She awoke gasping, pushing her arms out as if she were trying to break someone’s grip.

It took Marion a moment to realize she was in bed in her nightgown. If she wanted to, she could imagine it had all been a bad dream.

She did not want to. It had not been a bad dream.

It was light outside and much later than she usually slept.

People were up and about in the house. Marion could hear them. Heavy footsteps came down the hall, passed her room. After a moment she heard a woman’s voice — Laurette’s — somewhere downstairs, raised in greeting whomever had just walked down the stairs. Yesterday those sounds would have been comforting.

As quickly and as quietly as she could, Marion got dressed. She didn’t bother to make the bed.

Into the hallway. To the stairs, walking softly, quickly. Expecting at any moment to feel that invisible hand around her, holding her in place, forcing her to be horribly calm, horribly unafraid.

Voices in the parlor. They all there, talking quietly. When she got past the front door, she had to force herself not to break into a run. There were so many windows. Someone might look out and see her.

Holding her breath, she opened it and stepped outside, and walked out into the sunlight.

Then…

They had all listened as the front door closed.

“She is dangerous.” Greg said.

“Marion wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Leon had gotten back just before dawn. He’d expected to come home to his father in a towering rage with him, and had been bitterly disappointed to find Tel, once again, depressed and barely responslve.

Greg shook his head. “She will go straight to our enemies.”

“Let her get a good look at our enemies,” said Laurette. “She’ll come back to us on her own.”

“You can’t know that,”said Greg.

“I do know it. Trust me.”

“And trust the good Lord to protect you,” said Artiste.

“Trust the Le Bon Dieu, Reverend? He DID this to us!”

Laurette let out a mirthless chuckle. “So, Gregoire, you no longer blame our mother? Now you blame the Almighty?”

“Blame the Almighty for what?” asked a familiar voice.

Mrs. Abbot had a house near the outskirts of town. Everybody in town knew about it.

Well-off Island men were known to have set aside houses where they could entertain themselves separately from their wives and children. That caused talk. When Mrs. Abbot had done it, however, it was a scandal mitigated only slightly by the fact that Max Abbot was an obnoxious bully, universally disliked even before his alcoholism had rendered him completely ineffectual. Nobody was all that surprised.

But still, she was a wife. And a mother.

The walk to Kristal Abbot’s house gave Marion the chance to grow calmer, to think. She wasn’t sure how she was going to explain, but then, she suspected she might not have to. Mrs. Abbot seemed to know things. The gossip was she knew almost as much as Papa Duday about everyone on the Island.

It was a pretty house. Between her inheritance and her own business acumen, everyone knew Madame Abbot had plenty of money. A maid answered the door, asked her to wait for a moment, then returned and led her in to Mrs. Abbot’s office.

The lady of the house was standing in front of a bookcase, apparently deep in thought.

“Oh my dear!” she said when she saw Marion.

Mrs. Abbot hurried over. “What has happened? You’re white as a sheet. My child, what have they done to you?”

For a moment, Marion couldn’t speak. This was the woman she’d been told was an enemy. This was the woman she’d been warned against.

But the people who warned Marion against Kristal Abbot also harbored demons.

It took her a moment to speak. “Dear Lord,” Marion prayed silently, “Forgive me for being so stupid. Forgive me for turning my back on everything I was taught. And please, please let this woman believe me.”

She’d planned to stay rational, stay focussed, but when Marion began to speak the words just came out. “Mr. Abbot, I’ve been so afraid,” she said. “It’s been… I saw… There was something in the house, I heard it roar, and I knew it was coming for me, and I couldn’t move, Mrs. Abbot. I couldn’t even feel what I knew I should feel. They could have fed me to it and I wouldn’t have fought, wouldn’t so much have said ‘no.'”

“I think… I think they have controlled my thoughts. Controlled my heart. My soul. And it frightens me, it frightens me so much. I’m so confused.”

Mrs. Abbot’s lips curved into a faint smile and for a sickening moment, Marion thought the woman was about to laugh at her, tell her it had all been her imagination.

“My dear girl, you’re safe now. Absolutely safe. You came to your senses just in time. Praise Him for protecting you.”

“Let me ask you something… Have you sensed things in that house you couldn’t explain? Even before last night? Seen things?”

“Yes! My second night there I saw something horrible, so horrible! And they…they told me I hadn’t seen anything, that it was my imagination but it wasn’t, I knew it wasn’t.”

“Of course it wasn’t. And they tried to make you feel like an idiot, didn’t they? Well, you’re not an idiot. Sweetie, here’s another question. I’m just going to hazard a guess here — Is there suddenly a bedroom in that house with things in it that belong to someone, someone almost nobody remembers?”

Marion nodded almost convulsively. “They’ve locked it up, but it’s there.”

“Ah. I thought as much.” Madame Abbot nodded towards a chair. “Sit down my dear. I can offer something that will explain a great deal to you.”

Madame Abbot’s voice was so calming, so matter-of-fact, the voice of someone who saw a problem and was confident she could deal with it.

“You like to read, I understand,” said Mrs. Abbot, looking over the bookshelf behind her desk. She picked out a volume with a library binding.

“This book will tell you all you need to know about the Dudays.”

“You don’t have to read all of it. Just the chapters I’ve marked. And I’ve made a few notes in the margins that I think you’ll find very interesting.”

Tous les Sorcieres was the title.

“It is a rare book,” said Madame Abbot. “I cannot allow it out of this house. But you are welcome to read it here, in this office where you and the book will be safe,” She sighed. “I would not leave you alone if I didn’t think so. There’s something I must attend to at the Town Hall, but I will be back in an hour or two, and we can talk about it.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much. I won’t set a foot outside,” promised Marion.

“Be sure you don’t, sweetie. I don’t want to frighten you, but you must know the truth. Your life won’t be worth a half-penny if they catch you outside. They are a savage breed, that family, merciless with those they consider traitors, and I fear, I very much fear that you’re coming here will be seen as a betrayal.”

“Papa… Mr. Duday kept bringing up loyalty that same night I saw the demon.”

“Of course he did. He seems very charming doesn’t he? Until you cross him and then — God help you. The only force Telesphore Duday respects is his mother. Even her spawn live in mortal fear of her.”

Grandmere had just accused Tel of being a dispomaniac. Felicia had risen and moved towards her mother-in-law, her fists clenched, when Gregoire stepped between them, and, in a level, penetrating voice, called his mother an ignorant cow and threatened to turn her into a Guernsey.

“Not on your best day, cretin,” said Grandmere, “And did you think you could sneak back to the Island without me sensing it? The minute you set foot here I knew it.”

“I got here yesterday morning,” Greg said quietly, “but never mind. Of course, Maman, of course, nothing gets past you. The worst family crisis we’ve had since 1880, and you come sauntering in a day late.”

“Crisis? Weakness and stupidity, that’s what it is. He…” she jerked her chin at where Tel sat slumped in his chair. “Has at last drunk himself into madness. Have I not known for years that he barely has any get to speak of? Just an untalented girl and the cur.”

Leon stood up left the room.

Gregoire muttered something under his beath that shook dust from the ceiling.

“Greg, you aren’t helping,” said Artiste.

“D’accord.” Gregoire nodded at the Reverend, and vanished. After a moment, they could hear his footsteps upstairs. He was in the locked room, pacing.

“Madame Duday,” said Artiste. “Surely you can see that your eldest son is in pain. He needs you.”

She did not deign to look at the minister. “Why is this heretic here?” she asked Laurette.

“You know perfectly well I’ve been married to Artiste now for…”

“Bah! What business did you have to get married? You’ve been an old woman for years. You should have remained faithful to Madame Swift.”

“But Cassie died years ago!”

“Lamont, Maman,” Tel’s voice was weak, again, barely above a whisper. “Surely you remember Lamont? You loved him. You were so thrilled when he was born. He was Talented. You picked him up and looked into his eyes and said…”

“Who is this Lamont?” She marched over to Tel and looked down at him. “Eh, my son? Tell me. Because your mother knows you never had three children. A boy. A girl. That is all. THERE WAS NO LAMONT! THERE IS NO LAMONT! THERE HAS NEVER BEEN A LAMONT!”

Tel could only stare miserably down at his hands

“Then tell us, Maman,” asked Laurette, “how it is that upstairs is a bedroom for a young, unmarried man, with his clothes and his possessions scattered about? How is it that we have found letters signed by Lamont Duday, stories written for the paper signed by Lamont Duday, even old schoolwork that Tel saved, all with the name Lamont Duday?”

Madame Duday laughed. “Trash! Odds and ends. They mean nothing. And because something is written, you believe it to be true? You are a fool. You have always been a fool!”

“Maman, you are deluding yourself.”

Madame Duday had noticed the tears now running down Tel’s cheeks. “STOP IT! WEAKLING! FOOL! I THOUGHT YOU WERE A MAN OF TALENT, NOT A BAWLING INFANT!”

“Get out of our house.” Felicia’s voice was so low, so angry it stopped Gwenoelle more effectively than a shout. “Get away from my husband.”

Madame Duday threw back her head and let out a loud, hard laugh.

“Because it is written!” she almost shouted. “What insanity!”

And then she was gone.