The sun's appearance on the eastern horizon brings a new day to Collinwood and vanquishes what remains of an eventful night. The full moon brought together a constellation of Collinwood residents; its departure has left none untouched. A sorceress has used her powers to conquer a demon that walked among them, leaving those who bore witness forever changed.


The night of the full moon, Julia received a frantic call from Maggie, begging her to come to the farm, where she was urgently needed.

Julia had been pacing the drawing room of the Great House, feeling at loose ends and missing Barnabas more than she cared to admit. She'd been made to feel extraneous—on the outside looking in. With Barnabas, it had been different. He relied on her; he'd grown to trust her. And while they hadn't always agreed on a course of action, he always turned to her for advice and support—or so it felt through the soft lens of hindsight. Regardless, that night she missed him—actively missed him. She considered going to the basement of the Old House to see him. She was sorely tempted. Though his consciousness was still elsewhere courtesy of the I Ching, a physical manifestation of him still resided, deep in a trance state, in the Old House. But she would feel pathetic going to him to alleviate her loneliness and disappointment at being excluded from the exorcism.

Only she and Mrs. Johnson were at home. Carolyn had taken David and Amy out for burgers and a movie; Mrs. Stoddard was dining with another member of the hospital board at the Inn; and Roger had gone to Bangor again, to beat back his feelings of rejection when Angelique was once again too busy to see him. Even Harry Johnson, the housekeeper's unctuous son, had gone to the Blue Whale to try his luck with any unsuspecting female he could find.

The sound of the phone sent a shock through the near silence. "I'll get it, Mrs. Johnson," Julia had called out then realized how small the odds were that the housekeeper would hear her.

"Hello," she said. It was as much a question as a greeting.

"Julia—thank heaven you're there. You must come at once. We need you," came Maggie's frantic voice through the handset.

"Maggie? What is it? What happened?" Julia asked in rapid succession.

"I'll explain everything when you get here. I'll meet you at the gate. Please hurry, Julia—and bring your medical bag!" Maggie hung up before Julia could ask more questions.

Julia's mind was swirling—had the exorcism been successful? Who was hurt? Clearly not Maggie, but what about Eliot? He was the only other among them without the ability to protect himself—he was vulnerable.

She went to the foyer, donned her coat and scarf, grabbed her handbag and medical bag from the entryway table, and headed to the farm, without even thinking to tell Mrs. Johnson she was leaving.


Maggie wanted nothing more than to go back to Quentin, but she was stuck waiting for Julia. She stood beside the open gate, looking down the access road, waiting for the lights of Julia's car. Her mind led her back to the entrance to the cellar, where her husband lay bleeding. She looked at her hands, still sticky with blood.

In the moment the demon was driven from Joe's body, he experienced lucidity—he was himself again. "Maggie!" Joe called out to her as she tended to her injured husband. "I'm sorry, Maggie. I never meant to hurt anyone." He pulled himself to a seat on the ground where only moments before he collapsed when the demon left its host.

"I know, Joe," Maggie said reassuringly. She angled her body so that she could keep pressure on Quentin's wound, even as she made eye contact with Joe. "I know it wasn't you, Joe."

"Do you, Maggie? Because nothing is more important to me …" he began. His words slowed. "You … need to know ... nothing is ..."

"Joe! What's wrong?" Maggie said.

"Maggie," Quentin had said in his human voice. His eyes opened; they were Quentin's again. He was no longer possessed. "Go—go and get Julia," he continued.

"I can't leave you like this," Maggie said as she turned back to fully face him. His face was pale—drained of its usual color. His eyes fixed on hers with an unfocused gaze.

"I need a doctor, Maggie. Go—get Julia."

She turned to where the professor was gently cradling Angelique. "Professor, can you go to the house and call Julia?"

Professor Stokes looked toward her in the darkness. "It will be faster if you go, my dear," he responded.

Maggie took Quentin's hand in hers then placed it firmly on the blood soaked scarf that she used to staunch his bleeding. "Keep pressure on it, as much as you can." He nodded in response.

As she passed where the professor sat with Angelique, he said, "Take the box, Maggie." He gestured toward the momentarily forgotten source of their current situation. "Keep it safe." Maggie retrieved the small box, shoved it into the pocket of her coat, and ran to the house.

Now she waited impatiently for Julia's arrival. She could have told Julia to meet her at the root cellar, but the doctor didn't know the farm very well, and it might have taken longer for her to reach the cellar unaccompanied than if Maggie waited and guided her there. Objectively, no more than ten minutes could have passed, but each minute stretched on and on.

At last, she saw the headlights in the distance.


When she and Maggie arrived at the entrance to the root cellar, Julia went first to attend to Quentin. She assessed his shoulder by the dim light of Maggie's flashlight.

"We have to get him to the hospital," Julia said summarily.

"No!" It was Quentin who spoke.

"Quentin, you need more than I can do for you here. The wound is deep and you've lost a lot of blood," was Julia's frustrated retort.

"What will we say happened?" Maggie wondered aloud.

But Julia replied as though the question was directed to her. "I'll think of something."

Julia stood. Maggie took her place beside Quentin, relieved him of the blood soaked scarf, and resumed applying pressure to her husband's shoulder.

Julia had turned to Joe. He sat stock still on the ground. "Julia?" Maggie said. Her question was implicit.

"It was the demon that animated the healthy part of his mind," Professor Stokes said.

"Yes," Julia said, as she rose from where she'd bent to examine Joe. "Without it, I'm afraid Joe has relapsed." She took note of the professor holding a woozy Angelique. "What's wrong with her?" Julia asked in a tart tone.

"She fainted from the exertion," Professor Stokes responded. "But she seems to be coming around."

"Good," Julia said just as Angelique's eyes fluttered open. "Perhaps you can see that she gets home safely, while Maggie and I take Quentin and Joe to the hospital."

"Of course," he said simply. "Are you all right, my dear?" Professor Stokes asked Angelique.

"Yes, I think so," though she struggled to sit upright. The professor, still cradling her shoulders, gently assisted. "Was I … was I successful?" she asked.

"Yes, yes you were. You were simply magnificent," Professor Stokes told her.


By the time Julia arrived at the Collinsport Hospital, with her two patients and the woman who cared deeply for both of them in tow, it was well past midnight. Quentin's wound, though painful, was not life threatening. He'd been lucky given how close the blade had come to his heart. As it was, the blade deeply pierced his muscle and sinew, but he would heal.

Joe had not been as lucky. Without the demon's will to survive and fulfill its host's desires and ambitions, Joe withdrew again, and reverted to his semi-catatonic state.

Dr. Woodard, attending at the hospital that evening, met them, and ushered the patients into separate examination areas. Joe moved as guided, but with slow, deliberate movements. Julia led him to a chair then closed the curtain. When a nurse arrived to check Joe's vital signs, Julia left and went to check on Quentin.

She entered just as Dr. Woodard was questioning Maggie about the nature of Quentin's wound. "What kind of accident, Maggie?"

"Well, you know we've been renovating the old Peabody farm and there are so many hidden hazards in the old place. I'm afraid Quentin was trying to remove this metal shard from one of the posts in the root cellar …" Maggie began.

The doctor interrupted her. "It's a very clean wound," he observed. "Not jagged as one might expect from …"

Before Julia could intervene, Maggie started to cry loudly. She covered her face in her hands, but said in a clear voice, "There was so much blood, Dr. Woodard."

"Calm down, Maggie. It's going to be all right," Dr. Woodard said, looking up at Maggie over his glasses.

Quentin lay on the exam table with his eyes closed, but listening to all that transpired. He knew his wife well enough to hear the pretence in her voice.

Then Julia stepped in. "So what's his prognosis, Dave?" she asked.

"He'll need some subcutaneous sutures, and probably a tetanus shot, but he'll be fine. He's lost a lot of blood, so I'd like to keep him overnight," Dr. Woodard concluded. He called a nurse to organize the suture kit. Then he continued, "What about Joe?"

"I'm afraid he's suffered a relapse," Julia told him. "A nurse is with him now, but I think I should drive him to Windcliff—tonight."

"Tonight? Is that really necessary, Julia?" Dr. Woodard asked.

"I think it's for the best, Dave," Julia replied.

Dave Woodard pinched the bridge of his nose above his glasses and sighed. "I've known Joe since he was a boy." He added in a sad but resigned voice, "I don't understand what happened to him. What drove him to madness in the first place? And, well, every time I've seen him since he came back he seemed like his old self again. I just don't understand it." The doctor shook his head. He turned to Maggie. "Do you know what happened? Was Joe at the farm when Quentin had his accident?"

"Dave, shouldn't you be attending to your patient's wound rather than interrogating his wife?" Julia asked in an irritated voice.

"It's okay, Julia. Yes, he was there when Quentin had his accident," Maggie said. "It's no secret that he and Quentin weren't friends, but I was hoping to change that. Joe arrived earlier than expected and Quentin was still in the root cellar. Maybe it was the sight of all that blood—it must have brought up bad memories for Joe."

Quentin's eyes opened and sought Maggie's.

Dr. Woodard said, "Well, I guess there's no need to call Sheriff Patterson." He sighed again.

"Sheriff Patterson?" Julia was emphatically incredulous.

Dr. Woodard gestured her out of the exam area just beyond the curtain. "It's customary, in cases such as these …" Dave Woodard began, only to be cut off by Julia.

"In cases such as these?" she repeated. "Cases such as what, Dave? It was an accident—nothing more."

"Calm down, Julia. I just said that I'm not going to call the sheriff, but I can't help but believe there's more to the story."

Julia swept past Dr. Woodard and reentered the exam area where Maggie stood beside Quentin. "Maggie, would you like me to drive you back to the estate before I take Joe to Windcliff?"

"No, thank you, Julia. I'm not leaving," Maggie told her.

Dr. Woodard appeared behind Julia. "That's not necessary, Maggie. He'll be fine. You should go home and get some rest," he said.

"I prefer to stay, Dr. Woodard. I'll sleep in a chair if I have to."

"Very well," the doctor said. He stood facing the united front of Julia and Maggie.

Julia said, "It seems everything is decided." To Maggie, she said, "I'm sorry, Maggie, there's nothing more I can do for Joe here. I think Windcliff is his best chance for a full recovery."

"I understand," Maggie said simply.

"I'll stop by to check on Quentin tomorrow when I return from Windcliff," Julia continued.

In a moment of rapprochement, which was lost on Dr. Woodard, but clear to Quentin and Julia, Maggie said, "Thank you, Julia. Thank you for everything."


The afternoon following the exorcism, Angelique felt quite recovered—more than that, she felt triumphant. She had exorcised a demon—her powers were ascendant. She envied the demon its power to read and influence others. Such power would have made it easy, though less satisfying, to bring Barnabas to heel. Still, she would soon have the means to vanquish her rival once and forever.

She had enjoyed a leisurely day as she recovered her strength and focus. She'd taken a bubble bath and then had a late breakfast delivered to her room. It was nearly noon when Roger called to invite her to spend the afternoon with him. She declined, claiming she was under the weather, but promising to see him the following day. He was effusively disappointed. Angelique drew a deep breath to mask her irritation. She was already tired of him; she was ready to turn the page, to reclaim what was rightfully hers, and take her place as mistress of the Old House.


Quentin reclined on the couch of the farmhouse sitting room. His left arm was in a sling, courtesy of Dr. Woodard's ministrations. Pain still radiated from the deep wound in his shoulder. He could hear Maggie moving around in the kitchen. A moment later she was at his side. She placed a glass of water and a full pitcher on the coffee table, and moved it to within his reach.

"Are you sure you wouldn't be more comfortable upstairs in bed?" Maggie asked.

"I'm fine here, but bring me the brandy and a glass," he said in response.

She gave him a disapproving look, but went to their small liquor cabinet and retrieved the brandy for him. She even poured two fingers into the glass.

As she handed it to him, he said, "We need to talk, Maggie." His tone, stern and serious, took her aback.

"Quentin, I … I," she stammered. "I have to go out now," she finally managed to say.

"Now?" he looked out of the window. The sun was sinking toward the horizon. There would be another full moon that night; he could feel it approaching.

"Yes, I have to meet someone," she said in a rushed voice, already moving toward the entryway. "But I won't be long. We'll talk when I get back. I promise," she said as she disappeared from his view.

"Maggie!" She heard him say as she departed, but she didn't respond or turn back.


When Maggie arrived at Widows' Hill, the second-night full moon was just beginning its ascent into the night sky. She could see Angelique silhouetted by its growing light. Her blond hair was loose about her shoulders; as it reflected the moonlight, it cast a spell of its own.

"What took you so long?" the sorceress asked Maggie, as she turned to face her ostensible rival.

"I had to go to the Great House to retrieve it," Maggie answered. Angelique's ageless nature induced Maggie to treat her with the kind of deference she reserved for adults when she was a child. Now the feeling of intimidation welled up inside of her. She knew—she had witnessed—what this woman, this creature was capable of.

"Well?" Angelique demanded.

Maggie stepped out of the edge of the woods that sheltered her and into the clearing that abutted the bluffs of Widows' Hill. Suddenly, she felt as though she was bathed in the light of the still-rising moon and its reflection in the sorceress's hair. Her hands slowly moved forward in a tentative gesture of offering. She opened the small velvet bag. It fell away and pooled over her hands and wrists, to reveal Josette's music-box. "This," Maggie said, regaining her adult voice, "this is Josette's vessel. Her spirit resides within and is carried by its tune."

Angelique approached her and took the music-box. She turned away from Maggie to examine it in the moonlight. Maggie lowered her hands to her lap. The velvet bag fell discarded to the ground.

Maggie continued. "Each time Barnabas would play it for me, I could feel her—Josette. I could feel her spirit."

"Then why hasn't she possessed you?" Angelique asked with irrational bitterness.

"She isn't strong like the demon." Maggie, in spite of her reticence to relive those frightening, bleak days, searched for the words to describe what she now understood to be the essence of Josette DuPres. "She's delicate, fragile … and lonely—so very lonely. She isn't strong enough to force her will on another. She's looking for a willing host."

"And she didn't find one in you," Angelique said flatly.

"No. I clung to being Maggie … to returning to Pop and Joe. If they hadn't been waiting for me—searching for me—perhaps things would have been different."

"How touching," Angelique sneered. At no time in her varied existences had she ever inspired such sentimentality, she silently reflected with bitterness.

"Please, Angelique," Maggie said, her voice accompanied by the sound of the surf below the bluffs. "Please release Josette's spirit. I've seen your power," Maggie appealed to the witch's vanity. "You can free her. Cast her spirit out—here on Widows' Hill. What could be more fitting? Then Barnabas will never have the means to bring her back. You'll have vanquished her once and for all."

Angelique seemed to consider. She fixed Maggie with a thoughtful gaze. "I have held up my end of the bargain," she began. Holding up the music-box for Maggie to see one last time, she continued, "With this, you have upheld yours. What happens now is no longer your concern."

"Angelique, please," Maggie began her plea again.

"Go, Maggie," Angelique thundered, her voice rising loud above the sound of the waves. "Go now, while it's still you that I see and not Josette. Go now. Go back to your precious husband and your precious farmhouse. Go, while I'm still inclined to let you leave."

Though it didn't make sense to her, tears pricked Maggie's eyes and her throat burned with the sudden reflex to cry. She turned and fled back into the woods where no one would bear witness to her tears.


As the waves rhythmically approached then retreated from the rocks below Widows' Hill, Angelique stood examining her prize in the light of the growing full moon. She felt certain that Maggie was right. At last she had her rival, Josette DuPres, literally in her hands.

Although she'd used words like delicate and fragile, Maggie was right about Josette's spirit. But Angelique would describe Josette as weak—too weak to exert her will on an unwilling host and find her way back to Barnabas—too weak to deserve Barnabas's undying love. It would be so easy to open the music-box and send Josette's spirit out to sea, and then shattered the box into hundreds of tiny pieces. She possessed the power to do it. Maggie was right—Barnabas would never again have the means to bring Josette back to life.

But neither would she have his love. She'd come close to making him love her. In 1897, for a brief, beautiful time, he'd treated her with respect, affection even. She wanted that again. She would never achieve it by exorcising her rival—no, she must supplant her. Only then would she win out over Josette DuPres.

She knew what she must do. It was time to return Barnabas to this time—to wake him from the I Ching trance—to bring him back to witness the woman, so much like Josette, married to, and in love with his cousin. That would be punishment enough, but with the music-box in her possession, she would have Josette as hostage lest he forget again what he owed her.

This time will be different. This time, he will learn to love me.


By the time her tears abated, Maggie found herself deep in the woods. Why? She wondered. What brought on her tears? Did Angelique frighten her so? Or was it some lingering connection to Josette DuPres? Was it the realization that she had made it possible to banish Josette's spirit forever? Surely, it was the right thing to do—to let Josette finally be at peace. Nevertheless, she was responsible for extinguishing what remained of Josette DuPres and it left her feeling emotionally unsettled. And then she remembered Kitty. It was the existence of Josette's spirit that had almost certainly cost Kitty Soames her life—Kitty, who had done nothing to deserve her fate, except have the misfortune to resemble Josette DuPres.

Maggie shoved her hands in her pockets in search of tissue or a handkerchief. Instead, she realized that the puzzle-box was still in the pocket of her jacket. She resisted the temptation the remove it and examine it. She turned away from the path that led back to the farm, and instead headed into town. It was a long walk, but a welcome one. In the time it took her to reach Professor Stokes's apartment in Collinsport, she was done with tears. Although it wasn't late, it was later than she'd ever deigned to visit him uninvited before.


"Maggie, my dear. Come in, please," the professor said in response to her tentative knock.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Not at all. I've just finished a rather solitary meal, and would welcome the company," he said with formal cordiality. He gestured her toward his sitting room. "I was about to begin my notes on the events of the past few days," he added, indicating a notebook that lay open on his desk. "So, this is a welcome distraction. May I offer you a glass of sherry?"

"Yes, please," Maggie said as she took off her coat and draped it across the arm of the couch.

"Julia came by earlier," he said as he poured their drinks. He returned to where Maggie sat and handed her her drink. "Cheers," he said, offering his glass. The delicate stemmed glass was so incongruous in his large hand. She joylessly touched it with hers and took a sip. The professor continued, "She told me about Joe Haskell. I am sorry."

"So am I," Maggie responded sadly. She fell silent and sipped the sherry.

Eliot Stokes lowered himself into the armchair opposite his guest. "As welcome as this visit is, I daresay you've not come for a glass of sherry at this time of evening. What brings you here, Maggie?"

Maggie set her sherry on the end-table and reached for her coat. "I've come to bring you this," she said as she produced the puzzle-box from the pocket. "I was out walking in the woods when I realized it was still in my pocket."

"Indeed," the professor said, registering some doubt with a raised eyebrow. "What are we to do with it?" he wondered aloud.

"I hoped you would take it," Maggie ventured. "Evan said it was passed from one guardian to another. You could be its next guardian."

The professor grew thoughtful for a few moments. "At my age and time of life, I feel ill-suited to such a task." They sat in silence for a time as he considered. "Angelique has the requisite skills to keep it safe," he mused aloud.

"If she could be trusted," Maggie said bitterly. "But she can't. She might be tempted to use it for her own ends."

The professor smiled. "In spite of my fascination with her, I recognize that Angelique is a force to be reckoned with—and that she is motivated by her own affairs."

Maggie took a deep sip of sherry. "So what are we going to do with it, Professor?"


That evening, Maggie was grateful for Professor Stokes's slow, methodical driving. She hadn't been relishing the long walk back to the farm in the dark, so she gladly accepted his offer of a ride home.

They'd proceeded in silence, until they reached the access road that led to the farmhouse. "Are you all right, my dear?" the professor asked.

Maggie sighed and searched for an appropriate response. "I don't know, but I suppose I will be."

"Of course you will, Maggie. You're much stronger than people think."

"You only say that because you didn't know me when I was sent away to Windcliff."

"I say it because it's true." The professor slowed the car to a stop inside the farm's gate. He exited the car and opened Maggie's door for her. "Please call me tomorrow, if you'd like to talk," he said.

"Of course," she responded, startling the older man with a warm, parting hug.


The farmhouse was completely dark as she approached. Still, there was sufficient moonlight for her to easily find the keyhole in the copper doorknob. She turned the key as quietly as she could and crept into the entryway. Perhaps Quentin had fallen asleep or gone up to bed. He was sure to be tired having lost so much blood, or so she rationalized her reticence in her mind.

Then his voice upended her hope. "Where did you go, Maggie?"

Maggie reached for the lamp on the end-table, illuminating the room around them. She could see the bottle of brandy was untouched, though he'd finished the drink she'd poured for him. He was still reclining on the couch, lying in wait for her. He sat up and faced her, wincing slightly from pain.

"I went to meet Angelique and then to see Professor Stokes. He drove me home."

"You went to meet Angelique," he said, half confirming, half questioning—both infused with unexpected bitterness. "And what could you two possibly have to discuss?" he asked, without expecting a response.

"I owed her," Maggie began. But Quentin was in no mood to listen. He reached for the bottle and refilled his glass.

Maggie went to the liquor cabinet, retrieved a glass, and poured a drink for herself.

"We need to talk," he said.

"Yes, we do," she agreed.

"You knew the curse hadn't returned—you knew it was all in my mind. You lied to me, Maggie," he said at once angry and plaintive in tone.

"And you lied to me, Quentin. All this time that you knew that it was Barnabas who kidnapped me—that it was Barnabas who destroyed my grip on reality," she spat back.

"So that's it? Tit for tat? A lie for a lie?"

"What good would it have done to tell you the truth? You were possessed, just like Joe." They fell quiet for a few moments. "I'm sorry I lied, but I did it to protect you," she added.

"I don't want my wife to have to protect me. I should be the one to protect you," he said irritably.

Maggie went and sat beside him, curling into his side, draping his healthy but disinterested arm around her shoulder to form an uneasy embrace. "Promise me you won't get upset," she ventured. "But you're being rather old-fashioned."

To her surprise, a deep chuckle resonated through his chest; his arm relaxed and held her gently. "I am old-fashioned," he said. "Sometimes I think I'll never get used to this modern world of yours."

"This time it was my turn to protect you," Maggie said in a soft, placating voice. "Next time it may be your turn to take care of me."

"I'm not sure what I think about that," he said and then kissed her temple. "So what happens now? Is our debt to Angelique paid in full?" he asked, the edge returning to his voice.

"I gave her Josette's music-box. When Barnabas played it for Kitty, I could feel Josette trying to reach me. Then I realized that it was a vessel that contained Josette's spirit. I promised Angelique that if she helped free you from the possession, I would give her Josette, and I did." Tears welled up in Maggie's eyes again. "Quentin, I pleaded with her to free Josette—to release her spirit."

"And did she?" he asked in a knowing voice.

"She told me it was no longer my concern, but the way she said it, I knew." Maggie grew quiet. Quentin stroked her hair, and she could almost feel him slip back into his preferred role of being the protector.

At length, he asked, "What about Stokes? What did you owe him?" he quipped.

"Nothing!" she responded emphatically.

Quentin laughed. "I'm joking, Maggie, although there are times when I could be jealous of the attention he pays you."

"Don't be silly."

"Why did you go see him?" Quentin asked.

Maggie extricated herself from her husband's embrace. She moved to the edge of the couch and turned to face him. "Last night after the exorcism, he gave me the puzzle-box. I went to give it back to him. At first I thought he'd forgotten about it. I should have known better. Now, I think he just wanted to keep it away from Angelique. Perhaps he doesn't quite trust himself where she's concerned."

"Angelique? What interest would she have in it?"

"I don't know and the professor wouldn't say. But Quentin, he refused to take it. How could something so small, so beautifully crafted contain something so malicious?" Maggie wondered. "Who was it before it was trapped inside? Who trapped it and why?"

"Well, I don't know who, but the why speaks for itself," Quentin responded in characteristically world-weary fashion. "And certainly you're familiar with the old adage, don't judge a book by its cover. The box may be beautiful, but whoever trapped that demon inside must have had his reasons."

"Or hers," Maggie added pointedly.

"You think a jilted lover or woman scorned would do such a thing?"

"Well, I've seen the lengths Angelique would go to for Barnabas." She let that observation hang in the air before she continued, "Professor Stokes wants me to keep it—to keep it safe—in point of fact, to be its next guardian."

He reached for the brandy and took a long draught. "You? That's ridiculous. How are you supposed to do that? If someone like Angelique wants it, what can you do to stop her from taking it from you?"

"I thought the same thing. But I've been thinking about Evan—about how he learned about the dark arts and used them to keep the box safe and hidden for so many years."

"Evan? Maggie …" he began in an exasperated voice.

She interrupted. "Hear me out. There are people who can either take the box and protect it, or teach us what we need to know to protect it ourselves."

"Us?"

"Of course. We're in this together—and we have to decide together." She took his hand in hers. Her eyes were wide with urgency. "I never want to be at the mercy of creatures like Angelique and Barnabas again."

"I was a creature like them once," he said sadly.

"A creature perhaps, but a victim too—not like them—never like them," she insisted. "Never with design and purpose, or selfish cruelty."

Quentin felt a pang of conscience for an act committed long ago that he didn't regret and knew he would commit again under similar circumstances—and mostly for yet another lie of omission that he felt necessary to shield his wife from his true nature. He grew quiet and seemed to consider. "Evan traveled the world to learn what he knew," Quentin said at last.

"So what's stopping us?" she asked.

"Collinwood is your home—it's our home."

"And it will still be here when we get back," she cooed softly and squeezed his hand.

"It could be dangerous, Maggie. You have no idea what you'd be getting into. I certainly didn't when I followed Laura halfway across the world." His voice conveyed his doubt. "I just can't believe you want to leave Collinwood," he said.

"Do you realize that Kitty Soames had seen more of the world in 1897 than I have living today?" she asked. "Or that you and Evan—living in the last century—both traveled and saw the world before settling down."

"Maggie, I promise you, I'm not the same man I was then."

"Aren't you, Quentin? Because sometimes when I look at you, I see that man—still restive and dissatisfied."

"No," he started to say.

But she continued excitedly, "Sometimes I feel that way too. I envied Kitty. She'd traveled to London, married Gerald, and had a home in the country and in town. When Gerald died, she traveled back to Maine on her own—unaccompanied and unescorted—in 1897—think of it."

Quentin was surprisingly somber. "I'm certain she would have exchanged that travel and adventure to get Gerald back, if she could."

"I'm sure she would have—but we can have both—adventure and each other. Oh Quentin, let's leave Collinwood. Let's travel; let's seek adventure and knowledge—together. When we return, we'll be a force in our own right—never again subject to threats from the likes of Barnabas and Angelique."

"Are you sure you aren't overreacting to everything we've been through?"

"No. What makes you say that?"

"Because you love it here. How many times have you told me how much you love this old farmhouse?"

"I do love it here. This is our home—it always will be, but it will still be waiting for us when we return."

"And what about David—and Amy?" he asked. "I thought you loved being their governess."

"I do, but I think Carolyn is right. It's time they went to school like other kids, with other kids. Still, leaving them will be the hardest part—especially Amy, but she'll have Carolyn and Mrs. Stoddard. And who knows, maybe Chris will find his way back to Collinwood."

"You seem to have thought of everything, but are you sure? What would we do? Where would we begin this quest of yours?"

"I know exactly where I want to go first—New Orleans."

"New Orleans?"

"Yes. Evan told me it's where his travels began."

"My old friend seems to have left a lasting impression on you," Quentin observed dryly. "Did he tell you that that's where he first developed a taste for the occult?"

"Yes. It's why I want to go there—to a place where dark mysteries are accepted, embraced even. For too long, Quentin, dark things have happened to me. Now I want to understand them—on my own terms—not just experience them as a victim locked in a basement cell or driven by madness to Widows' Hill. So, yes—New Orleans! Let's start there—or anywhere you like … as long as we're together. Come with me, Quentin," she pleaded. "Say you'll come with me."


One week later …

A stiff wind blew across the estate, swirling leaves into the air, as well as Carolyn's blond hair. For a moment, it fanned out like a shimmering corona, before she corralled it and held it in place with one hand.

"Are you sure, Maggie?" she asked with searching, imploring eyes.

"I have to do this, Carolyn. We have to do this," Maggie said with as much conviction as she could.

"Fine," Carolyn said, with a slight huff in her tone. "But why now? Why so soon?" She looked to where Quentin sat waiting in the passenger seat of the car. "Why can't you wait until Quentin is fully recovered from his accident?"

"He's recovered enough to travel—even Dr. Woodard thinks so, and you know how conservative he is about these things," Maggie laughed. But it was a thin, humorless chuckle. "It's best if we stick to our plan to leave today," she said firmly.

For a moment, Carolyn looked as though she would continue to press the point. Instead she said, "I can't help but feel that this has something to do with Barnabas coming back to Collinwood. I noticed how you go to lengths to avoid the Great House when you think he might be there—not just you—both of you."

"You should be careful where Barnabas is concerned, Carolyn," Maggie told her friend with pointed seriousness.

"Yes, I know."

Their eyes met in a moment of realization for both women. "Carolyn, you never said anything."

"Sometimes, I wonder if there was anything to say. Some things are like a bad dream—you wake up the next day and wonder if any of it was real."

"I know what you mean," Maggie said softly. "If you need help, you can count on Professor Stokes—Julia too, but the professor's loyalty is unquestioned."

Carolyn nodded her understanding and affirmation.

Maggie went on, "Take care of David—and Amy. She's going to need you now."

"I asked her to come with me, but she refused."

"She's barely spoken two words to me since I told her that we're leaving," Maggie said sadly. "I don't blame her."

"She'll get over it." Carolyn said to soothe her friend. "It's just that she feels abandoned by everyone she cares about."

"Not everyone—not you," Maggie said. She reached in her pocket and handed Carolyn a letter addressed to Amy. "Please give her this and if she doesn't want to read it, promise me you'll read it to her, when the time seems right."

Carolyn took the letter and put it in the pocket of her mackintosh. "Oh Maggie, I'm going to miss you so much," she said.

"I promise I'll write often," Maggie said, then drew her friend into a hug. "Well, we'd better go. We meant to get on the road an hour ago. Here are the keys," she said gesturing to the house with a lift of her chin. "Take care of it for us." Then she practically ran to the car, only looking back when she reached it and opened the door. She waved briefly then got in and drove off down the access lane that would take them to the main Collinsport Road and beyond.

Carolyn stood and watched the car until it was out of sight. The wind stopped as suddenly as it began and dark, threatening clouds moved across the estate in its wake. Thunder rumbled, adding its voice to the crash of the waves on the bluffs in the distance. Another storm was brewing in Collinwood.

~~~The end ~~~

AN: This fic was like an earworm that I had to write in order to get it out of my head! Thanks so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.