Kristal Abbott was a woman used to thinking on her feet when she felt boxed in. Betting on her own impulses had so far gotten her where she wanted to be.

She jabbed at it with the silver letter opener, and saw it flinch away, and in almost the name instant she kicked, hard, at its legs, knocking the creature off balance just long enough to leap past it and down the back stairway that led to the kitchen. Behind her, she could hear Madame Duday shouting something in French, the sound of pursuit, scrabbling paws and wet, grunting pants.

Silver. It feared silver. But the letter opener was so small.

She had an arsenal in the dining room.

She grabbed the tray that always rested on the breakfront, and reached into the drawer for the large silver knife.

It stopped when it saw the tray and the knife, but it didn’t back out.

What was frightening was that it didn’t really move like a dog or even a wolf. It froze, then began to step forward, slowly, steadily, silently, as if it knew growling or making any other sound would be a waste of energy.

She stepped forward, to where she’d have more space to move.

***

It was not hard to follow the cat, a pale green streak in the darkness ahead of him. He chased it into the good parlor, the carpeted room where Father Quitol entertained important visitors, and Ignacio saw it vanish into the inlaid cabinet.

From inside it, he could hear the faint tinkling of bottles.

“Prínceps gloriosíssime coeléstis milítiae, sancte Míchael Archángele,” he murmured, moving towards the cabinet. He heard a thump, and a hiss and warning growl.

“…defénde nos in proélio et colluctatióne, quae nobis est advérsus príncipes et potestátes, advérsus múndi rectóres tenebrárum hárum, contra spirituália nequítiae, in coeléstibus.…” he continued, ignoring the almost despairing howl that rose from behind those inlaid doors.

“...Véni in auxílium hóminum; quos Deus creávit inexterminábiles, et ad imáginem similitúdinis suae fécit, et a tyránnide diáboli emit prétio mágno…” He had his holy water at the ready. The growing had subsided into an odd series of clicks.

He threw open the doors.

He dropped the bottle of holy water and screamed.

There were so many horrible things happening all at the same time there was no room in Ignacio’s head for thought. The way those eight eyes met and held his gaze with implacable coldness. Its clicking grunts, and the pulpy thud when its round body bumped the floor as it heaved itself out. The slightly metallic, unclean smell of the thing, and the way one of its hairy legs stepped into the damp spot of holy water on the carpet without flinching, then pulled the little bottle closer to the spider’s obscene torso.

Worst of all were the sounds coming from the cabinet, the long leg he saw emergening tentatively and the realization there was more than one. He couldn’t step back and when he realized why he wondered if he were about to add to his own undignified screams by throwing up.

Wine and liquor bottles had rolled out of the cabinet. They seemed to be empty.

He was moving. It was hard, but he truly was moving, the sickening pale web stretching as he backed towards the door, and finally breaking. The minute he was free he turned and fled out the front door into the night.

Father Quitol had first been awakened by the familiar sound of bottles being moved around in the parlor. He sat up in bed, still drowsy, convinced that Pere Francois was downstairs, rummaging once again through the wine cabinet in the parlor. Well, he would have to get downstairs and coax the poor old fellow back into bed.

Then he heard Ignacio’s voice intoning some sort of prayer, remembered that Pere Francois had died years ago, and lay back down, sighing with relief.

He was almost asleep when an unholy shriek brought him up bolt upright in bed. As he hurried downstairs he could hear the front door flung open, and Perez’s voice out in the street, screaming something about St. Michael and the angels.

The parlor was dark. Gervas flicked on a light.

He sighed. Pursed his lips.

“Oh no,” he thought.

“Not another one.”

***

The thing kept dodging so that every stab hit the air inches next to it, a couple of times even brushing the fur.

Which was why she suddenly brought the tray down on its head as hard as she could.

And instantly realied this was a mistake that only infuriated it.

Blades. It was afraid of silver blades.

Kristal was halfway across the back garden when she felt the force strike her from behind, not the beast but something worse, something she had not felt in decades.

She landed on her chest with a force that knocked the air from her lungs, and felt in almost the next instant the weight on her back, the teeth against her neck, something hot and reeking and wet soaking her collar

“Arrete!” a familiar voice commanded, and the jaws around her neck drew back.

***

“I was called out unexpectedly,” he told the police officers.

He’d gotten tired once he reached the grocery store on main street, had stopped, bent over to catch his breath. Just as straighted up, he saw the patrolmen walking around the corner.

The heavier one, Officer Desalvo, was looking pointedly at Ignacio’s pajamas.

“It was an emergency,” Ignacio added.

“Looks like it was serious,”said the younger cop, Officer Patch. “Can you tell us a little about it?” Behind him, Ignacio heard Desalvo sniff rather loudly, and he noticed Officer Patch glance past Ignacio’s head as though briefly meeting the other cop’s eye.

Ignacio was about to point out that he was a priest and such matters were confidential when he heard Gervas say, “Is there a problem, officers?”

“This is Father Gervas Quitol,” Ignacio said, relieved.

“Yes, Father Perez, we know the padre,” said Patch. “Whoa! What happened to your hands?”

Ignacio looked down. His left hand was bloodied by the scratch, and his right one ached dully and was beginning to swell.

“Father Perez tried to pick up some cracked pottery,” said Quitol. The first thing he’d done was check Perez’ room, which, with its empty bottles and shattered pot, had confirmed his worst suspicions. The whole ugly story was writ plainly for him there — a man ransacking cabinets in search of alcohol, finding none, and finally resorting to one of old Father’ Francois’ crocks of Cravey.

Now he just hoped he could get the man into the car and back to the rectory before everyone on the island found out about him.

“Looks like the jug broke. You did warn him about the native hooch, didn’t you?” asked Desalvo.

“Francis,” Father Quitol said wearily, “I know you don’t want to cause Father Perez any trouble.”

“Running around downtown in his pajamas,” said Patch, his voice heavy with disgust. “I’m just glad my little Hecklya can’t see this. Her confirmation’s coming up.”

“Ambrose, Francis, I’m sure as good Catholics, I can rely on you…”

“God have Mercy on me!” Ignacio suddenly gasped. “Here they come!”

“Get them off me! Get them off me!“

***

Kristal rose once she felt the thing step away and was sure she could breathe again. She smoothed her robe and her hair. She was a grown woman now, a council member. She would soon be mayor. She stepped as close as she dared to the old woman.

“You,” she said coldly, “are trespassing. With a.. a.. dangerous animal...”

Madame Duday raised the page she had taken from Kristal’s desk. “I read this,” she said. “It says, ‘Attached: the diary of one Amadou Roselyn, circa 1897. Note marked pages.'” Her eyes were cold. “Where is it? Where is this diary?”

For a moment, Kristal said nothing. Then her lip curled.

“And if I tell you nothing? What will you do, old woman? Have that thing tear me to pieces? Toss me over the bluff? That diary, with its record of all your crimes will remain where I put it, for others to find. I have already contacted an important man of God, and he will…”

“Cherie, you do not understand,” Madame Duday said.

Kristal began stepping back when the woman drew out her wand. The sound the little rod made cutting the air was bad enough, but worst of all was the way that creature, that foul-breathed wolfish thing actually frisked, wagging its tail, as though excited about seeing what Madame Duday was about to do.

“I will not kill you. Nor will my pet,” said Madame Duday. “I gave you something when you were a child. It was for your fine, admirable father’s sake, not your’s. I can take it back.”

“Would you like that Cherie? To return to what you were? Speechless, unclean…”

“Helas,” Madame Duday continued, “you would, of course, still be an old woman…’

The animal was making eager, huffing noises now, almost dancing on the grass. It sounded, horribly, as though it were urging Madame Duday to do what she threatened.

“A drawer,” Kristal said. “A hidden drawer in the bottom of my desk, on the left.”

“Rapporte!” snapped Madame Duday, and the animal turned and ran into the house.

“You’ll need opposable thumbs to get it open,” muttered Kristal, and Madame Duday laughed.

The two women said nothing as they waited. Not at all to Kristal’s surprise, the beast returned carrying the diary in its jaws. It dropped the book at Madame Duday’s feet.

Madame Duday barely deigned to glance down at it.

“Have you looked at it?” she asked.

The animal let out a sharp, affirmative bark.

She pointed at the volume.

“That is all, I think,” said Madame Duday. “We will go home, now.”

Kristal turned away. Once those two were gone, she would contact Father Perez and…

“Madame Abbott, I think I should warn you,” said Mrs. Duday. “I am a fickle soul. My temper is often uncertain. I do sometimes change my mind.”

“You seem like a clever and a courageous creature,” she continued. “We could, perhaps, be friends. I would be a good friend to you. You could, with your influence, be a good friend to me. If, however, you cause any further trouble to my family…”

“I may come to you one night as you sleep and take back after all what I gave you many years ago.”

***

“I am telling you!” Father Perez was furious now. “I am a warrior of God battling creatures of Satan! They fled when I invoked the Lord God but…”

“Ignacio, please…” Gervas pleaded.

“Hey, hey, I get it,” Officer Patch said. “My Pa used to see them too when he tried a little Cravey for the shakes. It’s a mistake lots of people make.”

“If you could just let me get him home,” Gervas said.

“I demand a balloon!” Perez shouted.

“What?”

“That balloon you breathe into! It will show you that I am not intoxicated, not seeing things…”

“He means the Drunkometer back at the station” said Desalvo.

“Yes, take me there!” Perez demanded. “I will breathe into it and I will prove I am sober.”

Gervas was horrified. This was all they needed, legal proof that Ignacio was out of his mind on Cravey. Patch and Desalvo didn’t seem pleased by the idea either. “Oh yeah,” said Desalvo. “Kristal Abbot would love that.”

“She is my friend! She is…”

“She’s watching out for you, buddy, I tell you what.” said Patch. He looked at Father Quitol. “Padre, you need to get him back home and take care of those cuts. When my old man used to…”

“I’m not a drunk like your miserable father!” shouted Perez.

“Hey, now, you shrimp, you may be a priest but nobody talks about my old man like that!”

Quitol quickly linked his arm with Perez’. “Do you think you could help me get him back to my car?” he asked Desalvo.

“Yeah,” Desalvo said. “I think we better. He’s got a big mouth when he’s drunk.”

Perez seemed to have deflated. His eyes moved from Desalvo, to Patch, to Quitol. “But… but… the balloon…?” he asked.

“The five and dime doesn’t open until 8:00 am,” said Desalvo as he took Perez’ other arm. “But tell me what color you want and I’ll pick one up for you first thing in the morning.”

***

They had arrived back at Grandmere’s house. She paused before going in.

Leon waited.

“You did well,” she said. She smiled.

For a moment, Gwenoelle considered what to do. Then she bent and opened her hand.

The ball of meat was bloody, fresh, and redolent. “Here, my son,” she said.

He did not wag his tail, and she did not rub his head, but they understood each other.

***

It was important to pull every atom of magic back, not leave any stray particles floating about to make trouble. It wouldn’t do to leave any ittle green spiders running around downtown. In some ways, it was the hardest part, took the most effort, but if he concentrated enough the pressure in his chest and head was barely noticeable.

Done. He broke his concentration.

Christ.

Was this as bad as ’31? Different. Maybe a little worse. He was more careful this time, tried to pace himself, but he was an old man now…

His head….

He needed to lie down.

Just for a minute.