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 has been cast backward in time to the year 1897—a year that holds not only the answer to the mystery of the strange puzzle-box, but also danger for Maggie herself.


For the first time since a séance displaced Maggie Collins from her own time and sent her to 1897, she expected to wake where she did. She had not dreamt of sleeping in her own bed, beside her husband; she had not dreamt of her Collinwood and her friends in 1969. Instead, she had slept heavily, and for the most part, had had a dreamless night.

So when she woke in the guest bedroom, she was not surprised. She woke with a new sense of purpose. She woke with the feeling that this was the day that she would find her way back to her home in 1969, but she needed an ally to help her. She needed to ditch Edward for the day so that she could meet with Evan Hanley on her own. Maybe she could use their mutual embarrassment over Edward's overtures to Kitty to her advantage, to distance herself, if only for the afternoon.

Today, Lady Kitty would wear the purple day dress—mourning was over. If this was to be her last day in 1897, as she hoped it would be, she didn't want to spend it in mourning garb. If Maggie were honest, from the moment she saw it, she'd wanted to wear the purple dress. It was the perfect costume for a day spent playing the role of Lady Hampshire.

Once again, with Elsie's help, Maggie had bathed then dressed and styled her hair as Kitty Soames. In the bureau drawer, she found one of the two pairs of wrist-length kid gloves that made the trip with Kitty. She selected the rich gray, which paired well with purple. She tucked them into Kitty's small handbag, and retrieved a short cloak suitable for daywear. For the first time since she arrived in 1897, she descended the Great House stairs before midday.

She went first to the drawing room though she thought it unlikely that Edward would be there at this time of day. Finding it unoccupied, she headed to the library next. Although she had been there only a couple of days, she already knew the patterns of the household—Judith in her room, the kids in the small schoolroom upstairs, and Edward in the library with the morning paper.

She knocked on the library door and entered upon his invitation. "Good morning, Edward," she said from the doorway.

Edward sat at the desk—the Collinsport Star in front of him. Good morning, Kitty," he said, his eyes still downcast for a moment. Looking up and rising, he continued, "Ah, Kitty." His eyes widened slightly. "You've … you're …" he stammered. "Your mourning clothes … what does this mean?"

All at once, Maggie could see how given the events of the previous day, Edward might misinterpret the situation. Rather than letting him down again, she replied, "Yes. I thought it was time." After all, it might well be her last day in 1897. She offered him what she hoped would be an appropriately demure smile.

"I am so very pleased, Kitty," he said, moving to her side with rarely seen alacrity. "But I'm afraid I have some bad news, my dear."

"What? What is it, Edward?" Maggie's concern was genuine. Her mind flashed to Judith's pallor and indisposition.

Edward continued, unaware of the concern he'd excited, "I must go into town this evening. I must take Judith's place at the hospital board dinner. Well, you saw her. She can hardly go in her condition, and a Collins family member is always present. I'm afraid it must be me. Can you forgive me for abandoning you this evening? I promise it won't happen again."

"Edward, there's nothing to forgive. Of course, you must go—just as I must go visit Evan Hanley today."

"Must you?" he asked.

"Yes. He promised he'd have news for me today."

"I'll come with you, of course. I'll have Wilkins bring the carriage around," he said decisively.

But Maggie had other plans. "Although I'm no longer wearing mourning clothes, this is one last thing that I must do for Gerald," she said with appropriate gravity. "Under the circumstances," which she purposely left undefined, "I think it best to go alone. Don't you?"

He turned his back to her and seemed to consider. At last, he heaved a deep, almost visible sigh. He turned back to face her. "Of course, you're right, Kitty. It was thoughtless of me. But please allow me to have Wilkins drive you."

"No, thank you, Edward. I'd much rather walk."

"It's a rather long walk, Kitty. And after you fainted yesterday, well, I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you."

She drew a deep breath and began, "Oh, Edward, you are so solicitous, but there's no need. I'm quite recovered from my fainting spell. In fact, I think the fresh air will do me a world of good."

"Well, if you're sure," he said taking her hand. "I'll walk you to the door." He escorted her to the main doors of the Great House and helped her into her short cloak. "I'll see you when you return," he kissed her hand and watched her leave.


When Maggie arrived at Evan Hanley's house, his housekeeper told her that the attorney was engaged with a business matter, but would join her shortly. She was shown into his study. Maggie sat in one of the armchairs, her eyes trained on the small box on the shelf above her. If only she could get a better look at it. She would know with certainty whether it was the box she was looking for. But she must be patient, unlike yesterday.

So when Evan Hanley entered his study, he found "Kitty" sitting, patiently awaiting his arrival. He greeted her with a gentle squeeze of her hand and a formal bow of his head. "Lady Hampshire—Kitty—how are you today?"

"I'm well, Evan. Thank you for asking. And you?" she asked.

"Fine. I suppose I should get right to it and not keep you in suspense. I received an answer to my inquiries about your late husband's estate. I'm afraid it isn't good news."

The news was such that he went to a small liquor cabinet and poured her a glass of sherry, in spite of the early hour of the day. "You might want to fortify yourself with this," he said as he handed her the glass.

"What could be so bad?" she asked him.

He sat behind the desk. "Lord Hampshire was deeply in debt, Kitty. It seems he gambled a great deal—and lost a great deal." He paused and let the news sink in.

Maggie took a sip of sherry. "So what you're saying is …" she began.

Evan spared her from having to speculate. "I'm afraid that once his debts are discharged there will be little left for you. The estate will stay in the family, in trust until his son comes of age. It will have to be leased in order to pay his son's expenses in the meantime. But the house in London, and most of his other possessions must be sold to discharge his debts."

"Poor Kitty," Maggie murmured into her glass as she took another sip of sherry. "No wonder he took his own life," she said to Evan.

"Yes, the shame would be terrible for him," he said sympathetically.

"Now only his son has to bear the shame … and me. Of course, I don't have to return to face it."

"Oh?" Evan asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Edward has invited me to stay as long as I like," she told him in a dispirited voice. She could suddenly feel deeply for Kitty and her plight. A wry expression crossed Evan's face, prompting Maggie to ask, "What? What are you not telling me?"

"It's not my place," he began.

"Oh come now, Evan. We've come this far. You may as well tell me all of it," she said more sharply than she'd intended.

"Very well. Edward may be hoping to avail himself of Gerald Soames's fortune—if you two were to marry, that is. You see his grandmother left Collinwood to Judith. Jamison and Nora are provided for, but Edward himself is a man of limited means, receiving only a small allowance and a home at Collinwood."

"So, you're saying his only interest in …" she stumbled for a moment then remembered that she was meant to be Kitty Soames and continued, "in me is pecuniary?"

"Oh, I doubt that," Evan gave her a wicked smile. "If you don't mind my saying so, Kitty, you don't seem terribly concerned about your situation."

"Well, there are some jewels that can be sold. That should provide some temporary relief." Maggie took another sip of sherry and closed her eyes. She needed to focus. Lord and Lady Hampshire's finances were a distraction. She'd come there with a purpose—and for a moment she'd lost sight of it. "Mr. Hanley—Evan, I've heard that you are conversant in the occult," Maggie began. "More than conversant, that you are a practitioner of the dark arts."

Evan registered his surprise at the turn of the conversation with a raised eyebrow. "I could say no, but it's a poorly kept secret—certainly at Collinwood everyone knows. It was one of the things that brought old Mrs. Collins and me together—our mutual interest in the occult."

She pressed forward. "Have you ever held a séance?" Maggie asked.

As he stood, Evan said, "Yes, of course. I suppose you want to contact your late husband."

Maggie's eyes followed him as he paced away from the desk. She drew a deep breath. "No. It's how I came to be here. We were holding a séance. A spirit reached out to me and when I woke, I was here," she said in an as matter of fact tone as she could manage. Evan stopped pacing and met her eyes. "I wish we could contact my husband by holding a séance, but we can't because my husband is not Gerald Soames, it's Quentin Collins."

A smile came to Evan's lips. "Another one! Quentin has another wife." He laughed. But when Maggie didn't join him, he asked, "You're quite serious, aren't you?"

"Yes," Maggie returned with gravity.

"But how? He was married to Jenny, and then …" His voice trailed off. " … Unless … but no, not even Quentin would be so …"

Maggie stopped him short. "I married Quentin, not here, but in 1968. I suspect that you know as well as I do that Quentin did not leave Collinwood. He's still there—locked in the west wing, suspended in time in an I Ching trance." She paused for a moment to gauge his reaction. Then she went on, "He emerged from the trance in 1968, and that's when I met him—and married him."

"So, Quentin is alive in 1968?" Evan tried to make sense of this unexpected information.

"Yes," Maggie told him. "He was beside me at the séance."

Clearly intrigued, the attorney asked, "Who were you attempting to contact?"

"You," she replied.

"Me? Whatever for?"

"We need your help—Quentin especially—with an artifact. We believe it belongs to you."

"And that explains your interest in my collection. Which artifact interests you enough to hold a séance to contact me?" he asked. For the first time in their acquaintance, Maggie heard a hard edge to his tone.

"That box," she gestured to the box high on the shelf above them.

Evan laughed heartily. "That box? Surely, you're mistaken. I can assure you that that box is nothing more than an ornament. I'm fond of it, as I picked it up during my travels to the Orient, but it's nothing special."

"You mean it's not the puzzle-box."

"The puzzle-box? What do you know about that?"

"It's the reason we held the séance. The box was found among your possessions, in storage at the Great House."

"Impossible. I've kept it safe for many years."

"You must tell me what you know," she pleaded.

Evan stroked his perfectly manicured goatee while he considered his response. At length, he said, "I'll tell you what I know, but …"

Maggie sighed, "But what?"

"I need something from you in exchange," he said flatly.

Maggie tried to prepare herself for what was to come. "What do you want?" she asked in a resigned tone.

"I want to see Judith."

"Judith?" Maggie was incredulous. "I've only met her once. She barely comes out of her room."

"So I've been told. Every time I've attempted to see her, I'm told that she's unwell or unwilling. But I must see her, Kitty—and I need your help."

Maggie considered. It was a reasonably small request for what she stood to gain in exchange. And more, of all the things he could have asked of her, all he wanted was to see Judith. It was touching and romantic. "All right. If you tell me about the puzzle-box, I'll take you to see Judith this afternoon. There's one more thing though."

"Go on," Evan prompted her.

"If a séance brought me to this time, do you think holding another might send me back?"

"Perhaps," he said thoughtfully.

"Then we must hold a séance—tonight, while Edward is in town."

"We can do it here, but we'll need a third person to make up the circle," he told her.

"There's no one I can trust," she said.

"Fortunately, there's someone I trust—the librarian in town, Stokes. We have a mutual interest in the occult."

"Stokes!" Maggie felt a surge of longing to be back home amongst her friends.

"Do you know him?" Evan asked.

"His descendant—Professor Stokes—is a dear friend of mine and carries on his family interest in the occult." Then Maggie said, "So we have a deal?" She extended her hand.

A bemused expression crossed Evan's face, as though he'd never had a woman offer to shake his hand before, but he shook it and said, "We do."


London 1879

When Evan Hanley arrived in London, he sensed, rather than knew, it would be his last stop before returning home to Boston. He had traveled the world, and by now his travels no longer served as a salve for his broken heart, which by then had mended. Instead, they fed his desire for adventure and nourished his interest in the occult.

When he arrived in London he felt, if not at home, the kind of familiarity a traveler feels after months of hearing and speaking one's native tongue only occasionally and intermittently. He wasn't home, but he immediately felt comfort there. As always though, there were necessities to be considered, among them a place to stay and way to earn some money.

In keeping with his recent style of travel, he'd found a bedsit not far from the train station. The next day, he'd set out to make some quick money, flogging some of the pieces he'd picked up during his travels. By now, his trunk held far more artifacts, art, and books than clothing. He hated to part with anything, but this was how he'd made his way—at least in part. So when the time came, he selected two pieces he could bear to part with, and went up to the high street in search of suitable markets or shops to try to sell his wares.

It was not chance that led him to the small shop on one of the adjoining lanes. It was an old woman with kind eyes who was tending a stall in the market and thought his pieces were too good to flog in the market. She directed him to the shop. The owner was eccentric she told Evan, but had an eye for the good stuff—and most of all, was willing to pay a fair price for it.

The moment he entered the shop, Evan knew his life would be changed forever.

Over the course of their hour-long conversation, the older man had taken a liking to Evan. Evan, in turn, sensed he'd found, if not a kindred spirit, at least an intriguing and knowledgeable one. In the end, the old shopkeeper did not buy Evan's curios, but offered him a job instead.

Thus Evan began his tenure working as a shop clerk, errand boy—and apprentice—learning everyday that there was more to his employer than met the eye.

One day, the shopkeeper gave him enough money to buy a new suit—a nice one. The first time Evan wore his new suit to the shop, he was given a new and unusual assignment. The old man had closed the shop and together they made their way to a tony London neighborhood. They'd taken tea sitting in the window of a tea-shop. The old man had rebuffed all of Evan's questions about the purpose of the outing. "Isn't tea enough?" the old man asked him.

At last, the old man spied what he was waiting for. Without waiting for the waiter, he put a pound note on the table, and they left—unheard of behavior in such a nice establishment.

An auburn-haired beauty had just emerged from the milliner opposite the tea-shop. The old man, with Evan in tow, followed her, remaining a discrete distance behind. The long plume on her elegant hat was like a signal flag for them to follow. They followed her as she visited shops along the high street. They would stop a few storefronts away and pretend to be transfixed by something in the window. They purchased newspapers to kill time while waiting for her. She maintained a leisurely pace. When Evan grew restive, the old man fixed him with a stern look, or a steadying hand on his arm. At last, she led them to her residence, where she ascended the steps and disappeared inside.

Afterward, back at the objects de arte shop, the old man told Evan that he would pay him well to do as they had done that day. He was to pick up her trail each day, follow her and learn everything he could about her and what happened around her and in her wake, and then report what he had learned. After nearly three weeks of this daily routine, Evan returned to the shop to find the old man in high spirits. For while Evan had followed the woman on her daily rounds, the old man had obtained a rare and valuable object—one that would bring an end to Evan's current occupation.


"A demon?" Maggie asked.

"Yes—in the vernacular—a demon," Evan said.

Maggie sighed. "I don't understand," she said in frustration.

Evan gave her a wicked, unsettling look. "Do you think they have horns and tails?" he asked sarcastically. Maggie's expression told him that she was not amused. He went on, "A demon is nothing more than an entity—in this case, an entity in search of a host. When it's freed from its vessel, it takes over the host. The host's life and desires become the demon's life and desires—and it will stop at nothing to get what it wants. In this case, the puzzle-box is its vessel."

"I still don't understand," Maggie said. "What does it want?"

"That's simple—it wants to be free," Evan began. "The demon is a soul—a spirit, if you will. And it's trapped in its vessel. Imagine, if you will, being trapped in darkness and isolation. It wants to be free—to live. But, it's fundamentally selfish and malicious—it can't be restrained by its host—and with each passing day, the demon grows stronger and more intent on being free, more intent on taking over its host's life, until the two separate entities—host and demon—are indistinguishable from one another."

Evan paused before continuing his explanation, "In London, the woman I trailed was on the fringes of fashionable society. She was dissatisfied with forever receiving second tier invitations. The demon emboldened her to begin to climb the social ladder. But on every rung she left behind a betrayed friend or a scorned suitor. An elicit affair was revealed, a suicide ensued, and on and on, until it was cornered and forced back into its vessel."

"But how? How does it do these things?" came Maggie's desperate voice.

"We believe it reaches into people's minds—it sees and manipulates the desires, vanity, fears of others." Evan sought Maggie's eyes and found them guarded and worried. "Perhaps you'll tell me now what your interest is in the box and what it has to do with Quentin."

"I think it might have possessed my friend," Maggie began. When Evan questioned this with a raised eyebrow, Maggie colored deeply and added, "My former fiancé." She went on impassionedly, "He's done something to Quentin—something to make him believe … that he's cursed."

"To make him believe that the werewolf curse has returned?" Evan sought clarification.

"Yes."

"You said the box was found among my possessions."

"Yes," Maggie said. "That's my understanding."

"Where?"

"At Collinwood."

"I see." Evan grew quiet and thoughtful.

Maggie broke into his thoughts by asking, "Evan, now that we know what will happen in 1969, why don't we just destroy the box now—tonight?"

Evan laughed aloud, drawing an irritated look from Maggie. "I'm sorry, my dear. It's just that, of course, it's been tried. It can't be hacked into pieces with an ax, or dissolved in the most potent acid. Once it was thrown into a fire. When the fire burned down to embers, there was the box, not even singed. So now you understand why it's not sitting on a shelf in my study. It can't be destroyed, so it must be protected."

Maggie felt dispirited and disappointed. "So what can we do?"

"It must be driven out of the host, back into its vessel."

Maggie sat for a long moment and considered. "Thank you, Evan. At least now I know what we're dealing with. All I need now is to find my way back to my own time," she added pitifully.

"I'll contact Stokes. We'll conduct the séance this evening, if you think you can get away."

"It's perfect," she said as she stood. "Edward will be in town. I'll sneak out when everyone retires for the evening. And now for my end of the bargain—I'll take you to see Judith."

"How do you propose to do that?"

"I'll sneak you in the same way I plan to sneak out later," she said decisively. "Then, I'll keep watch to ensure you're not disturbed."

"Thank you, Kitty. I suppose that's not your real name," Evan said with a knowing smile.

"No," Maggie responded. "But it's probably best that you continue to call me Kitty. Things are complicated enough as it is."

Then Evan invited "Kitty" to join him for lunch before making their way to the Great House.


In the time that she had worked at the Great House, Maggie learned many of its idiosyncratic ins and outs. The house was replete with secret passageways and hidden entrances. The entrance she would use to sneak Evan Hanley in to see Judith, she discovered one day playing hide and seek with David and Amy. David, a lifelong resident of the house, always had an advantage—and always used it to frustrate her and Amy's efforts.

On that particular day, she'd found Amy with ease, as she often did. It was either that Amy was not up to the challenge of finding good hiding places in a house full of them, or that she didn't really enjoy the game and thus hastened its end by being easily found. Either way, once Maggie found Amy, the two of them set off in search of David. They found themselves in a rarely visited wing of the house that was home primarily to storage of dusty, discarded furniture and household items. Maggie chanced to pause at the end of one of the corridors. By then her frustration was palpable. She leaned back to rest for a moment—to regroup and mask her frustration for Amy's benefit. The paneling gave way slightly to reveal a small latch and darkness beyond it. Maggie knew better than to try to coaxed a reluctant Amy to follow her into the darkness, but she made sure as they retraced their steps to remember the way they'd come. Then later, when the children were in their rooms for the night, she'd taken a flashlight back to the dark corridor, found the latch, with a flick of her finger, it opened and a dark passage lay before her. It led to a staircase that descended to the lower level of the house, and ultimately to a hidden entrance adjacent to the woods.


Evan escorted "Kitty" back to the Great House. For her plan to work, they could not arrive in the expected way in his carriage. Instead, she led him back through the woods toward the house. Evan had expected her to wilt from the walk, but she had, in fact, set the pace, and a brisk one at that.

Over lunch and as they walked, Evan peppered "Kitty" with questions about Collinwood in the future. She responded with tantalizing vagaries. She, in turn, wanted to know more about Quentin and what he was like in his own time and milieu. She definitely got the better of the exchange, as Evan was easy with observations about his friend and confidant, as well as his own life and adventures. When he was done, her expression betrayed some unspoken anxiety about the restive man she'd married.

When they reached the boundary of the woods, "Kitty" led Evan across the clearing to the door to the hidden staircase. Finding the door locked, she told him, "Wait here. I'll unlock it from the inside."

During the several minutes she was gone, Evan looked around anxiously, hoping he wouldn't be discovered lurking on the grounds of the estate. As time passed, slowly in his view, he wondered whether Kitty had been waylaid, or whether her entire story and agreement to help was false. But at last, the door opened and the woman he knew as Kitty Soames, Lady Hampshire, peeked out at him.

"I wish I had had the foresight to have a flashlight with me at the séance," she told him inscrutably. "It's pitch dark in here," she said. "We'll need to go slowly and quietly."

He followed her into the darkness. She whispered directions as they went, telling him where the stairs began, and which direction to turn when they reached the landing at the top of the stairs. She found the latch and opened the hidden panel just wide enough to confirm that there was no one around. "Let's go," she told him in an urgent whisper. "This way." She led him down the corridor to where it met the hallway that led to the family quarters, including Judith's suite.

Evan hesitated a moment at Judith's door—his hand poised to turn the knob. Only now did he picture the reception he might receive. Judith was a strong, proud woman, and the fact that she had refused to see him and left his letters of entreaty unanswered told him how things stood between them.

It was the woman who called herself Kitty who gave him the spur he needed. From behind sympathetic eyes, she asked with a cocked eyebrow, "What's the worst that could happen?"

He nodded, turned the knob, and stepped into Judith's room.

Judith, noticeably pale, sat in bed; her unfocused gaze fixed on the corner of her room. The heavy drapes were drawn leaving her in semi-darkness.

"Barnabas?" Evan heard her say softly as he opened the door.

"No, Judith. It's me." He closed the door behind him, and went to sit beside her on the edge of her bed.

Her hand went reflexively to her neck. She pulled the collar of her dressing gown tightly around it. "You shouldn't be here," she hissed.

"I had to come, Judith. I know you're angry—I know you feel betrayed." Evan reached for her hand. Not long ago she would have bestowed it willingly. But now, she flinched and shrank away from him, turning away from his gaze.

He didn't know when he would get another opportunity to see her—to be alone with her—and he was not going to squander it. His hand sought and found hers, drawing it away from her neck. He held her hand and found it cold to the touch. "Judith, you're cold. When I leave, I'll ask Kitty to send the maid up to start your fire. In the meantime, some sunlight will help." He went to the window and drew open the draperies.

Judith turned away from the light and uttered a pitiful noise that just about broke Evan's heart.


Maggie waited in the hallway outside of Judith's room. Her mind kept drifting back to her conversation with Evan—to the things he'd told her about Quentin—things her husband had never told her about himself. Between her confab with the family attorney and Edward's tart pronouncements, she'd learned more about her husband in a few days in 1897 than she had in months of marriage in 1969.

She would have indulged this train of thought had it not been for the sound of steps approaching.

She turned to meet them. "Edward!" she said loud enough to be heard within Judith's adjacent suite.

"Kitty, what are you doing here?" Edward asked.

"I was looking for you, Edward," she said, again in a deliberately loud voice. "I was hoping we might take a turn around the garden, maybe out to the gazebo and back, and perhaps take tea together before you have to go into town." She hoped Evan had heard her, taken the hint, and would leave in their wake.

Edward colored slightly and inclined his head toward hers. "Why, Kitty, my dear, there is nothing I should like more than that." He offered her his arm.

As she threaded her arm through Edward's, Maggie felt deep pangs of guilt. She was leading him on, giving him false hope. She consoled herself with the thought that if the séance was successful and she was returned to 1969, perhaps Kitty Soames would be returned to 1897, and she and Edward might actually find happiness together. His harsh words about Quentin notwithstanding, Edward deserved some measure of happiness and certainly, if anyone did, it was Kitty.

In the foyer, Maggie retrieved Kitty's short cloak, and Edward helped her into it. Then, arm in arm they made their way through the garden toward the gazebo. It remained one of Maggie's favorite places on the estate. It seemed such a unique feature. For years, growing up on the fringes of the estate's wealthy family, Maggie had imagined generations of Collinwood lovers meeting there for semi-secret trysts. She remembered a time, not long before they married, when she and Quentin ran into each other there quite by chance, and they'd ended up making out—kissing until her lips felt swollen and sore, and still they weren't sated. She missed him so. And now here she was with his brother of all people. She sighed aloud.

"Are you all right, Kitty?" Edward asked.

"Of course. You mustn't worry so much," she chided him gently.

"But I do. Especially after … well," he fumbled for the words. "I envied Gerald, you know," he said at last. "He was a lucky man to have had such companionship as yours. Did he know, I wonder? Did he know what he had in you?"

"People rarely do in the moment," she responded in a neutral tone. By now, they were ascending the gazebo's few steps.

"You are wise beyond your years, Kitty." He went on as though thinking aloud, "He couldn't have known how special you are. If he had, he would never have left you as he did." When he realized what he'd said, he told her, "I'm so sorry, Kitty. I know it must be very raw for you still."

She tried to reassure him, though she found it a particularly thoughtless thing to say. "Never mind, Edward. I suppose I will have to get used to such observations."

"Not on my part—I promise," he pledged passionately.

She pressed his hand gently. "I find I've grown quite tired. Would you mind if we return now and forego tea? I think I would like to rest in my room before dinner," Maggie said, donning her best Lady Hampshire mien. She wasn't Kitty, but she felt strongly for the woman, who would forever be reminded of her husband's suicide—even by the caring, well-intentioned people in her life.

Edward was appropriately chastened. "Of course, Kitty. Whatever you like." He led her back the way they'd come. He opened the front door of the Great House and ushered her in.

Evan Hanley stood in the foyer, catching Maggie completely by surprise.

"Hanley," Edward said in a brusque tone, "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to see Lady Hampshire on a matter of business," the family attorney replied.

"Kitty," Maggie said cordially. "We agreed that you are to call me, Kitty."

Edward behaved as though she hadn't spoken. "Lady Hampshire is tired and was just on her way upstairs to rest. Surely this matter can wait until tomorrow."

Maggie worked hard to mask her annoyance with Edward. "It's quite all right, Edward," she began with an edge in her voice. Then with more patience than she felt, she added, "I should very much like to hear what he has to say."

"It will only take a few minutes," Evan said as much to Edward as to Kitty.

"Well, if you're sure, Kitty," Edward clucked.

"I am. We can speak in the drawing room." To Edward, she added, "Alone."

Once inside the drawing room with the doors securely closed, Maggie asked sotto voce, "How is Judith?"

A dark cloud of an expression passed over Evan's face. "Not well, I'm afraid. I hated to leave her, but I must figure out what is to be done to help her—and soon."

Maggie felt selfish turning the subject, but asked, "Why did you stay to see me?"

"I called Stokes. I told him that I needed his help and that I would fill him in later. I must have pricked his curiosity, because he's agreed to come to my house at midnight. You must come then. I can meet you in my carriage at the end of the drive."

"No," Maggie said. "The carriage will be too conspicuous. I'll walk there."

"Through the woods at night?" Evan asked.

"I know the woods well. I'll be careful," she told him.

"Please do," he said. Then he offered her his hand, as she had offered him hers on the previous day.

She took it in both of hers. "I can't thank you enough, Evan, for helping me."

When he took his leave, Maggie made her way from the drawing room, across the foyer, and back upstairs to Kitty's guest room to rest before dinner.


Angelique had spent the day settling into her suite of rooms in the Great House's east wing. She had arrived mid-morning, shortly after her trunks were delivered, and learned from the housekeeper that Edward was working in the library, Lady Hampshire had not yet come downstairs, and Judith once again kept to her room.

And so, as she unpacked her few possessions—all courtesy of Barnabas and the Collins family name—she contemplated her tenuous hold on the man she loved. She had always loved Barnabas, and she supposed she always would. The past weeks had been the happiest of her life. She had what she wanted at last—Barnabas was hers.

And he'd been happy too—she knew it, she could see it. Not once had he asked to be released from their agreement. She would meet him each evening when he rose—and the night became their time. Not once had he asked her to release him from the curse of vampirism—though they both knew that it was the curse that allowed her to exert control over him. He was content—yes, content—to be hers and hers alone—until now.

Now she found herself and her happiness threatened, by the only person who could pose a threat to her—a person from their past—Josette DuPres. It didn't matter whether or not Kitty Soames was Josette reincarnated. The only thing that mattered was that Barnabas believed her to be.

Angelique hung her green day dress in the wardrobe, then the blue travel suit. As she finished hanging the last of her clothing, she began plotting Lady Hampshire's demise. Her methods were crude, but time-tested. All she needed was one of Kitty's possessions—a handkerchief would do. With something as small as a handkerchief monogrammed with the initials "KS", she would remind Barnabas that she was not to be trifled with. She would show it to him, and he would know that Kitty's fate was in his hands.

She felt a surge of power. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with her shallow breathing. Her eyes opened wide, she looked at herself in the mirror. She had worked too hard to secure Barnabas—and she would fight to keep him.


When Barnabas rose that evening, slowly lifting the lid to his coffin, he found his servant, Sandor, waiting for him. For a brief moment, he allowed hope to expand in his chest that perhaps Angelique was elsewhere. His eyes met Sandor's and the servant answered the question without it being spoken. "She's upstairs waiting for you in the sitting room," he drawled.

Barnabas released a deflated sigh. Still, this brief window away from his fiancé provided the opportunity he needed to give his servant instructions that were to remain between the two of them. Then he prepared to join Angelique. In the span of a few short days, he had gone from admiring her unique gifts, to feeling suffocated by her. Though nothing had changed, save for his perspective. He became aware how she never left him alone. She had no interests other than being by his side. She had built her life around his.

It was true that during the day while he was confined to his coffin, she had undertaken to see that Sandor attended to the Old House, as he should. Since their engagement, she had superintended a number of repairs, and the house had been thoroughly cleaned. She was, in effect, already the mistress of the Old House.

What's more, she was a favorite in town. When they would dine at the Inn, she commanded respect from all who met them there. He had wondered whether Angelique's particular charms had anything to do with it. But it hadn't mattered, at least not until Kitty Soames arrived and reminded him of who and what he wanted to be. Now anything less would seem like a compromise. It was this thought that creased the edges of his eyes and dragged at the corners of his lips when he met her in the sitting room.


As they made their way from the Old House to the estate's main residence, Barnabas contemplated his plan. He was silent to the point of seeming sullen.

When she could no longer bear it, Angelique asked, "Is it always going to be this way, Barnabas, now that you've met her?"

He played it off, saying, "Met who, Angelique?"

"Don't trifle with me, Barnabas," she returned in a threatening tone.

"I'm not," he said with as much authenticity as he could muster. He sighed but said, "I have pledged myself to you, for this year, and I intend to honor our agreement."

"Very nice words, Barnabas. I hope you mean them."

He stopped there on the path and turned to her. "I do, Angelique. I know that I've not told you as often as I should or in the way that I should, but we are well-suited to one another—you and I."

His words had the desired effect. "Oh, Barnabas," she began—her eyes like beacons behind long lashes. "If only I could believe you."

"You can—you must."

"And what of Kitty Soames? Of Josette? I've not forgotten what you said."

"Nor have I, but I've come to realize that Josette is but a dream, and you are real." To underscore the point, he took her in his arms. For a moment, the bloodlust surged inside of him and became manifest.

Perhaps sensing this, she broke away from him, and met his guilty eyes with her knowing ones. "Come, Barnabas." She turned and led the way to the Great House.


When they arrived in the foyer, they found the Great House preternaturally quiet. The drawing room was empty; no one was about.

Barnabas turned to Angelique. "I must go and see my cousin, Judith." A familiar look of disgust passed over the sorceress's face. It was always so, when Barnabas introduced the reality of his blood-slaves into her sanitized version of their lives. "You know I must," he added for emphasis.

What she thought about his bloodlust had been evident when he held her earlier. It was natural that he should want to sublimate it, as well as sating his need for blood. Still, she found it at once disgusting and humiliating. "Of course," she managed to say in a tone intended to mask it. "I'll be in the drawing room when you return."

Barnabas inclined his head to her then made his way to Judith's suite of rooms. He knocked softly on her door before entering. "Barnabas," she said, as she sat up at once and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "You've come at last."

He went and sat beside her on the bed. She loosened the high collar of her dressing gown to reveal the barely healed puncture wounds, and offered him her neck. For a moment, he struggled against his baser instincts. He could simply look into her eyes and compel her cooperation with his plan, but his hunger—his desire—once unleashed could not be sated with anything less. At the sight of his fangs, Judith's face betrayed both her desire and fear. Then she surrendered herself and he took what he craved.

When he was done, she lay back among the pillows, pale and weak. "I need something more from you, Judith," Barnabas said, as he fixed her with his gaze.

Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "Yes, Barnabas. Tell me what I must do."


When Barnabas returned to the drawing room, Angelique was impatiently pacing. Her face bore the same expression as when he'd left her. At these times, her distain was never far from the surface. Yet, she had made him so, and she could undo it, if she wanted to. But she did not. The curse represented her best chance of holding onto the man—the creature—she loved.

He began, "You must go to her, Angelique."

"What?"

"You must go to her—to Judith," he said in an impassioned voice. "I fear I may have gone too far. She is weak—very weak."

Angelique's eyes flashed. "Gone too far? Really, Barnabas …"

"Please Angelique," he pleaded. "Please go and sit with her until she recovers her strength."

"And if she doesn't?" she demanded angrily. He turned away from her angry stare. "Very well, Barnabas." She could think of nothing more to say, as she swept out of the room and ascended the stairs.

Barnabas poured himself a sherry and willed himself to be patient. He must wait and be sure that Angelique ascended the stairs; that she had time to arrive at Judith's suite; and that she closed the door to the prying eyes of the household staff. He took a long, deep sip of the sherry. It was hard to be patient knowing that he was moments away from attaining his heart's desire—to be reunited with Josette.

After several minutes had passed, he set aside the half-full glass. He crossed the foyer and opened the doors of the Great House. He searched among the bushes that bounded the front drive until he found it. It was where he had instructed Sandor to leave it for him. It was still wrapped in a soft cloth to protect it from the elements. He retrieved it and headed upstairs to the Great House guest quarters.


Maggie was buoyed by nervous anticipation. Although the séance was still hours away, if all went well, she'd be home before long.

To kill time, she had already donned one of Kitty's evening dresses—a lovely mauve silk, that showed off her décolletage. Elsie had come and gone—helping "Lady Kitty" with the finishing touches on her dress and refreshing her hair for the evening. All in all, it seemed like a great deal of effort. With Edward away for the evening, it was likely to be only Barnabas, Angelique, and her, unless Judith felt up to joining them. It would no doubt be a dull and awkward affair. Suddenly she realized that she wished Edward would be there. As it was, she would have to exert herself to make small talk until she could excuse herself, and then sneak out to meet Evan and Stokes at midnight.

She stood looking out of the window on the grounds of the great estate below. Stay focused on your goal, she told herself. Stay focused on the séance, on going home.

A soft knock on her door broke into her thoughts. Believing it must be Elsie returning, she answered, "Come in." She turned and was taken aback to see Barnabas stepping through the doorway. "Barnabas!" Her eyes were wide with surprise. Seeing him now, like this, she marveled at how much he was like the Barnabas from her own time—the way his eyes likewise made her feel uneasy.

He softly closed the door. "Kitty, I had to see you —to speak to you alone."

"What is it?" Maggie asked. "What do you want?"

"Kitty, I must speak to you."

Maggie once again donned her Lady Hampshire countenance. "This is highly irregular, Mr. Collins. What would people think if they knew you were here in my room?"

"I don't care."

"Well, I do," she began.

But Barnabas cut her off. "I've come to give you something—a gift," he said, stepping further into the room.

Maggie took a retreating step, but then froze. She noticed he held something in his hands—a small object, wrapping in a swathe of cloth. She relented. "What is it?" she asked, trying to convey strength, but finding her words laced with fear.

"Only this," he said as he peeled open the cloth to reveal Josette's music box.

Maggie's breath caught in her throat. Disbelief suffused her face. "What is it?" she cried. "Why do I feel so strange?" She was overwhelmed by something she could not name.

"You recognize it, don't you? Because it is yours, Josette. Long have I waited for this moment, and now here you are at last—my very own Josette—reborn as Lady Hampshire."

Maggie found she could not move—something held her back. It was not fear. It was something else—something just out of reach of her consciousness.

Barnabas approached her, the cloth falling away as he did. He pressed the box into her hands.

Maggie shook her head slowly. "I … I don't understand."

"You will, my love. You will, Josette," Barnabas told her passionately. He put his hands over hers and opened the box. The music began to play.

Maggie closed her eyes and the music filled her mind. Then she felt it, and she knew she'd felt it before. "No," she said. "No!" She shook her head violently. That music! The memory of it flooded Maggie's mind.

She could hear Barnabas saying "Please Josette." But his words shattered against the notes of the music. She dropped the music box. It clattered to the floor and rolled away from them. Her body moved of its own volition, pushing past Barnabas. Her quaking hands found the doorknob and she rushed into the hallway. Barnabas followed, calling, "Please Josette, come back to me."

Panic drove her body forward. At the end of the hallway, she turned down the corridor that housed the family's rooms. Her footfall was naturally light and quick, but his feet fell heavily without regard to the other occupants.

Maggie kept pushing forward until she found herself on the landing above the foyer. She gathered the skirt of Kitty's dress in her hands and fled down the stairs. Barnabas kept pace a few feet behind, following her out into the night.

A stiff breeze now blew—a storm was threatening. Maggie could hear thunder rumbling in the background, but the tinkling of the music-box continued in the forefront of her brain—nothing could drive it out—not the sound of the thunder, or Barnabas's voice calling out not to Kitty, but to Josette.

Maggie ran wildly into the woods. Her breath came in gulps—rapid and short. Her feet led her through the woods until she emerged into a clearing—at the bluffs of Widows' Hill. There was nowhere left to run. She stopped and turned back toward the woods. Barnabas emerged a step behind her.

The breeze picked up and slashed Maggie's tendrils across her face. The clap of thunder was closer now—still she could not drive the sound of the music-box from her mind. She let go of the folds of Kitty's dress. The lovely mauve fabric was crushed from her grip. Her hands went to her ears, covering them as she tried to obliterate the sound of the music.

Barnabas held out his hand to her. "Come to me, Josette, and you are my Josette. The music has touched your soul. Tell me you feel it—tell me you are my Josette."

Maggie opened her mouth to respond—her mind awhirl. But before she could speak, a voice broke through the night. It could be heard above the thunder and the crashing surf on the shore below the bluffs.

"Your Josette?" the voice said in a chiding tone. "Does your Josette know what you are, Barnabas?" Angelique emerged from the woods into the clearing.

"Please Angelique," Barnabas pleaded.

"Did you think there would be no consequences for this betrayal?" Angelique asked, her eyes shining bright in the dark night, her blond curls luminous even on a moonless night.

"She's done nothing," Barnabas pleaded. "Let her go in peace, and I will stay with you."

"Was a year so much to ask, Barnabas?" Angelique asked.

"I will stay with you, Angelique," Barnabas told her.

Angelique ignored him. Her eyes fixed on "Kitty". "Do you know what he is?" Angelique asked her. "I will show you not what he is," she continued, "but what he will turn you into."

Angelique raised her hands, and an image appeared before them. "He would take you as his bride," Angelique intoned. "Make you as he is," she went on. From the darkness an image was revealed. It was a woman. She wore a wedding dress—long and white in the style of the times, high-necked, with tiers of white lace. Then as the image became clear, the bride drew back the veil. Maggie could see that the face was hers. Two rivulets of blood soaked through the collar of the dress. Dark circles ringed her eyes—and they were dead, devoid of life and vitality.

"Stop it, Angelique," Barnabas cried out.

But she did not stop. "Look at her, Kitty." Maggie found she could not tear her eyes away. The image opened its mouth, as though to speak—two fangs protruded and dripped with blood.

"Stop!" Maggie cried out at last.

"Look at her, Kitty. This is the fate he would choose for you. This is the fate he envisions for his precious Josette," Angelique told her in a fierce, angry tone.

"Please stop!" Maggie cried again.

Angelique's bitter laugh rang through the night air. "Look at her, my dear Kitty. This is what he offers you."

Maggie took a few faltering steps backward. She pressed her eyes shut to blot out the image before her. The sound of the music-box still formed a mental soundtrack to the witch's cruelty. She covered her ears with her hands in a vain attempt to silence it. "No!" she cried out as she turned away from the apparition. She felt the soft ground at the edge of the bluff crumbling beneath her feet, and saw the rocks below Widows' Hill rising up to the greet her. "No!"