut short when Maggie released herself from Quentin's arms and turned to face the sorceress. "You? Here? How I've tired of you, Josette!"
"I am not Josette," Maggie returned in what she hoped was a confident voice.
Before the situation deteriorated further, Stokes recalled them all to the task at hand. "It is I who summoned you," he said. "And I who asks your help."
"Go on," she said. "Now that you're asking—not commanding, I will listen." She returned her gaze to the professor.
Stokes began, "We ask …" though the word 'ask' stuck in his throat, "your help in exorcising a demon." He saw something in her eyes then—was it fear?
"A demon?" she asked.
"Yes," Stokes confirmed. "A demon—but one that is subject to the will and power of one such as you."
"You're certain of this? Exorcising a demon can be like having a tiger by the tail," she said with a degree of vulnerability.
Stokes looked into her eyes and said, "Yes—in lesser hands, but it's been tamed before and can be again."
Now her confidence reasserted itself, and she asked, "And why should I undertake to exorcise a demon that's done nothing to me?"
"Barnabas would …" Julia began.
Angelique cut her off with a derisive snort. "Barnabas? Do not invoke his name, Julia." She turned back to Stokes, "Release me. Send me back. You have nothing to offer me and I do not wish to take this on uncompensated."
"We do have something to offer you," Maggie said.
"Oh?" Angelique asked.
"Yes," Maggie returned. "Josette DuPres."