Cassie stands just past the veil and does not know what to do.

What had been the limitless vista of her mother's mind is now a pale gray wall. She senses no substance to it, yet it appears as solid as lead. She reaches her hand towards it and feels nothing, yet it does not yield. Or perhaps she is looking at it wrong. Perhaps this is simply a void, a buffer between the dreamverse and her mother's mind.

Cassie steps forward, and her entire world becomes a disorienting gray pall. Up is the same as down, left the same as right. She panics when she can no longer see or sense the veil itself. The thought of wandering forever lost in the corridors of her mother's mind only exacerbates her fear.

"Hello?"

Cassie nearly jumps at the sound of the little girl's voice. She spins in place, eyes darting everywhere but seeing nothing but featureless gray.

"Hello?"

Cassie turns again, staring in the direction of the voice, but she still discerns nothing.

"I know you're there!"

Cassie trembles as she recognizes the voice as that of the little girl in her vision of the ballroom.

"Show yourself! Stop hiding from me!"

Cassie's ethereal heart pounds. The voice is louder but no closer. Ahead, faint patterns solidify in the gray until she strains to see them clearer, then they fade back into the void.

She hears a tiny sigh. "I'm sorry I yelled at you," says the voice of little Cassie in a more contrite but still indignant tone. "But I didn't like what you made me--"

"Cassandra!"

Cassie gasps at her mother's sharp voice, and now Dorothy's silhouette appears in faint contrast to the gray. A much smaller figure trots up to her mother. Cassie sees the outline of her curls around her neck and shoulders.

"Yes, mother?" little Cassie answers in a meek voice.

The figure of Dorothy pauses, and Cassie takes a cautious step forward. The pall slowly withdraws from the tableau, but its edges roil as if the slightest disturbance would call them forth and obliterate this precious bit of memory.

Her mother is wearing a long robe, her hair down. Dorothy glances past little Cassie, her eyes searching and worried. Her face briefly betrays trepidation before she turns it to one of admonishment when she gazes at her daughter. "Why are you out of bed, young lady?"

Little Cassie folds her hands behind her back and turns one leg on the ball of her foot. She is wearing the same nightgown from Cassie's vision. Is this is the same night? Did this take place right after little Cassie left the ballroom?

"Well?" Dorothy says, folding her arms and casting an imperious gaze. "I'm waiting."

"... made me do it."

Cassie blinks and shakes her head. For a moment, everything around her had shimmered, as if about to wink out of existence and leave her floating in utter nothingness. What did little Cassie say just now? She wills the scene to play again, something she can do with her normal Dream Gift, but the memory forges ahead despite her.

"We have spoken about this before," Dorothy says in a haughty voice, but Cassie senses her mother's true emotions, as they are indelibly stamped into the memory. Her mother is being careful with her words.

Little Cassie suddenly stamps her foot. "He IS real! He's the one who's making me--!"

"Cassandra, stop it."

Cassie's eyes widen. Her mother's fear just escalated, spiking hard when little Cassie frowns up at her.

Dorothy utters a slow sigh. "All right. Why did he make you get up at this hour?"

Little Cassie pauses, her eyes darting from side to side. Cassie cannot sense her younger self's emotions, as this is her mother's memory, but Cassie has the distinct impression she is witnessing a little girl caught in a lie.

"Well ... um ..." little Cassie murmurs.

"He did not make you get up, did he?" Dorothy says, her fear giving way to confidence.

"No," little Cassie says in a tiny voice, her head low.

Cassie breathes a sigh of relief. The last thing she wants to see is evidence that she had been under someone's control as a child. Yet where is her mother's fear coming from? Why would an imaginary friend cause her such distress?

Little Cassie's head whips up, her face once more indignant. "But he did make me do those other things! He does!"

Another pause. Dorothy looks and feels hesitant, as if weighing how far she can push her luck. "Cassandra," Dorothy says in a voice of surprising calm and tenderness. She crouches next to little Cassie and teases the girl's curls. "You have to remember and keep in your mind at ALL times that you do only what you want to do."

Little Cassie looks about to protest, but she pouts instead and shakes her head, her curls swatting her cheeks.

"Yes, Cassandra. You cannot be coerced into anything." She pauses. "And it is very bad to coerce anyone or anything else."

Cassie gasps. "What?! I never did anything like that! I never had that sort of--!"

"I didn't mean to," little Cassie says in a tiny voice, her eyes downcast.

Cassie pales. Dorothy utters a long sigh, and relief comes off her in waves. Cassie is too frantic to understand the implication, that this may be the first time Dorothy managed to get her daughter to admit fault in some wrongdoing.

"I know you didn't," Dorothy says in a low voice, stroking Cassandra's cheek. "Perhaps ... perhaps you will tell me now where this friend of yours came from?"

Little Cassie shakes her head. "I promised I wouldn't."

Cassie swallows. The fear is back. When Dorothy strokes little Cassie's cheek again, her hand is trembling. "Cassandra ..."

Little Cassie jumps back. "You want to send him back!"

Dorothy shakes her head, but her emotions say the exact opposite. "No, I wouldn't do anything like that to something ... someone so dear to you. But if he is causing you such distress, why do you want him around?"

Little Cassie remains silent, her eyes darting to the side. A nervous shimmer clouds Dorothy's eyes, and she turns her gaze briefly in that direction as if expecting to see something. "He just ... he tells me interesting stuff."

"What kind of 'stuff?'"

Little Cassie is quiet for a long moment, her eyes clouded with internal debate. "Stuff he thinks I can do."

(No, it's stupid. I can't do something like that!)

"And what would that be?" Dorothy asks in a quavering voice.

(I can't get into people's dreams)

Little Cassie shakes her head. "Stupid stuff."

"Like ... like what's been happening to--"

Little Cassie shakes her head until her curls fly. "No."

"Then what, Cassandra?"

Cassie feels the desperation from her mother even if Dorothy manages to keep it out of her voice. Little Cassie becomes indignant once more. "No, it's stupid, and it's something I wouldn't want to do anyway. He got all mad at me when I told him that, and he ran off." Her eyes suddenly mist. "And now he hates me and I-I'll never see him again, a-and ..."

Little Cassie bursts into tears, and she buries her face in Dorothy's shoulder. Suddenly Dorothy's fear vanishes, sympathy and tenderness radiating like the sun. She takes little Cassie's hand and leads her to a chair, where she pulls the girl into her lap. "Shh, it's okay," Dorothy whispers as she hugs her daughter. "It's going to be okay now."

Cassie wants to know more, but already the figures are retreating into the pall of gray. They are little more than vague outlines, their voices distant and muffled, and then they are gone. She floats in the void for a few seconds before it once more becomes a wall, and the shimmering veil appears behind her.

More questions spin in Cassie's head. She advances into the pall once more, but it remains a barrier. She waits, but nothing beckons to her. It is as if something allowed her to see this memory rather than her obtaining it for herself.

Cassie is confused. Her mother has no such elaborate mental defenses. She must be encountering something new and has to puzzle her way around it. Seeking memories which did not come spontaneously is something she started doing only recently, and she only needs to refine the technique.

So she hopes, as the alternatives are nothing she wishes to explore.

The Woodrows were always early risers, and Sunday was no exception. While others were about to head off to church, they had already attended the early morning service and were finishing up breakfast. Diane's mother Janet collected her daughter's plate and paused when she peered down at it. "Are you done, honey?"

Diane nodded, too distracted to bother with words.

"Are you sure? You've hardly touched your breakfast."

Diane was forced to break out of her reverie, just barely suppressing a sigh. "I'm fine, mother. I just wasn't that hungry. Here, I'll help you clean up."

Janet nodded, but kept a wary eye on her daughter as Diane stood up and followed her into the kitchen. "Something you need to tell me?" she asked as she scraped off the remains of Diane's meal into the garbage.

Diane was not sure how to answer, as it was not straight in her own head. She felt the urge to leave the house, but not for the sake of going outside. It had come over her the moment she had awoken that morning, and going to church had failed to ease it.

"Diane?"

"I'm not sure," Diane replied in all honesty as she placed some cutlery into the dishwasher.

Janet handed Diane the now empty plate. "Is this about Heather again?"

"I'm not sure."

Janet straightened and put her hands on her hips. "I wish you wouldn't be so cryptic about these things."

"Mother, if I really knew what was wrong, I would tell you," Diane said, an exasperated edge to her voice as she set the plate in the dishwasher.

"I had a feeling something was going on. You were rather subdued all morning."

"I don't talk a lot when we go to church."

"I mean more so than usual." Janet kicked the dishwasher door up and closed it. "Is there anything I can do? Especially if it would help Heather in some way."

"I don't ... I mean, I suppose it could, yes."

Janet tilted her head, giving her daughter a dubious look.

"Mother, all I need right now is to go take a walk. It will help me think."

"It will have to wait until this afternoon, as your cousin Jill may be coming over."

"When is she supposed to get here?" Diane said, trying to hide the impatience in her voice.

"She didn't say when. It also depends on--"

"Mother, I see Jill all the time. I think I can stand to miss her once."

Janet looked askance at Diane. "I really wish you would tell me what's going on in your head lately."

Diane realized it would make no sense to her mother even if she did try to explain it. She saw herself taking a very specific path when she left the house. If it were going to lead her to where she thought, she was going to force a diversion. "I have to get it straight in my own head first."

"All right. You can go for your walk, but I expect to hear what's on your mind once you do get it straight. I hate to pry like this, Diane, but ... well, I'm a little worried for you."

Diane gave her mother a surprised look. "Worried? Me? Why?"

Janet hesitated, her eyes anxious.

"Is this about my relationship with Heather?"

"You could say that, yes."

Diane noticed the uncertainty in her mother's voice and understood. She had inadvertently backed her mother into a corner, forcing her into a situation where she could not explain her feelings, either. By mentioning Heather, Diane had given her an escape.

"I'm being careful," Diane said in a low voice. "And not just my relationship with her. I'm being really careful about everything."

Janet's eyes shimmered as she nodded. "All right, dear. Please, try to be back by early afternoon."

Diane was surprised. That was a lot more leeway than she thought her mother would give her. "Of course, Mother. Thanks." She gave her mother a quick hug and fled.

She dashed to the hall closet and grabbed her coat. She was still putting it on when she barreled out the front door and trotted down the steps. At the end of the walk, she paused and looked down the street.

She saw the path she was prompted to take. She still could not trust it was all her own doing. Even if it were, she did not want to go through it alone again. She sprinted across the street and down the other way.

Melinda stared at herself in the mirror and frowned. Her mother had done nothing to update her wardrobe in the past month, and each Sunday it became ever more apparent. Every intake of breath made her chest feel tight, her blouse stretching across more cleavage than it had been designed to handle. The dress was also tight around the hips, clinging to her new curves. She felt more like she was going to be prostituted rather than attend church.

"Like I haven't already?" she muttered under her breath.

She would not have the recourse of covering up with a coat despite the subfreezing chill. The church was always overheated to the point where it felt like the middle of August despite the actual season. Considering what she knew of the church's pastor and his involvement with her mother and the Inn, she suspected he did it on purpose just for the unobstructed view of his female parishioners.

"Melinda, come down here if you're ready," came her mother's voice. "I don't want to be late."

Melinda rolled her eyes and yelled back, "We've got another ten minutes before we have to leave, Mom!"

"Your Aunt Jo wants a look at you before we go. Get down here now, young lady."

Melinda shuddered. She had heard Aunt Jo arrive just as she finished her shower. Fuck, if she wanted to go all perv on me, why didn't she do it then? Why in hell am I being made to wear white?

Melinda stepped out of the bathroom. Her bra felt too tight as well, as she had to opt for a smaller one to hold her breasts in check, or the blouse would never have contained them. The white lace of her panties felt uncomfortable. The pair matched to her Sunday finery were designed for modesty, and such a thing was becoming an alien concept.

She slipped her white-stocking clad feet into her shoes, took a deep breath to steel herself, and marched out of the room and down the stairs. Her mother and Aunt Jo were seated on the sofa, talking softly to one another. One of the stairs creaked under Melinda's foot, and both looked up.

Melinda clenched her jaw and tried to ignore their gaze. She set in her mind the idea she was wearing nothing the least provocative. Nevertheless, her aunt's eyes glittered with excitement and roamed over Melinda's body as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Her mother smiled faintly in approval, her eyes sweeping her daughter once from feet to bosom.

"Why, you look so pretty all dressed up for church, my dear," Jo said.

Melinda shivered. Beneath the facade of a respectable comment she heard an undertone of lust, becoming more apparent in her aunt's dark and sultry eyes as Melinda drew near. She wanted to pause to reestablish some resistance, but her feet drew her forward anyway.

"Here, stand in front of me so I can get a better look at you."

Melinda briefly clenched a hand into a fist as her pussy buzzed at the prospect of an older woman's scrutiny. She stepped before her aunt and was subjected to Jo's now openly lascivious gaze.

"Turn around once slowly," Jo said.

Melinda swallowed and obeyed, her skin flushing with delight.

"My, you fill out that dress quite well."

Melinda let out a ragged sigh of both exasperation and desire.

"Melinda, what do you say?" Penny said.

Melinda finished her turn and faced her aunt again, gazing at the woman's lustful eyes and struggling not to stare at the rest of her. "Um, thank you, Aunt Jo."

Jo smiled. "And so well-mannered. Come here."

Melinda's heart pounded as she took a shaky step forward. She gasped and nearly flinched when Jo lay her hands along the outside of Melinda's calves. Her hands slid slowly up the white stockings, gathering and pushing up the dress. Melinda shivered, her nipples tingling as her body flushed hot.

"Mmm, such pretty stockings and wonderfully sexy legs," Jo purred.

Melinda bit her lip to suppress a moan. Her hips swayed as the slow slide of her aunt's fingertips continued past her knees and up her thighs. Jo reached the top of Melinda's stockings and spread her fingers over bare skin, eliciting a husky sigh and squirming hips. Jo lifted the dress until she exposed Melinda's panties, which swayed as her pussy buzzed with warm arousal.

"That just completes the picture," Jo said. "Such modest panties. But we know the truth, don't we?"

Jo let the dress drop. Melinda swallowed and stepped back. She saw her aunt's gaze linger on her bosom, and she leaned forward as if in unconscious desire to bring attention to the raised bumps of her erect nipples. She whimpered and shivered when Jo brushed her fingertips once against each.

"We better get to church, Jo," she heard her mother suddenly declare in a loud voice behind her.

Jo stood. Melinda's gaze lingered on her breasts as they bounced. "Of course. Oh, and Melinda, when we get home, don't get undressed yourself. I would like the honor myself."

"Yes, Aunt Jo," Melinda said in a husky voice. She followed the others to the car, her pussy already warm and damp, her panties confining and uncomfortable. Her mind's eye conjured the image despite her best efforts, and she saw herself squirming in escalating sexual heat as her Sunday clothes were slowly stripped from her.

She quelled the growing desire as much as she could, or she would be a complete wet mess by the time church was over. She seized the link and held onto it like a drowning person to a rope. If any energy was to be had, she was going to get it and at least stop her from being humiliated through the Mass.

It would be a small victory, but she could use even that, for otherwise she was a step away from sinking into a total despair out of which she feared she would never climb again.

Richie spent no more time in front of the mirror than it took to give his hair a few cursory swipes of the comb. He glared at himself just before turning away, jamming the comb into his pocket.

He glanced at the clothes hamper as he exited the bathroom. He was tempted to rummage through it and wear the dirtiest clothing he could find. "Sunday finery" in the Gardner household was defined as anything reasonably clean with no obvious holes. That was the rule for Richie at least, arrived at years ago after much stubbornness and yelling on his part.

Her mother still gussied herself up for Sunday, wearing slinky dresses better suited for a bar or a downtown street corner. Her Aura spun and churned as if in anticipation of seducing more men for an afternoon of quick-and-dirty sex. Sandra usually sent him out of the house for that, and he was more than happy to oblige, but wondered now if the game plan had changed.

He left his bedroom and peered over the railing. Cathy was seated on the sofa, looking all soft and demure in her white blouse and gray skirt, hands folded in her lap. She occasionally leaned forward, bosom bulging against the blouse, her hips writhing.

Richie heard banging in the kitchen as her mother finished cleaning up after breakfast. Sandra had wanted to pick up Cathy on the way to church, but Richie had no intention of going anywhere near the Inn, thus forcing the change of plans. The volume at which she rattled items suggested she was still angry with him. Yeah, hope you stay fucking pissed at me all day, Richie thought.

Richie bounded down the stairs. Cathy raised her eyes and smiled as Richie approached. "Hello, Richie, it's so good to see you again," she gushed as she stood.

The blouse was tight around her bosom, and from the peek of bare cleavage Richie spied between the stretched buttons, she was bra-less. Her pleated skirt covered only the upper half of her thighs. Her legs were bare, save for short white stockings and five-inch heels.

Her Aura was still ever-present, and Richie did not dwell too much on her body. "Yeah, fine," Richie muttered.

"Aunt Sandra told me I'm going to be living here for awhile," Cathy continued, her voice husky. "Will I be staying with you in your room?"

Richie frowned. "You think I got space for all your crap in that dinky room?"

"Oh no, I didn't bring anything, really. Just some clothes. But ... I figured I wouldn't be wearing very much around here."

Richie clenched his jaw as his cock twitched.

"Or ... I could wear what you want me too," Cathy said in a soft voice as her Aura churned. "Maybe some lacy underwear. Or a teddy. Or--"

"Look, shut up, okay?" Richie snapped as his cock expanded.

Cathy nodded, looking mildly hurt, yet her hips did not stop their sensual sway, her nipples rising as two hard bumps on her blouse.

Richie sighed. "We'll figure out all that shit later."

"Yes, Richie, of course. I'll do whatever you want."

Richie wanted to throw another sharp retort, but it would have felt hypocritical in light of his solid erection. With an annoyed grunt he tugged his belt so it would sit somewhat more comfortably under his briefs.

He saw her gaze flick downward, and she licked her lips. Her eyes held dark desire and promise. Her Aura roiled, and Richie resisted the urge to order her on her knees.

Cathy drew in her breath and let it go as a lusty sigh. Her eyes flicked down to his crotch again with a hungry look. "Richie, would you like me to--?"

"No," Richie lied. "Not now, we're going to freaking church for Christ's sake." He turned away from her and called out, "Mom, what the fuck are you doing, cleaning the whole goddamn kitchen?!"

Sandra burst out of the kitchen, her body wrapped in a dress of a shade of red several levels too garish for church. "I wasn't cleaning, I was putting the pots and pans away, which I seemed to remember asking you to do."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I forgot."

Sandra sighed. "Head like a fucking sieve."

Richie could not tell anymore how much direct control the Darkness was exercising over her. Her Aura was almost constantly active now, so he could not trust anything she said. She sounded like herself, but the Darkness could have easily told her "act like a mother today," just to mess with Richie's head.

"You look wonderful this morning, Aunt Sandra," Cathy said.

"Suck up," Richie muttered.

"Shut up," Sandra snapped. "And be nice to her."

"I'm already gonna fuck her brains out later, what more do you want?"

"Oh, Richie, I can hardly wait," Cathy said in a husky voice. "I'm already getting wet just thinking about it."

Richie rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the pulse of his heartbeat in his stiff cock. "Whatever. Let's hit the road."

His mother grabbed his arm as he was heading to the garage. "It's fucking twenty degrees outside. Get your damn coat."

Richie wrenched his arm free and stomped back upstairs. He snatched his jacket from the foot of his bed and pulled it on. He thrust his hands into his pockets and took a deep breath to settle his suddenly racing heart.

In the right pocket, his fingers held he baseball. The post-it note with his father's phone number lay in his left pocket. He considered leaving the latter at home but could not bring himself to pull the note from his pocket.

He was not looking forward to this. He would be away from the line, and his father's voice would bring him to task for his cowardice. He had his father right there on the phone. No stupid voice mail or answering service. All he had to do was say something. Anything.

He wracked his brains for any excuse to stay home from church. He wished he had thought of this when he awoke or he could have feigned being sick. He had become the master of that feat of deception back in grammar school to where he could almost throw up on demand. Then he could try calling his father again.

"Richie, get your ass down here already!" Sandra shouted from below.

"Shit," he muttered, and stomped out of the room.

"Wow, mebbe this is why ya get so upset at the idea of playin' footsie with people's minds," Ned said into the phone as he leaned against the inside wall of the closet under the stairs.

"Oh, Ned, I don't even want to think that I may have done something like that when I was child!"

"I'm not sayin' it was that, just--"

"But my own mother was scared of me, like she thought I was going to do something to her if I got angry enough."

"Hold yer horses there, babe. Now, unless ya got holda some memory of ya wishin' people inta the corn field--"

"Corn field? Ned, what in the world are you talking about?"

Ned sighed. Okay, note to self, he thought. Add "Twilight Zone" to the list of cultural references she just don't get. "Ah, never mind. What I mean is ya may be takin' all this outta context. Ya jus' heard bits and pieces. I mean, come on, if ya really were the Demon Child of Haven, ya woulda been the one we fought instead of Melissa."

Cassie uttered an exasperated sigh, and Ned held the phone tighter when he heard a faint sob, wishing it was her hand he was holding instead. "I h-hate not knowing. It's as if I don't even know who I am anymore."

"Yes, ya do. Yer Cassie Kendall, cutest girl on the mesa and the only girl ta ever give the Nose the time o' day."

"Oh, Ned," Cassie said in a softer but slightly admonishing voice.

"Okay, look at it this way: Wouldja ever have thought of dumping me if I tol' ya I got involved in a few knife fights when I was growin' up?"

"You've already told me about that and of course I wouldn't."

"Then say ya did do a few shady things when ya were a kid. Don't change nuthin' 'bout who ya are now."

Cassie was silent for a moment. She sniffled once and uttered another sigh. "I can't come to terms with anything if I don't know what happened to me. And if it's something that gave me my Dream Gift, then my parents know a lot more about my abilities than I ever thought. And they never told me! Maybe that's what my mother meant. Maybe she thinks I'm not using my Gift because she believes I don't remember I have it. She's too scared of what I'll become if I do remember!"

"Babe, slow down," Ned said in a firm voice. "Ever think mebbe they're not scared of ya but for ya?"

"I don't understand."

"Ya already suggested that mebbe they know something of what's goin' down in Haven. Shit, if I were yer father, that'd be enough ta make me piss my pants if I thought ya were gonna get yer pretty brown-curled head involved with all that."

Cassie paused for a long moment. "I so want to believe that," she said in a shaky voice.

"Hey, ya think ya can meet me today? I think ya need at least a few dozen hugs."

"I really want to," Cassie said in a soft voice. "I'll see if I can get away after brunch. Mother is entertaining and I'm expected to be there."

"No prob. It'll gimme time to get with Richie."

"Richie? Why?"

"'cuz a lotta times him and me are on the same wavelength, and he wasn't at the shindig at Mrs. R's house. I wanna fill 'im in."

"Ned, are you sure it's safe to go see him?"

"Prolly isn't, but if we let it scare us away from our own friends, we might as well jus' hand it the key ta the city."

"I suppose you're right. Please, be careful, and try to steer clear of the Sovert house. Melinda must be headed off to church and far enough from the line that I can sense her. She's in even deeper trouble now."

"Crap. What about Richie?"

"I can sense him, too. He's really stressed, but I think he's holding out. You'll have to wait until he gets back from church."

Ned nodded. "Yeah, mebbe I can sorta ambush him when he gets home, an' don't give his mother a chance ta get in the way."

"Be careful of her as well! She's--"

"Babe?" Ned said with a smirk. "At this point, it's pretty much the whole town we gotta be careful of."

"Don't fault me for being worried about someone I love," Cassie said in a husky but strained voice.

Ned let out a quavering breath. "Same back at ya, Cassie. See ya later, okay?"

"Okay. I love you."

"Love you, babe."

When Melinda saw that her father was not going to church with them (her mother had "convinced" him that he needed to really get on that emergency at work and not let it go until later) she had hoped to be left alone in the back seat, but Jo sat with her instead. Melinda was not subjected to any unwanted touching, and Jo barely spoke more than a few words to her, but her aunt's proximity was enough to keep her pussy on a low heat.

The conversation between her aunt and her mother did not help.

"It's been so long since I've attended church," Jo said. "Just how is Reverend Hill, anyway?"

"He's been just fine," Penny said in a neutral voice.

Melinda frowned at the back of her mother's head as her aunt said in a sultry voice, "Oh, and I'll bet you've been making quite sure he stays that way."

Penny hesitated, glancing to the side as if wanting to look behind her. "Jo, I don't talk about that sort of thing openly," she said in a low voice.

"And what are you afraid of? Your daughter's tender ears?"

Melinda glanced at Jo and wished she had not. Her gaze flicked over Jo's full, plump breasts, and she licked her lips at the memory of the taste of her aunt's nipples. She forced herself to look away when her pussy ached and her hips squirmed.

"From what you've told me, Penelope, it would seem your children know all about your business at the Inn."

"I just don't talk about ... specific clients."

"You mean just like the way you didn't admit to me you were already having a little coital fun outside your marriage even before that? Oh, wait, you did tell me. I suppose that was one of your little ruses to coax me into revealing I was in the cult."

Melinda gasped. She had already surmised her aunt's involvement in Victor's former cult, but it almost paled in comparison to this latest revelation about her mother. She had always assumed that her mother had not started having sex outside of marriage until after she had fallen to the Darkness.

"I would not be so foolish," Penny said in a flat voice.

"Just like you were not so foolish as to get mixed up in the business of the Inn in the first place?"

"Jo, you know as well as I do that I was left with no choice in the matter."

Jo chuckled. "I said it back then, and I'll say it now: there are always choices. I believe you could have chosen differently and far more wisely."

"It doesn't really matter to me what you believe."

"I suppose you're right. What matters is the way things are. You'll forgive me for taking advantage of it."

Melinda heard nothing of apology in her aunt's voice. If anything, it sounded mocking, as if she were happy to take advantage of her sister's misfortune. For a moment, Melinda felt sympathy for her mother, but dismissed it when she reminded herself that this was the same woman who all but sold Heather into sexual slavery and was about to do the same to her.

"I didn't think you would have any trouble in that regard," Penny said in a stiff voice as she turned the car down the street which led to the church.

"Well, if you can't do it yourself, certainly I can."

"What do you mean she can't do it herself?" Melinda suddenly blurted, and immediately realized she should have kept quiet.

Penny turned her head slightly and remained silent, though Melinda thought she heard a tiny sigh. Why should it matter to her? Whatever the intent, her mother had dragged Melinda and Heather down with her. Melinda had no sympathy to spare when she had barely enough of her wits to keep about her.

Her conflict dissolved into a haze of wet desire when Jo placed a hand on her thigh and slid it towards her crotch. Melinda uttered a small moan and writhed. She fought the urge to spread her legs and lost, her thighs quaking.

"Never you mind about that, now, dear," Jo said in a silky voice. "I'm sure your mother is simply busy with all her little machinations at the Inn that she is so reticent to talk about."

Melinda's skin flushed, her shimmering eyes focusing on the back of her mother's head. She silently pleaded for her mother to say anything which would deny her sister's words. She wanted Heather to be right, even as much as she believed her sister to be wrong.

"We're here," Penny said in a curt voice as she pulled up to the curb.

Jo withdrew her hand, and Melinda's pussy ached in disappointment. The sexual fog was slow to dissipate, even the touch of icy air as she stepped out of the car doing little to cool the heat in her sex. She glared at her mother, but Penny held her gaze for only a second, her own eyes impossible to read, before shoving the door shut and turning away. "Let's get inside."

Jo smirked. "Oh? No little talk with the reverend to--"

"Jo, please, just ... just shut up."

Jo looked taken aback, but Melinda did not care. Her mother had stalked off leaving her and Jo alone. Melinda saw it only as another abandonment. She shivered as Jo took her hand.

Jo smiled and leaned over, whispering in Melinda's ear, "I know you want me touching something other than your hand right now, my sexy little niece, but we do have to put up some appearances even in this town. Come along."

Melinda trotted alongside her aunt, her nipples tingling inside her tight bra. She pulled at the link, but it was still like trying to draw a lake through a straw.

Richie folded his arms across his chest, glaring at the outside world through the frosty window in the back seat. He had wanted to ride shotgun with his mother, but she forced him to sit with his cousin.

The car rolled to a stop at a red light, and Richie heard a tiny, husky sigh and the squeak of a leather seat. Richie brought his gaze forward just enough to catch her shifting her legs out of the corner of his eye. He hesitated, resisting the urge to look at her legs directly before forcing his gaze out the window again.

"So, what, you two die back there or something?" Sandra snapped as the car rolled forward through the intersection.

Richie frowned. "What? Most of the time you complain that I won't shut up. Make up your friggin' mind."

"I thought you'd at least talk to your cousin."

"I ain't got nothing to say."

"Yeah, tell me another one, wiseass."

"It's okay, Aunt Sandra," Cathy said, her voice quavering. "It's kind of strange for me, too. I haven't been to church in ages."

"You're not missing much," Richie muttered.

"You're welcome to come with us every Sunday, Cathy," Sandra said.

Richie wanted to retort with "just how the fuck long is she gonna stay here" but he already knew the answer to that: as long as it took him to give in and enslave her. Then he'd be the Darkness' good little asshole for the rest of his life.

Fat fucking chance, Richie thought.

"It's just going to be kind of awkward for me this morning," Cathy said in a hushed voice. "I'm ... well ... I'm kind of a little wet."

Richie folded his arms tighter across his chest and stared intently out the window at nothing, giving it as much of his attention as possible.

"Richie should have thought about that before we left," Sandra grumbled.

Richie's head jerked around. "Why the hell are you laying this on me? It's her damn pussy, not mine."

Richie would have laughed at those words if he had heard them in any other context.

"I wish we had more time," Cathy said in a low, sultry voice. "I'm really good at doing it in the car."

Richie made the mistake of whipping his gaze towards her. Cathy's legs were spread, the pleats of her skirt draped over the seat between her thighs. He caught a flicker of moment and realized he was seeing her hand moving under the fabric. When the car stopped again at a light, he heard a faint squishing noise.

His cock swelled, and he took a slow, deep breath. He tore his eyes away just as he caught the jiggling of her breasts under her blouse when she slid her hips forward.

"Looks like you're doin' fine without me," Richie said.

Sandra's head jerked, and Richie heard the intake of breath which generally proceeded a serious chewing-out. Instead, it came out as a ragged sigh. She took the next turn a bit fast, squealing the front tires.

"Way to burn rubber, Mom."

"Shut up and just ..." She trailed off.

"And just what, Mom?" Richie demanded. "Yeah, a teen doing it in the back seat. That'll go over real well with the cops."

"Richie, stop being an ass. You know I didn't mean--"

"But it would've been great if we could," Cathy said in a husky voice. She spread her legs wider and uttered a soft gasp as the motion in her crotch grew more frantic.

Richie shifted in his seat, tugging his belt.

"I guess we'll just have to wait until we get home," said Cathy with a soft sigh. She withdrew her hand from under her skirt, two of her fingers glistening. As Richie watched, his cock pulsing with his pounding heart, she closed her lips around her fingers and drew them back slowly. She licked her lips when they emerged, humming her pleasure softly.

One of Richie's hands clenched into a fist. He imagined her wrapping her wet fingers around his cock, priming it with nice, slow strokes until he was ready for her to sit on his lap with his cock up her tight twat.

Cathy's Aura roiled, and the spell was broken. Richie blinked and looked away, but the car was slowing to the curb. The car had barely stopped when Richie threw open the door and hopped out. "Well, better not let the Lord wait," Richie said as he came around the back of the car to avoid his mother. "He ain't gonna worship Himself, y'know."

"Richie, wait. Richie!" his mother shouted, but Richie had jogged halfway to the church steps. As his eyes swept through the other parishioners, he slowed and narrowed his eyes as he caught sight of Melinda climbing the steps. He was about to call out when he noticed the woman with her was not her mother.

So who the hell is that chick? Richie thought.

His mother yelled again. He glanced behind him and saw them jogging to catch up, Cathy's breasts bouncing almost comically under her blouse. Richie looked forward again just as Melinda stepped over the threshold of the church entrance and disappeared inside.

Richie thrust his hand into his pocket and curled his fingers around the baseball. He glanced at the Reverend as he passed, the same one he had seen in one of his past-time visions propositioning Melinda's mother. Something about a Catholic schoolgirl uniform was all he remembered now. Richie met the man's amiable smile with a glare before stepping inside.

He muttered a curse under his breath as it took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dimness. He spotted Melinda walking down the aisle hand-in-hand with the strange woman. He trotted close behind, his eyes darting as if he expected another ambush from Victor's goons. He paused when he saw Penny Sovert in one of the pews near the front of the church.

Richie waited until Melinda and the other woman were fully seated with their eyes forward before he rushed into the pew immediately behind her. He thought to signal Melinda somehow, but when he heard shuffling footsteps racing towards him, he knew someone else would do it for him.

"What the fuck, Richie?!" Sandra whisper-shouted as she loomed over the end of the pew. "When the hell did you want to sit up front?"

Richie turned towards his mother just as Melinda's surprised gaze whirled around. "Hey, can't a guy get closer to the Lord? Maybe I'll get born again. Or maybe twice more, if the sermon is good. C'mon, Mom, don't mess with my religious mojo."

Cathy giggled. Melinda rolled her eyes but the corners of her mouth twitched upward.

Sandra was about to retort when her eyes locked on a spot just to Richie's left. He turned his head and saw Melinda's mother staring back at his mother. Sandra's face became stony, then resigned as she let out an exasperated sigh and gestured to Cathy, giving her a small shove when she did not move into the pew fast enough.

Richie caught Melinda's questioning gaze, and Richie thought, I got your back. He doubted she could hear his thoughts, yet a ghost of a smile appeared on her lips before her mother admonished her to face forward.

The strange woman to Melinda's right turned her head and gave Richie an imperious look. Richie smirked and winked. The woman raised an eyebrow slightly and faced forward.

No one's gonna fuck with Melinda again, Richie thought, daring the voice of his father to make a comment to the contrary. Not gonna fail to protect her again.

Diane's throat hurt from puffing subfreezing air through her mouth after she broke into a run about a block before. She was huffing so hard when she reached the door that she could barely speak when Debby answered her desperate knock.

"Oh, good Goddess, Diane, are you all right? What is it?" Debby asked in an anxious voice. She pulled her robe more closed around her but otherwise did not appear to care about the cold against her bare skin or what the neighbors might think.

"Just ... ran here ... need to catch ... my breath," Diane wheezed.

Debby held her robe with one hand and threw the other arm around Diane's shoulders. "Well, don't do it out here for the Goddess' sake." She shepherded Diane inside.

"Sorry if I'm interrupting," Diane said, her voice uneasy. She was never sure what assumptions to make concerning Debby's family and their traditions.

"No, it's perfectly fine. I was performing a simple ritual for the Goddess." Debby smiled. "Bill and Susan are at church exercising their form of worship, so I do mine while they're gone."

"I'll try not to take up too much of your time but ..." Diane trailed off. This was not the time to be deferential, but she had to force herself past the idea that Debby was an adult and a mother, the ultimate authority figure, and Debby's concerns were thus more important than any of Diane's. "But ... I-I don't know how much time this will take ... no, maybe I should just go."

Diane turned towards the door, but Debby grasped her shoulder. Diane shivered before allowing herself to be turned around. "Diane, you wouldn't have come over unannounced if it wasn't very important. And I can see your psychic aura is disturbed. What is it?"

Diane swallowed and squeezed her legs together when she felt a faint flash of heat in her nether regions. "It's happening again," she said in a low voice. "Just like when I felt compelled to visit that spot where I knew the line was. It's been building up all morning."

"Are you sure of this?"

"Yes, I'm sure!" Diane cried, and immediately felt the need to apologize for her outburst. "I-I can even feel ... something down there, like it's priming me."

Debby looked thoughtful, her eyes taking on a faraway look.

"You're trying to sense something over the link, aren't you?" Diane asked.

"Yes, actually, I am."

"I've been trying to do that the whole time I was walking here. Other than the Harbingers I can always sense, I'm sensing Melinda for the first time in what seems like ages!"

"Yes, I sense her too, thank the Goddess," Debby said. "Are you afraid she's in distress?"

"She must be, right? I mean, I was compelled to do it the other day, and I wound up helping you."

"Yes, it's entirely possible. Dammit, I wish I knew where Melinda was right now."

"She must be in church. Her family goes every Sunday morning."

Debby sighed. "It would be just like the Darkness to try something in such a setting."

Diane's eyes widened. "Oh no, you don't think Melinda is going to--"

"I'm not going to speculate. That will only make both of us upset," Debby said. Diane heard the nervous quaver in the woman's voice and tried to ignore it. She needed a rock-steady anchor, and Debby had to be that, for she had nowhere else to turn.

Diane shivered as heat spread through her pussy, and her skin flushed hot. "We have to get closer to the line. I don't think here is close enough."

Debby gave her a pained look, but Diane would not withdraw the request despite her guilt. She had been scared doing this alone and out in the open. She wanted to feel protected this time.

To Diane's relief, Debby's face took on a look of renewed resolve. "All right. I'll need to look at the map of the lines first, but we may be able to keep you concealed. Bill took my car and left the minivan. I just hope I can get that thing's heater cranked up enough before we get there so you don't feel like you're freezing."

Diane threw her arms around Debby and hugged her. "Thank you, Mrs. Radson, you don't know what this means to me."

"I think I do," Debby whispered as she hugged her in return.

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