Cassie remembers none of this.

A yawning pit has opened in the dreamverse, filled with warm, pastel light in whorls of blue and green. Sweet air drifts from its depths, soothing and enticing at the same time. The breeze caresses her like an attentive lover, sending small shivers of pleasure through her body. She greets this with trepidation at first, until she realizes it has induced no unwanted arousal in her psyche; her thoughts and emotions are still her own.

Slowly she understands. When Stephanie had yanked her into the line, she had been little more than a passenger. Now she is in control, or so she hopes. She peers into the pit, and traces of energy flicker as faint white sparkles, like tiny arcs of electricity. Yes, she remembers this. Stephanie could sense and tap the lines of force before she could use them as her vehicle, and they looked like this.

And yet, as she stares, something seems to look back at her.

Cassie senses no malevolence and sees no tendrils of inky black reaching towards her, but she is still afraid. She looks behind her, but sees nothing but the ethereal doorways of the dreamverse leading to all the many minds she could sense and explore among the people of Haven. Usually they do not take physical form, but she had willed herself an anchor, something she could grasp and touch.

She wishes the tether which holds her spirit bound to her body would appear as well. It would reassure her and slow her pounding heart.

Cassie slides a trembling foot forward, and she is falling into an expanse of flowing light. Behind the soft glow of the passage, curving shapes flicker by too fast for her to identify. They close around her, as if curious, and she hears a strange murmuring. She utters a gasp and wraps her arms around herself, shivering hard. A memory floats just beyond her grasp, instilling fear, yet she is utterly at a loss as to its source.

Finally, she is through, and she glides down a vast tunnel, its sides glowing with slow pastel rhythms. Cassie heaves a great sigh of relief, and her heart bursts with joy. She is in inside the line under her mansion.

She gazes upon the walls with fascination, and then down at her bare feet. She wriggles her toes and giggles. No surface lies beneath, and even if she stretches her arms she cannot touch the walls. Yet she feels in complete control, and as if in response to her thought, she floats faster, then slower, then stops. She spins in place, her nightgown flowing weightless, exposing the lace of her panties and the occasional nipple.

Cassie looks up and wonders what had frightened her so. Had she actually passed through the mesa itself, or had it been little more than an illusion conjured by her mind to satisfy her five senses?

Cassie chooses not to concern herself. Now that she no longer feels the fear of becoming lost, she is eager to explore. Within moments, she comes across her first curiosity.

She has trouble actually seeing it. One moment it appears as a band encircling the corridor, the next it is a shimmering veil, the next it is a simple narrowing like a pinched garden hose. The more she stares at it, the more it refuses to settle into any one shape.

Cassie is forced to look away when she grows dizzy from the vain attempt to make sense of it, yet she feels she cannot pass until she resolves the conflict. She wills it to take on the most innocuous of the forms, that of the dark band, and sails through.

She wonders where she is in relation to the real world above her, and she gasps and spins around once in shock as images bombard her mind, like a movie played many times normal speed. She sees the gentle slopes at the bottom of the mesa, criss-crossing back roads sailing by like some wild cross-hatching etched upon a map. Mesa Ridge Road appears as a ribbon of moving lights through the whirling snow.

Despite the darkness of night, everything casts a faint ethereal glow. As she approaches the river, she imagines herself standing upon the bank, looking down at the calm waters amidst the pines and firs.

And suddenly, she is there.

Cassie stumbles, as if she had been moving at high velocity only to come to a screeching halt in the blink of an eye. Her feet crunch softly on fluffy white powder, yet they do not feel cold. A breeze swirls flakes around her, yet she feels not their icy sting.

She stares in wonder at the gentle blue-white glow which coats the nearby trees and shines upon the rippling waters of the river, until she realizes she is the source. Her eyes widen in wonder. Her toe nudges a small stone as she steps forward. She picks it up, squeezing it in her hand, and tosses it towards the river. She watches the splash and the ripples which race away from the impact.

Cassie giggles and grasps a needle from the branch of a blue spruce. She brings the needle to her nose and closes her eyes as she inhales the sweet-spicy scent, letting go a contented sigh.

Suddenly, she is once more floating in the pastel expanse of the line.

Cassie blinks and lowers her hand. The needle is gone. She had not willed herself back. Perhaps the power imposes a limit to her manifestations. She is delighted nonetheless, and understands why this power could entice her so. Never has she felt more free, safe from the suffocating influence of her parents or the constraining presence of Harry.

She senses the ebb and flow of the line energy, like the current of a gentle stream. She feels it slide past her ethereal body, her skin glowing with a pleasant warmth. It seeks to draw her deeper into town, and she allows herself to be carried by it. She moves with little effort, a weightless glide which itself is as pleasant as the tranquility.

As the rolling expanses of the southern edge of Mesa View Estates flow by in the real world, she feels a twinge of regret. Stephanie never got to make trips like this simply for the sake of exploration. By the time her powers manifested, she fell victim to Victor, and then it became her only occasional escape from a slowing dying mind. She wonders how many times Stephanie had wished the invisible tether would snap and truly release her spirit.

She feels a sense of familiarity. The thought barely forms in her head, and she is standing in the dark, her feet buried in an untouched blanket of snow stretching to a distant fence facing the woods. Opposite that, a large shape stands silhouetted against the lighter sky. She gasps as she realizes it is the house which had served as the Harbingers' meeting place until Halloween.

A light glows from a window, and a figure appears. A curtain is draw back. Seconds later, the glowing blue energies of the line explode into bright existence around her.

Cassie shivers as she wills herself to zip down the line and leave the house behind. Had she been seen? What would they think when they saw a set of inexplicable footprints in the middle of their back yard come morning? Was this perhaps the explanation behind some reports of ghosts or similar phenomena?

She hugs her arms around herself and shakes her head. Her thoughts are racing too fast. This power is not the bane she originally thought. It is like any other power: it can be used for good or evil.

Cassie abandons her idea to manifest at the mall. She continues on, and for the first time feels trepidation. The memories of her first trip with Stephanie are a blur. She barely saw the transitions, hurtled down the line with too much dire urgency for her to notice anything.

Energy surges and coruscates into sharp spikes of white. The sides of the line thrum. She knows she is getting close to the node, like she had before, but she does not remember this. The thrum becomes a pulse, like a giant heartbeat, the energy responding in kind. She feels herself tugged forward in the same rhythm.

Her heart races, but she feels a great pressure upon it, as if the line energies are attempting to force it to their own beat. She turns her head and gasps as her spectral vision peers through the wall of the tunnel to glimpse the faint outlines of another tunnel, drawing closer as she moves forward. It is another force line, the one which runs through the heart of Mesa View Estates. Then, just in the distance, she glimpses yet another: the one which flows under what was once the House at the End of the Street.

Cassie smiles. Even Stephanie had not seen this! She watches it with fascination as it nears, until she can see their patterns of thrumming, throbbing energies.

Suddenly, Cassie shivers, and she thinks to look forward. She flails as she tries to stop herself, but the flow has become a raging torrent, buffeting her like the rapids along a river swollen with spring runoff. Ahead, tendrils of inky black twist and writhe, cocooning a presence within which pulses to the same obscene rhythm as the line itself.

Cassie draws to a stop. Her hair and gown blow like banners in the wind towards the churning Dark energies ensconced in the node. She pants hard with the effort to maintain her distance, her eyes darting towards the nearest of the other lines. It sits a tantalizing distance away, but she is unable to will herself into it. She must go through the node.

Her incorporeal body trembles as the Dark energy spins tendrils of itself like a spider might spin a web. She whimpers, spinning herself around and swimming through the onrushing energy, expecting any moment to feel their cold embrace as they wrap about her helpless ethereal body and steal into her mind.

Instead, the flow abruptly abates, and she is free-floating in the steady pastel expanse once more.

Panting, she slowly turns her head. Dimly, the other lines appear, but faint and flickering, as if of no more substance than a mirage of water on a road in summer. In the distance, a long, thin stain of blackest ink bleeds into the glowing blue-white. It travels down one of the other lines, but which one?

The lines fade into the distance and are gone. She is moving again, but not by her own will. The node rushes away, the Dark energies obscured once more. She feels a tug, somewhere inside her, midway between her heart and her stomach, like a stretched band suddenly snapping back. The dark ring at the start of her journey whips past her, and she is drawn up through the pit.

Her empathic sense suddenly explodes. The strange shapes whirl around her once more, and she is bombarded with a cacophony of emotion: wonder, doubt, fascination, concern, delight, fear, all spinning in her mind with the violence of a tornado. Before she can scream at them to abate, she is through, the dreamverse hurtling past her ...

Cassie was jolted awake, her hands gripping the sheets as if expecting her body to bounce off the bed from the force of her psyche slamming back into her body. She wrapped an arm about her midsection, her stomach queasy as the room spun around her head. Just as her stomach began to clench in preparation of a dry heave, her senses settled, and she let out a slow, quavering breath.

She sat up in bed, running a trembling hand through her disheveled hair. She glanced down and pulled her nightgown closed over her exposed right breast, the nipple hard from the morning chill.

She stared out the window, where the mansion cast a long shadow upon a pristine blanket of snow. Past the shadow, the snow sparkled beneath a cloudless azure sky. As her gaze zoomed into the distance, taking in the splotch of civilization that was Haven, something hovered on the edge of her perception. She could not tell whether it was a thought or a memory before it vanished like mist.

Cassie sighed and climbed out of bed. She glanced at her cell phone sitting on the ornate night table and picked it up. She felt she needed to warn Jason, but of what? She was not sure herself what she had seen. Was the Darkness actually trying to travel down one of the lines? How could it if it were still trapped at the node? Or was she simply seeing a visual representation of it spreading its influence? She was not even sure which line it was.

She looked at the clock and put down the phone. It was too early anyway. She would call him later, perhaps while she was on her way back from picking up Ned.

The thought of having Ned over for Thanksgiving made her heart flutter in both anticipation and trepidation. She was under no illusions her mother would approve of him, and she would likely be forced to "adjust" her mother again. Her father would simply defer to her mother as he always did.

Her lips curled into a small smile anyway. She would find a way to enjoy his company. If nothing else, it would remind her how much of a good thing she had in Ned.

Audrey Conner rose from slumber, struggling to detach herself from the depths of the dream which had refused to end. She shivered as her eyes fluttered open, her body resting on her side, her knees drawn up. Her nightgown had fallen from her legs, and her thighs trembled. Her panties lay askew, one side pulled up and into the crack of her ass, one cheek exposed and quivering.

Audrey groaned and rolled onto her back, draping an arm across her glistening forehead. She shuddered and bent one leg, parting her thighs to ease the ache between them. Her panting subsided, yet her body would not. The warmth and the damp remained, her nipples still stiff and tingling.

Beside her, Henry softly snored. She gazed at his broad back, and for a moment contemplated nudging him awake, even as embarrassed as she was to be needing him in that fashion. She lifted a trembling hand towards him.

No.

Her hand paused, then dropped to her side. Audrey swallowed and covered her eyes with her hand. She felt she had yet to wake up from her dream, as if it sought to follow her into the real world. Dreams were not supposed to do that.

Unless they are pleasant ones.

Audrey shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, pushing up her breasts until they swelled against the nightgown. Her nipples throbbed faintly with her pounding heart. She tried to believe there could be nothing pleasant about thoughts so darkly erotic they would repulse her in broad daylight.

Are you sure of that?

Audrey swung her legs over the side, her hips writhing when her panties were tugged into her damp sex. Her hand fluttered near her delta for a moment, then withdrew. She tried to ease the pressure by sliding her hips back, which did little but tug her panties more firmly between her ass cheeks.

"I'm not sure of anything anymore," she whispered as she stood. She stumbled into the bathroom, shoving the door partially closed behind her. She gripped the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white, and stared at her forty-something body in the mirror.

Why was she even thinking of such things? When Henry stopped showing interest in her sexually about six years ago, she eventually let it go as just another phase of a normal marriage. She needed more energy to deal with a son reaching puberty and then a move to another town. Sex had served its purpose, to give her a family to raise and cherish.

But did you ever really enjoy it?

Audrey shuddered. The ache was growing worse. She looked at herself in her full-length opaque nightgown. Her eyes shimmered as she remembered the night before, when she had briefly contemplated not wearing a nightgown at all to bed. Her nipples tingled at the thought, and her pussy steamed. She turned her head towards the door with a forlorn look.

No. Not him.

Audrey whimpered. She closed her eyes, only to snap them open a second later when the imagery from her dream flooded the void. Her heartbeat pulsed faintly in her sex. Four nights of these dreams, each time more vivid and disturbing than the last. She might have enjoyed them if they had not featured such bizarre partners and positions.

Why not enjoy them?

Audrey turned away from the mirror and bit her knuckle. Her panties felt plastered to her sex. She caught the scent of her own arousal.

Why not enjoy yourself now?

"God, I can't," Audrey moaned in a husky voice, her thighs quaking.

You did not let that stop you yesterday.

"Jason was at school ... Henry was at work ... I ..." She trailed off and leaned back, her ass striking the counter. She heard the soft squish of moisture and felt the sharp rush of pleasure before she was aware she had slipped her fingers under her panties.

That is so much better, isn't it?

Audrey's eyes became half-lidded, her lips parting to release soft pants. She rocked her hips in time to her fingers, wishing them instead to be ...

She moaned and shook her head. "No, I can't think of that."

Why?

Audrey's pants rose, her head tilting back as pleasure flooded her body and mind. Her free hand fluttered near one of her breasts, the nipple tenting the fabric of her nightgown. "Please ... just make the dreams stop."

Why?

Audrey had no answer. Her thoughts became consumed in lustful abandon as her fingers stroked her needy folds with an urgency bordering on frantic, her pleasure straining at the edge. When she had done this earlier in the week -- the first time in years -- she had panicked that her body had somehow forgotten how to orgasm after so long without. When she had crested, the joy had been so intense it had nearly driven her to tears.

Her pussy suddenly squeezed around her fingers, and her hips bucked. She uttered several explosive gasps, and liquid warmth suddenly flooded her panties and trickled down her thighs. The dark thoughts from her dreams took shape as if alive, writhing like snakes and slithering into the deepest corners of her mind. She shivered at its cold touch, until the pleasure overwhelmed her again when her pussy throbbed in a second climax.

Her knees wobbled, and she clutched the edge of the counter behind her with her free hand, the other still pressed to her folds. She panted to catch her breath, both body and mind flushed in post-orgasmic euphoria. She slowly withdrew her hand, fingers dripping on the tiled floor.

"Audrey?"

Audrey gasped and bolted straight. "What ... wh-what is it, Henry?" she said, her voice breathless. "I-I'm using the bathroom."

A pause. "I thought I heard something," came Henry's cautious voice.

Still breathing hard, Audrey snatched the towel from the rack near the sink and wiped down her thighs. "I'm okay, just give a minute, all right?" She wiped her hands and then the floor where she had dripped. As she straightened up, she flushed the toilet. The tank started refilling just as she put the towel back and strode out of the room.

Henry sat up in bed. "You sure you're all right?"

Audrey's lips curled into a nervous smile. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You sounded a little flustered."

Audrey's smile faded, and she uttered a sigh as she crossed the room. "Of course I'm flustered, Henry. I have a million things to get done in time for Thanksgiving dinner." She yanked the closet door open and rifled through her house dresses before extracting one with a pretty floral print. "I barely have time for a shower," she said as she tossed the dress onto the bed.

Henry looked at the clock. "It's only just getting to seven, for heaven's sake."

Audrey shoved the closet door shut. "Then I'm already behind! Henry, get dressed and get the guest bedroom ready. And go get Jason up. And make darn sure he hasn't found a way to turn on his computer and look at email."

Henry wiped his face with his hand. "Audrey, don't you think you're being a little too hard on--"

"No," Audrey declared a scant second before the bathroom door slammed shut behind her.

"Richie."

Without opening his eyes, Richie turned over and away from the door, pulling himself further under the covers until only the top of his head was visible.

"Richie," came his mother's call, more curt this time.

Richie pretended to snore.

"Richie, get up."

Richie snored louder.

"Get your ass out of bed now!"

Richie muttered a muffled curse into the blanket before he kicked off the covers and bolted up. "Okay, fine! Shit, can't I be allowed to sleep in some before I hafta ..."

Richie trailed off when he saw his mother was fully dressed. Jeans clung to her wide hips, a blouse wrapped tight about her torso, nipples only faintly visible against the fabric. The clothing did nothing to dampen the Aura, which still spun and seethed around her, as dark and thick as ever.

"Richie, you need to get up," Sandra snapped. "I need you to straighten up the house and make it look presentable."

For a moment, Richie was elated. He was actually being ordered by his mother to do something which had nothing to do with sex or the Darkness. The moment was fleeting when his rebellious teenager persona overshadowed it. "What the hell for? You never cared about it before on the holidays."

"Because we're having a guest this time. Now, get up."

"Okay!" Richie cried, jumping out of bed. He frowned when his mother's gaze briefly lingered on the semi-erection in his briefs. "For chrissake, don't get your panties in a twist. If you're wearin' any, that is." He reached for his jeans and paused. "Wait, what guest?"

"Your cousin Cathy."

"Cathy? Oh, fuck, not Crater-Faced Cathy. Ugh."

"Richie, don't call her that."

"Why is she even coming? Don't she have her own fucking family?"

"I happened to run into her this past weekend at the mall." Sandra paused. "I ... convinced her to come over for Thanksgiving."

Richie watched his mother's Aura writhe. "Yeah, I'll be you fucking did. Shit, I thought you wanted me to be able to eat Thanksgiving dinner, not barf it up all over the carpet when I look at her."

"I don't want to hear it, okay? I have to get going now to pick her up, and I don't have time for your wiseass shit."

Richie pulled on his jeans and frowned. "I thought Cathy still lived in Randall."

"So has my great genius son finally figured it out? It's an hour's drive to Randall, probably more since it snowed last night. So get your ass in gear and get this place presentable."

Richie looked into his mother's narrowed eyes which blazed with righteous anger and nodded without uttering a word.

Sandra let out an exasperated sigh. "Finally. All right, I'll be back later this morning. Don't let me catch you slacking off when I get home."

Richie stared as his mother headed out of the room. Her Aura trailed behind her, a few tendrils stretching and lingering at the edge of the door frame. Richie flinched when the Darkness shaped its words in his head.

An early Christmas present for you, Richie. You have your mother as you remember her. But only today. Besides, you'll have someone else to play with in just the way you like.

Richie's eyes widened as the remaining tendrils whipped away like snakes, the door to the garage slamming shut a short while later.

"You're fucking insane," Richie blurted, but the only answer to his protest was a rushing noise as the furnace kicked on and the rumble of the garage door going up.

Richie frowned as he pulled on the rest of his clothing. The last he remembered of Cathy was years ago before the divorce. He was five and she was twelve. She had started babysitting for him when his mother was out having her head screwed over by the psychotherapist.

Richie had likened her to a beanpole with the moon for a face topped with a dirty mop. The only thing worse than looking at her acne-scarred face was when she opened her mouth and flashed enough metal to build a barbed wire fence around the border of the county. He had not even coined the name "Crater-Faced" himself. Hell, he had overheard his father use the name once.

He stepped into the hall. He looked out over the living room and frowned. "Yeah, that's right. Take over the world by making me look at a face so ugly it breaks mirrors. Yeah, fucking brilliant plan."

Jason had been awake since just before dawn, his sleep as restless as his mother's had been. He awoke shivering despite the heavy blanket, but unlike his mother he could not recall his dreams. The chill had lingered, flowing against his skin like the icy air from an open freezer until the sun rose.

The loss of the use of his computer forced him to turn to the journal to occupy his time and mind. As he immersed himself in Elizabeth's personal thoughts, he became grateful for the lack of distraction, for it was difficult to weed out the useful entries from the rest of Elizabeth's musings. He came upon an entry which made him stop and read it twice:

May 5th, 1975 - One of my greatest fears has come to pass. The Darkness in Haven has found an ally.

I have seen this man before. Until now, I had thought it coincidence. The pattern had been the same. A teenage girl, usually around sixteen, becomes oversexed over the course of anywhere from several weeks to several months. Worse, she seems to entice people around her to play along, driving her further into the throes of intense lust. Whenever I have tried to counsel such girls, I have felt it as well.

And then, sometime around Halloween, she simply disappears. There is no warning, no message left behind. I do not believe any committed suicide. That leaves only running away, or they were taken. In one case I investigated, I encountered a black-haired, broad-shouldered man. I never got his name, but there was no mistaking his presence. He carried himself with such an aura of confidence that I felt myself wanting to trust him even though I knew nothing about him. That had been my warning sign to avoid close contact as much as possible.

But now I have a name for him: Dr. Victor Mann.

He is featured in today's newspaper, receiving praise from the mayor for founding the Haven Counseling Group, an organization for providing help to troubled teenage girls. Good Goddess, if he is indeed behind the disappearances of these girls, this will only make it easier for him to plunder the female youth of Haven! And some of the counselors he had hand-picked to staff it are people I suspect of participating in cult-like activities near the old abandoned church in the southeast corner of town.

I must watch him carefully. I must not let him give even more power to the Darkness, not before I determine a way to block it from the human sexual center. I am closer than ever to a solution, but I need more time!

Jason felt a renewed sense of excitement, though he tried not to read too much into the fact that Elizabeth had never stopped him. Victor's power did not flow from the Darkness, and she likely had to pick her battles. He also ignored the fact that she had not stopped the Darkness, either, despite the many pages still remaining in her journal.

Before he could read further, he heard the rush of the shower from the master bath. He gathered the pages and shoved them under his bed. He grabbed the science fiction novel lying next to him in bed and opened it to the bookmarked page just as he heard footsteps in the hall.

Jason was nonplussed enough by the knock on the door that he did not respond right away, prompting a second, more urgent knock and a voice. "Jason, by your mother's decree, it is time to get up."

Jason frowned at the tone of derision in his father's voice. "I'm already up."

"May I come in?"

Jason hesitated. "Uh, sure."

Henry opened the door and stepped inside. Immediately, Jason's gaze bored into him, but anywhere except his eyes. Jason wanted to keep seeing his father's Aura. He wanted to study and memorize the patterns he saw within it, his unique talent among the Harbingers. They continued to be very different from those he witnessed in minions of the Darkness. Yet now the outermost layers were fuzzy, like millions of little hairs standing on end. He had never seen this before.

"Just want to give you fair warning, Jason," Henry said in a level voice. "Keep on your mother's good side today."

"Why do you assume I would want to be on her bad side?"

Henry shook his head. "No. No games today. I'm giving it to you straight."

"Is she upset about something?"

Henry paused. "I suppose you could say that, yes."

Jason remembered the night before and the flicker of Aura he had seen on his mother. Or thought he had seen. He wished it had lingered long enough for him to see its pattern. His resentment of his father's attitude threatened to boil over into accusation. The words "what did you do to my mother?" had formed in his head and were close to racing to his lips.

"And before you ask, no, I don't know what about. She's been on a razor's edge all week."

Jason wished he could believe his father, but the idea that Henry was not behind his mother's Aura was more frightening than the alternative. "I haven't done anything to provoke it," Jason declared, just to clear the other words from his head.

"I didn't say you did. Stop being so defensive all the time."

Jason wanted to say "Then stop giving me reasons to be," but he bit that off as well. "Okay, Dad, no problem. I'll fly right by Mom."

"Thank you, son."

"So long as you do as well."

Jason could not stop the words this time, and he regretted them as soon as they were out of his mouth. It did not stop him from returning his father's cool look with an icy one of his own.

Henry closed the door and lowered his voice, but it was no less stern. "Whatever inflated or downright wrong ideas you have about my agenda, keep them to yourself for today. Just today. Feel free to return to crucifying me tomorrow."

Jason had no response for which he would not be sorry later. He watched the edges of his father's Aura seethe.

"Now, I need to get the guest bedroom ready for your Aunt Betty. Go help your mother when she finishes showering and dressing. Don't make her have to hunt for you or beg for assistance." Henry opened the door, paused, then turned his head back towards his son. "And if you notice anything ... unusual about your mother today ... consider trusting me far enough to let me know about it."

Jason was too shocked to respond, and simply stared as his father stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Ned grinned as he looked at himself in the mirror of the upstairs bathroom, turning himself one way and the other, the heels of his shoes making a satisfying tapping noise against the tile. He tugged at the lapels of the jacket to make it fit better over his bony shoulders, but only one side would stay straight at any one time. He shrugged and straightened his tie instead, and smoothed his shirt as much as he could (which was not much, as it was about a half size too big).

He stepped back and slid a foot forward, scrutinizing how the pants leg lay. He smoothed out a wrinkle and introduced two more. He shrugged again, then thrust his hands into the pockets of his pants and looked himself over once more.

He heard the door frame creak as more weight than was intended for it to hold leaned against it, and a derisive voice sneered, "Ya gotta be shittin' me."

Ned tried not to wrinkle his nose at the smoke curling from the cigarette of the pot-bellied bear-like man leaning his corpulent frame against the side of the doorway. Instead, he smirked and tugged his lapels again. "Whatsamatter? Not used ta seein' someone with fashion sense?"

Ned's father took a drag from his cigarette and snorted. "Yeah, right," he spoke through the exhalation of smoke. "This comin' from sumone who said he hated wearin' the fuckin' thing. Called it the 'monkey suit.'"

"Mebbe I got a better reason ta be wearin' it than goin' ta some bum's funeral."

Ned's father jabbed the air with his cigarette, ashes fluttering to the floor. "You watch yer mouth. Show sum respect fer the dead."

Ned rolled his eyes. "Dad, ya called him a stinkin' deadbeat and a chiseler. An' that was in the freakin' taxi over ta the funeral home fer the memorial."

"Don't be a fuckin' wiseass. An' what's this 'bout goin' ta the rich bitch's place fer Thanksgivin', huh? Yer mother's real upset 'bout it."

Ned glanced past his father and listened as cutlery and dishes were banged about. He slowly shook his head, knowing it was just his mother emptying the dishwasher and had nothing to do with actually preparing a meal.

Not that she didn't try on Thanksgiving. She made some effort, but it seemed half-hearted at best and filled with complaints and the smell of burnt offerings in the end. Ned would eat it without complaint (assuming it had not become so inedible that they had to order pizza instead), sparing her his biting wit for just that day, while he listened to his father ramble on about political matters based on what the man had heard on talk shows and his own twisted ideas about reality.

The man still called the Russians the Soviets.

Ned narrowed his eyes on his father. He wanted to point out how his father seemed not to care what his mother felt or said except when it suited him, like when he could pick a fight over it. Then his mother would be all over him for fighting with his father. He wondered if his father liked pitting the two against one another.

"Lemme guess," Ned said, his voice cool. "Cassie's been here for some time and ya only jus' came up now ta tell me."

"She can cool her frickin' two hunnert dollar heels a little longer. Ya didn't answer my question."

"Mebbe I don't wanna answer it," Ned snapped. He started to push past his father.

His father shoved him back. "Answer the fuckin' question. Why do ya wanna go off ta her house?"

Ned clenched his hands into fists. His father had never interfered this directly with his life since they had moved to Haven. For once he wished he had inherited more of his father's beefy frame. "Mebbe cuz I got something fer her," Ned said in a lower voice. "Mebbe I jus' like her a lot."

Ned refused to reveal that he loved her. That would earn him no end of derision. He doubted his parents even understood the term anymore.

His father's eyebrows knit. "Are ya boffin' her, is that it?"

Ned clenched his teeth. With a grunt, he elbowed his father out of the way and barreled past him before he could recover. His father's hand tried to snatch his arm, but Ned's more wiry form ensured the man grasped only the disturbed air in his wake.

"Yeah, that's right!" His father bellowed. "Abandon yer parents, go boff yer little rich bitch girlfriend, ya fuckin' useless--"

Ned slammed the front door behind him but held on to the doorknob until he stopped shaking. He squinted through the bright sun reflected off the snow, and let out a more relaxed sigh as he gazed upon the limo at the end of the walk.

He took a deep breath and let it go as a fog of mist. He drew himself up straight and walked towards the limo, his shoes clicking against the concrete (which he had meticulously shoveled and de-iced himself at the crack of dawn to avoid tracking snow and slush on his shoes). He grinned as Harry emerged from the driver's seat and walked smartly around the vehicle, opening the door for him.

"Thank you, my good man," Ned said with exaggerated flair as he slid into the back seat to a soft gasp from Cassie.

"Ned, you look ..." Cassie breathed.

"Suave? Debonair? Puttin' on the ritz?"

Cassie lay a hand against his leg and smiled. "Handsome," she said in a slightly husky voice. "Very handsome."

Ned lay her hand atop hers and gave it a soft squeeze. "Yer not so bad yerself. Ya look wonderful, babe."

Cassie's smile became more subdued. She was sure she looked nice in her gleaming white dress with gentle pink frills, but it would make it that much harder to enjoy dinner worrying she might spill something on it and earn no end of rebuke from her mother. This despite the fact that Thanksgiving was usually the one day when dinner was not some vast affair designed largely for entertaining clients. Yet to her mother, appearances mattered, even behind closed doors.

Harry started the car and pulled away from the curb, tires crunching on the unplowed street. "So, um, okay, do we need ta go over some kinda, y'know, etiquette?" Ned said. "I wanna make sure I impress yer parents. Or at least avoid gettin' thrown out."

Cassie was relieved to hear him bring it up first. She did not want to sound like he was not "good enough" for her parents. At the same time, she resented the idea that Ned would have to pretend he was something he was not. She considered letting him say and act the way he wanted and deal with the fallout later.

No, I can't do that! she suddenly cried out in her mind. I can't keep adjusting my mother like that, it's not right! Why am I even thinking about it?

"Er, babe?" Ned asked, squeezing her hand tighter.

"What? I'm sorry, Ned, I'm a little distracted."

Ned nodded and glanced at the back of Harry's head for a moment. "Um ... anything ta do with, ah, ya know, that thing ya were gonna try?"

"Yes, but--" She paused when she saw Harry's head turn slightly. "I don't know where to begin right now." She said, her eyes darting towards Harry.

Ned nodded, his gaze sliding that way for a moment as well. "Gotcha."

"As for how to act around my parents, I don't want to tell you to do anything different." She sighed and shook her head. "Goodness, this is frustrating! I wish my mother--"

"Hey, I know, I know, but I'm willin' ta talk the talk and walk the walk if I hafta. Yer worth it."

Cassie's lips twitched into a soft smile. "Well, it would probably be better to refer to me as Cassandra."

Ned's head bobbed. "Cassandra, got it. Anything else?"

Cassie could think of a hundred things which her mother would find objectionable but for which she loved him: his sense of humor, his wit, his casual manner, his candidness, his openness, even his New York City accent, any one of which would earn a sneer of contempt from her mother.

"No," Cassie said. "That's it."

"Ya sure 'bout that, ba ... ah, I mean, Cassandra?"

"Yes, I'm sure. It will be fine." Though Cassie wondered if she said it to convince herself more than him.

Melinda's eyes blinked open and squinted at the bright morning light. She groaned and turned away from the window, her eyes sliding closed again. When she glimpsed the clock next to her bed, they flew open again. She stared and bolted up, the blanket and sheet falling away from her naked breasts.

"What the hell, it's almost--"

Her gaze snapped away from the clock when she heard a click. The door to the bathroom opened, and Heather stepped out, trailing both her Aura and a lingering haze of steam. Melinda caught a glimpse of a fogged mirror just before her sister turned off the light.

Melinda opened her mouth to protest Heather forgetting to clean off the mirror (again), but instead watched her cross the room. Heather's naked body moved as if it were still clad in her maid outfit, hips swinging and ass cheeks bobbing with each step.

Melinda finally forced herself to speak. "How long have you been up? Why didn't you wake me up?"

"You were tired, you needed your sleep," Heather said as she grabbed the hairbrush from the top of the dresser.

Melinda threw off the covers, revealing the rest of her nude body. "When did that ever stop you?"

Heather ran the brush through her hair a few times before she spoke again. "Maybe I just wanted to be nice to you."

Melinda uttered a tiny forlorn sigh. Years ago she had pined to have a sister this soft-spoken and subdued. "Well, don't," Melinda snapped. "I've had enough of Mom trying to be 'nice' to me."

"Is that why you were running around nude last night?"

"She won't let me wear any clothes! She's been doing that to me for the past week. As soon as I get home, I-I have to take everything off. It's driving me insane."

"Don't exaggerate, runt."

Melinda frowned at her sister's back, but part of her was elated to hear something of the old Heather. She slid her legs over the side of the bed. "She has to let me wear something today. We have relatives coming over. She can't ... she can't control all of them like she does Dad."

Heather turned around, still brushing her hair, her lips twitching into a small smile. "You do look cute going around naked, though."

Melinda blushed. "Stop it. Don't do that to me."

"I'm not doing anything to you. I mean that, Melinda. I ... I don't have the ability to do it anymore."

Melinda's eyes widened. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Heather sighed. "Anything I try to do, any kind of power I try to use just gets thrown back at me."

"But that's never happened before!" Melinda cried.

"Keep your voice down," Heather admonished. "You want Mom coming in here and making things worse?"

"Wait, maybe Mom is doing that to you! At least I hope that's why you didn't even try to resist her last night."

"Melinda, please--"

"Shut up, Heather! ... I mean, don't shut up. Keep talking to me, dammit. I wanted to talk to you last night but Mom put a stop to that. So, yeah, maybe I don't want to lower my voice."

Heather slammed the brush down atop her dresser. "This is not the day to act like a stupid brat, runt."

"Then stop being a bubblehead and tell me what happened last night. Why couldn't you stop her?"

Heather dropped her face into her hands for a moment and sighed through her fingers. "I-I tried," she said in a quavering voice. "It just got worse. It ... it was like I was helping what she was doing to us. You must've felt it yourself. I sensed you trying to get energy from the link soon as she declared it to be 'family night.'"

Melinda shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. "Some family night. Making us finger ourselves silly on the sofa just to keep us from talking. My pussy still feels a little sore."

"So I did try, okay?"

"At least it's more than you did when you became Bendon's little floozy."

Heather stared. "What?"

"You wouldn't do anything to resist her," Melinda whined. "I tried to give you energy and you wouldn't take it!"

Heather shook her head and turned back towards the dresser. "There wasn't any point. And you really should have kept it for yourself. Then maybe you could've resisted Mom more."

"But why wouldn't--"

Melinda stopped when she saw Heather open a drawer and pull out a lacy black bra. Heather let out a husky sigh as she gazed at it before tossing it on her bed. "And that was more than just stopping us from talking," Heather said.

"Huh?"

Heather opened another drawer and turned an impatient gaze towards Melinda. "She practically had us in an orgasm-induced trance. She did something to us. Planted something in our heads."

"But I don't remember that."

Heather selected the matching panties and gazed at them with sultry eyes before tossing them on the bed as well. "You were way out of it, midget," she said as she strode to her bed.

"Then ... th-then we need to keep talking. We need to keep ... wait, what the hell, Heather?"

Heather pulled the panties up her legs, shimmying her hips into them. She uttered a soft, husky sigh as she tugged the crotch against her mound. "What does it look like I'm doing, runt?" Heather said, her voice breathy.

"Why are you putting those on?"

Heather turned as her breasts jiggled into the cups of the bra, the nipples growing taut, the areolae visible as faint circles through the lace. "I have to look sexy for Mistress, Melinda."

"Mistress? Shit, Heather, Bendon's not here."

"I'm still her slave, and I have to look sexy for her all the time."

Melinda shivered as Heather's Aura slithered and writhed. She wished she had Jason's ability to see the patterns. Jason had tried to reassure her for the fourth time that the pattern of Heather's Aura was subtly different than those directly enslaved to the Darkness. "It's the same pattern as Ms. Bendon, which is what you would expect," he had said. It had not mollified her, and it had not helped that Jason had been snappish with her the last time she had asked about it.

"Okay, fine, whatever," Melinda said. "Heather, there has to be something going on. We can't both be having trouble with the link at the same time."

Heather's breasts bounced as she gave the bra a tug. "I know," she said in a small voice.

"Last night, I saw something in my head when I tried to use the link. I'm not sure what it was, but it looked familiar. Like ... like a big wall of electrified cotton candy standing in my way."

Heather slid her hands down her sides and around her hips. Her eyes glistened as they gazed at her sister.

"Do you know what it was? Did you see anything like that?"

Heather stared, her eyes glazed.

Melinda's eyes widened. "Heather? What is it?"

Heather swallowed hard. "F-friends," she gasped. "You said ... friends ... can't discuss it with friends. She's my sister ..."

Melinda's eyes grew frantic, flitting over her sister's outline and watching the Aura quiver. "Heather ..."

Heather's hands slid back up, trembling as if with the urge to cup her own breasts. "S-sister ... sister ..."

Melinda backed up a step. "H-Heather, stop it, you're seriously freaking me out!"

Heather's hands tumbled to her sides, and she let out a gusty sigh as she fell to the side of the bed. Melinda gasped as her Aura shuddered, then quiesced, as if it had tired itself out. Heather's eyes appeared less distant and more focused.

Melinda rushed forward. "Are you okay? Did you just ...?"

"No, I'm not free of my Mistress, Melinda. I just managed ... listen, before Mom comes to get us, I did see something. It looked like what we saw that time we tapped into the line energy when we all had sex at the meeting house."

Melinda gasped. "Yes, that's it! That's what that was! Shit, I should've figgered that out myself."

Heather's hips squirmed, and her panties hugged her mound. "I-I don't think Mom wanted you to. Just like ... just like Mistress doesn't want me talking to our friends."

"Mom did the same thing to me! Heather, what does it mean? Why are we seeing this stuff about the lines? We have to be right on one of those things to do that, don't we?"

Heather let out a quavering sigh. Her nipples tented the lace as moisture oozed through her panties. "Melinda, don't panic, okay? It's hard enough to think with as h-horny as this outfit makes me."

"But we have to do something," Melinda piped. "You have to contact someone. You have to talk to Jason, or Cassie, or Mrs. Radson."

"We ... I ... I don't ... I don't see the point," Heather said in a shaky voice.

"Fine!" Melinda declared. "Then I'll have to ... no, wait ... I can't ... I can't talk to them because I have to be a good girl for mommy." The last syllables came out in a husky rush, her pussy suddenly aching, her nipples tingling.

"We can't do anything, Melinda," Heather said in a near whisper as her hand slid down over her thigh.

"We h-have to. We can't avoid it just because I ... uhnng ... Y-yes, I'm being a good girl for mommy," Melinda murmured. She fell back onto the foot of her bed and spread her legs.

Heather's fingers peeled back the crotch of her panties and teased her slick, swollen clit. "Don't ... uhnn ... don't make it any worse."

Melinda's hands clenched into shaking fists as she resisted the urge to reward herself for being mommy's sexy and obedient girl. She shook her head violently and forced several deep if shaky breaths. "We tell someone else," she finally moaned.

Heather's fingertips swirled, her breath becoming a soft pant. "What ... you're not ... making any sense ..."

"We tell o-one of our other relatives."

Heather's fingers slowed. "That's stupid, Melinda ... they won't ..." She trailed off as she eased two fingers into her tight pussy. "Uhng! ... th-they won't believe us."

Indignation and anger blew like a tempest in Melinda's mind, pushing back the fog of sexual euphoria. "Then we just give them a note to take to Jason! We have to try something, bubblehead! We--!"

She abruptly stopped as the knob of the bedroom door clicked. She gave her sister a stricken look before the door opened and their mother stepped inside.

Penny was dressed in only a bathrobe, held closed by her hand at her belly. As she stepped forward, her delta peeked through the folds. "Good morning," she said in a soft voice. "Happy Thanksgiving."

Melinda wanted to say there was nothing happy about it, but she did not trust her voice to actually obey her wishes. Heather's fingers stopped, just barely penetrating her folds, her eyes rising to her mother. Penny approached and draped her hand over Heather's, easing her daughter's fingers deeper. Heather uttered a lusty sigh as her fingers sank into her pussy, moisture squishing and oozing. She spread her legs further apart and finger-fucked herself with slow, deep strokes, her hips rocking to the same wet rhythm.

"No need to stop for me, honey," Penny said.

Melinda stared, forcing her gaze to focus on her mother's Aura and not the body. Yet when Penny turned around, she let her hand drop. The robe parted, and a breast rolled from behind the folds, the nipple stiff and wanting. She stepped towards Melinda, the light glistening in her sex.

"You want to, also," Penny said.

Melinda's pussy steamed. Her hands clenched into fists, but then slowly unclenched. "No."

"Yes, you do, honey. You want to be a good little girl."

"Uhnngg! ..." Melinda groaned, her thighs quaking. Her legs opened wider in silent invitation. She gripped the edge of the mattress until her knuckles turned white.

Melinda was drawing on the last of her reserves. She felt the energy draining from her mind. The link was all but dead. The blue-white "wall" was right outside, almost upon her.

Her mother uttered a tiny sigh. "I have a lot of work to do this morning, and I cannot watch you all the time. So you're going to have to stay here for awhile and ... enjoy each other's company."

Melinda gasped as something shifted in her mind. Her heart raced, her pussy no longer aching for her own touch. Her eyes shimmered as they witnessed Heather slide off the bed and approach her.

"No, Heather, please ..." Melinda begged in a weak, husky voice, but her pussy already tingled and oozed in anticipation. She drew in her breath and caught the scent of her sister's arousal, her tongue wetting her lips.

Heather lay her hands on Melinda's sides. Melinda trembled, a whimper passing her lips when Heather trailed her fingers down to Melinda's hips. Melinda spread her legs even as she said, "I d-don't want to do this."

Heather slid her hands up and cupped her sister's breasts. She leaned forward and bestowed a light kiss on each nipple, leaving Melinda quivering with aching need. "Yes, you do, baby sis."

"Sh-she's ... she's m-making me ..." Melinda moaned.

Heather's eyes glistened as she drew her face close to Melinda's. "I know. We can't fight this, not now. Please ..."

Melinda swallowed and nodded, her next breath emerging as a husky rush when their lips met. Melinda moaned into her sister's mouth as desire escalated into passion, tongues sliding past inviting lips. Their nipples throbbed with their pounding hearts as plump flesh pressed to plump flesh, a soft warmth which radiated into their nether regions until they ran molten with insatiable need.

Penny's shimmering eyes watching her daughters until they both lay twined and writhing in helpless sexual union, Heather's skilled tongue plunging into Melinda's tight depths, Melinda's face disappearing between Heather's thighs. Soft moans rose above the wet sounds of pleasured flesh, bodies squirming in need which Penny had ensured would be slow to be satisfied.

Penny trembled and let out a slow, quavering sigh. She left without another word, closing the door softly behind her.

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