When she sees the ease with which she can slip past the veil of Heather's mind, she pines for her mother's instead. Heather has had everything taken away from her. She has little resistance to muster. Even her instinct to reject mental intrusion should have offered up something.

It is only once Cassie has penetrated into the void of Heather's psyche that she understands the real danger. Instead of the uniform gray of her mother's mind, thick tendrils of inky black twist and writhe within, forming a living, shifting matrix which she wishes to avoid at all costs. She has no idea if they would alert Laura, or if they could ensnare her were they to twist around her like so many snakes.

The gray lifts as Heather enters the dream state. The tendrils remain, looking like horribly bloated serpents. They form a loose circle about the center of the spawning scene, as if intending to control Heather's actions even in her dreams.

Cassie's heart thunders as she steps past the halo of black, giving her the disconcerting sensation of stepping into an arena. She utters a short gasp as her eyes behold Heather and her skimpy French maid costume and high heels. Impossibly high, such that they hold her feet almost straight down, her legs as shapely as a sculptor's ideal.

Everything about her is the idealized form Cassie suspects Laura wishes of her. Her hair is far more luxuriant, glowing faintly as if polished. Her bosom is more plump, her hips wider. Every article of silk and lace fits her body as if having been glued on like a dress upon a doll.

Heather stands before a chair, her arms lying at her sides. She moans and bends her knees, her hips rocking to an unheard beat. She gasps and sighs, swaying her torso and jiggling the round globes of her breasts to an almost audible bouncing noise.

Cassie shudders and utters a husky sigh as her own pussy warms and buzzes to the torrential waves of wanton desire and sexual pleasure which exude from this distorted visage of Heather. Her eyes widen as she gazes upon the supine form of Laura lounging upon the over-sized chair, its outline and gold trim suggestive of a throne. She, too, is idealized, looking far more voluptuous and sexy than her real counterpart.

Is this how Heather sees her Mistress? It must be, for when Laura rises and lets the robe slip from her naked body, Cassie cannot help but share in the perceived magnificence of Laura's nude form. When Heather drops to her knees and keens in orgasm, Cassie's pussy throbs faintly in sympathy.

"And you are so enthralled by my body that the mere sight of it makes you cum, my slave," says Laura in dulcet, melodious tones which cause Cassie's thighs to quiver.

"Yes, my Mistress," Heather says in a voice of utter husky calm despite her quaking form and convulsing pussy. "My pussy is yours. My body is yours. My mind is yours."

Cassie whimpers in both despair for how low Heather has descended and how exquisite are the little tingles of pleasure in her nicely warm twat from the mantra which part of her longs to speak.

Laura gestures, and Heather rises to her feet, still panting, her eyes smoldering yet obedient. "And what else, slave? What else shall become mine?"

With little preamble, she is suddenly there, fading in from total nonexistence to solid form in a blink of the eye. Cassie's mouth drops open; the last person she ever expected to see here was Melinda.

Melinda is dressed in a costume similar to what Heather had been forced to wear on Halloween night. She moves with the grace of a dancer and the lightness of a feather. She swirls her veils around her body as she spins and sways.

Melinda pants with growing lust, letting out little whimpers as her pussy throbs in a constant, soft rhythm, a never-ending orgasm impossible to ignore. Even when she comes to rest standing beside her sister, her hips still sway and her breath is still labored.

Cassie swallows. The orgasm continues, reminding her of what Melissa once did to Susan. While she realizes that this Melinda is only a projection in Heather's dreamscape, the feeling that she is nothing more than sexual lust and need personified is disturbing.

"My pussy is yours," Melinda intones. "My body is yours. My mind is yours."

"Oh no," Cassie murmurs in a shaky voice. "This ... Ms. Bendon never ..."

Laura smiles. "Perfect." She steps forward and gives the crotch of each of their costumes a single light stroke. Both fall to their knees in intense orgasm. Cassie is forced to shield their feelings lest they overcome her, pleasure already rising in the center of her heat. "And who am I to depart from what you are used to? Slave Heather, you will be in charge of slave Melinda."

"Yes, Mistress," both girls chime in Stepford unison. "We are hot and wet and ready to obey you."

"Then play with your new toy, slave Heather," Laura says with a sly smile. "Feel what it's like to have her do as you say."

"Yes, Mistress," Heather says. She turns on her heel and faces Melinda. "Dance for me, baby sis."

Melinda's eyes slide closed as she moans in orgasmic delight, her body returning to its sensual undulations.

Suddenly, Laura is gone, fading away like a ghost. Heather watches her little sister, her glistening ruby lips curling into a smile, her breath becoming a soft pant.

Cassie glances around. She has no idea if the Laura of this dream is still watching like some avatar of Laura's mind, but she has little choice. She takes deep breath and steps into the scene. "Heather."

Heather turns around as Melinda continues her sensual dance. "Cassie?" she says, sounding only mildly surprised. "Funny seeing you here."

Cassie had feared that her presence would be so incongruous that the dream would break up. When she had stepped into Ned's dreams months prior when she was testing her ability, she had let Ned supply the context, and she simply filled whatever role he had chosen for her.

Cassie forces a smile and steps forward. "I came to see what became of Melinda," she says in a bright but shaky voice.

Slowly, the look of surprise fades, and Heather nods. "Of course. Mistress wanted her, so I gave her to Mistress."

"You gave ...?" Cassie pauses as her throat closes up. She swallows and forces the words from her mouth. "When did you do that?"

Heather pauses, and Cassie grows concerned. Heather's dream is working from a "future-past" perspective, where she is dreaming of things she has yet to do as if they are already done. Anything which forces dates or times upon such things threaten to disrupt the dream.

"Monday," Heather says. "On a Monday."

Cassie stares. "Not this coming Monday!"

Heather smiles and nods. "The Monday she would have gone with Aunt Jo."

Cassie gasps. "But ... h-how can you ...?"

"With something Mistress gave me."

The dancing form of Melinda suddenly stops. She shimmers, and her costume is replaced by a pair of black panties. She suddenly moans and whimpers in distress, falling to her knees and then to the floor, squirming with legs spread and hips bucking, as if receiving an invisible lover.

Cassie's eyes widen as she realizes this is exactly what is happening. She is wearing the same panties Heather had been forced to wear as punishment.

"Only Mistress can remove them now," Heather says. "And not before she becomes a good little girl for her Mistress."

Cassie is beside herself. She had never expected to happen upon yet another plot against one of the Harbingers.

"It's better this way," Heather says.

Cassie realizes this is the first thing Heather has said in a tone other than complete and utter obedience. She even senses some reluctance.

"This is better than leaving her to mother or Aunt Jo," says Heather.

Cassie wants to use this angle to help unravel some of the tendrils of control over Heather's mind, but dreams last no more than fifteen minutes at most, and she does not have time.

She looks across the room. The doorway to what she thinks is the dining room fades into the gray, as Heather's dream is not focused upon it.

"Yes, she's right," Cassie says as much as it turns her stomach to do so. Her mind races as she struggles to work her influence into the dream.

"I thought so as well," Heather says. "I wasn't sure for awhile but ... but now I am."

"Yes, of course. Sometimes ... sometimes that happens. Things you're not sure of become clear later. Things ... things you're afraid of are suddenly not as scary. Or that you even like them."

Heather's smile widens. "Yes, you DO understand, Cassie. I used to think I would hate being Mistress' slave. Now I live for it."

"Y-Yes of course. And you ... you were once afraid of your Mistress' laptop."

Suddenly, the gray in the doorway is replaced with a dining room, and upon the end of the table is a laptop with a closed lid. Heather turns towards it. "The laptop?"

"Yes, the laptop. The webcam."

Heather starts towards it, and Melinda vanishes. "Yes, the webcam. I remember. I was afraid Mistress would use it to take pictures of me."

"And you're not afraid of that anymore."

Heather smiles at Cassie. "Of course not. I would adore posing for my Mistress."

"You need to show her that."

"Show her?" Heather says, cocking her head. "Shall I say something to her?"

"No!" Cassie explodes. She glances around her. The edges of the scene are growing gray and indistinct, slowly being absorbed back into her psyche. Heather's dream is about to end. "No, Heather, a ... a good slave SHOWS her Mistress."

"How shall I do that?"

"Mistress leaves her laptop lid down when she's not using it, is that right?"

Heather nods.

"When she's not looking at you ... when you're about to go and ... and service your Mistress ... lift up the lid of the laptop."

Heather ponders as she stares at the laptop even as the gray encroaches upon it.

"Lift the lid so the webcam is exposed," Cassie says with increasing desperation. "Do you understand? When she's not looking, lift the lid. Expose the webcam."

"Yes," Heather whispers. "Yes, I see. I understand."

Cassie stares. Did she just sense something beyond just being a good slave, as if on some deep, untouched level of her mind, Heather has put two and two together and knows?

Cassie will never know, for the scene dissolves into featureless gray surrounded by the undulating halo of black. She looks around and suddenly wonders if she had misinterpreted the positioning of the tendrils. She had assumed they were poised simply to manipulate Heather's dream. Yet here the dream has ended, and the tendrils advance no further.

Cassie understands, and she feels a surge of something she has not felt in a long time: hope. She is standing in the very center of Heather's psyche. Laura's Dark power has yet to breach it. It is trying. It forces it to play out dreams of blissful obedience in hopes of weakening it. Yet here it remains, and along with it, the core of Heather's being.

Cassie wishes she can revel in this, or wait for the next dream sequence so she can contact Heather's mind once more, but she knows she has worn out her welcome. The tendrils become agitated as she threads her way among them, as if they have somehow sensed her presence. Perhaps they have become aware of the aberration in the dream, and are seeking to reassure themselves that no outside force is to blame.

She plunges back out through the veil, and lets herself be sucked out of the dreamverse and into her own body.

Cassie's eyes blinked open, and she sat up in bed. She glanced towards the window, where the coming dawn forced the deep velvet twilight into retreat. The snow had stopped sometime overnight, and the skies had cleared, which meant the day would be bright and cold.

She felt it quite apropos given what she was feeling.

She slipped out of bed, not wishing any more nocturnal pursuits for what remained of the morning. As she prepared herself a cup of tea, she shook her head and sighed, closing her eyes for a moment as she realized just how much everyone had been ignoring Melinda's plight.

Cassie had to warn someone about what Heather was planning. If she managed to go through with it, it would make freeing Heather all that much harder. Or worse, they would free Heather only to leave Melinda enslaved to Laura instead, and if Ned managed to get the evidence Seeger sought, Laura could very well move away and take Melinda with her.

She leaned against the door frame, sipping her tea. Her eyes roamed around the room and back into the bedroom. Somewhere close was the spirit which had shadowed her.

"So what do you think of all this?" Cassie asked, not expecting an answer.

She got one anyway. She straightened up suddenly as something impinged on her senses for a moment. It felt faintly like approval.

Approval of what?

Before she could press the question, he was gone, but now she had the disconcerting sense that he was watching her. Or maintaining a vigil. Neither sounded promising.

Melinda stood in the middle of the living room, trembling with slowly rising desire as Aunt Jo circled her. Jo's hands would alight on her to adjust some part of her dress that needed no adjustment, her hands lingering and sliding over light cotton which clung to Melinda's flushed and tingling skin. A tug at the shoulders would slide the material against her swollen nipples, making her shudder. Heat would gather and steam in her pussy as Jo's fingers spread over her shoulders and down her back.

Melinda had been allowed the concession of no ring-clamps, but that was all. She wore nothing under her Sunday dress save for her oh-so-sexy white stockings and matching heeled shoes. Yet her nipples still ached for the tight pinch of the clamps, throbbing faintly with her heartbeat.

Jo tugged at the waist and let her hands slide down and over Melinda's hips and ass. Melinda let out a quavering sigh, her thighs trembling. The dress reached just short of her knees, but she may have well been naked for as much as her pussy oozed and swelled.

Melinda cast a languid gaze across the room. Her parents stood in their Sunday best. David paused in his conversation with Penny and turned towards his daughter. He folded his hands before him and smiled, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

Melinda wanted to end this. She wanted to take control and lash out first at Aunt Jo for doing this to her, and then at her father for refusing to see. She still wondered where the hell his Aura was, for his mother had to be controlling him into not seeing his daughter acting like a slut right before his eyes.

Behind her, Jo placed her hands on Melinda's shoulders and whispered into her ear, "So your mother is still stringing along your father after all this time, hmm?"

Melinda swallowed and let out a short, husky sigh. Jo's hands slipped down and cupped her breasts through the dress. Melinda closed her eyes and moaned, writhing and twisting as if she wanted more and wanted to pull away at the same time.

"Wonder what he's being made to see now?" Jo purred. "Certainly not me fondling your nice big titties."

Melinda panted and leaned into the touch. She forced her eyes open a crack. Her father was looking right at her and not batting an eye, the same maddeningly pleasant smile etched into his face. Next to him, Penny stood with her hands folded tightly before her, swinging her hips slowly from side to side. She looked on with a shimmering, troubled gaze.

Or Melinda only thought it was troubled. Look at her. Look how she moved. She was getting off on her own daughter being made into a sex slave.

Jo's hands dropped from Melinda's breasts and slid over her hips. Melinda squirmed in her aunt's grip as if in silent bid to have Jo touch her aching pussy.

Perhaps she really did want to be touched. She had sensed the growing pool of energy just before going to bed the night before, her pussy still aching from how much the strap-on had been rammed into it. Each orgasm forced upon her by her aunt and her mother had added to it.

What was she supposed to do with it? Eventually it would be full. Then what?

"We better get on to church," Penny said in a husky yet listless voice as she turned away.

"Right you are, love," said David as he followed her towards the garage with a spring in his step.

What was he seeing? The perfect family? It seemed to Melinda that he became more chipper the more Melinda descended into full sexual enslavement. Did it take more effort now to make him not see?

Jo removed her hands from Melinda's hips. She stepped alongside Melinda and draped an arm around Melinda's shoulders, pulling her close. Melinda moaned softly as she felt the press of Jo's warm and wonderfully mature body. Jo pulled her closer, until the side of one massive breast pressed into her arm. Melinda shuddered and snuggled against her aunt.

"Bet you're already getting sooo very wet, my slutty little Sunday girl," Jo said as she directed her charge towards the garage. "So very wet and horny."

Melinda heaved a shaky sigh and clung to her aunt.

"Maybe so horny you'll cum for me in the pew," Jo whispered, her hot breath against Melinda's ear just as they reached the door. "Then you'll really be a hopeless slut."

Melinda trembled as she was put into the back seat of the car. Her protected self railed. She could stop it from happening, but it would be one more orgasm to add to her pool of energy.

There had to be a reason. Heather must have known this would happen. Wait until Monday. Monday was the day. Heather would do something which would rescue her from this fate. In exchange for that, she thought she could live with the humiliation.

"I'm sorry, Diane," said Janet as she hit the button to close the garage door. "But the answer is still no."

Diane gave her a forlorn look, and Janet had to buck up her courage not to give in. She stepped forward and draped an arm around her daughter's shoulders. "You saw what the roads looked like this morning. Do you really think you can bike in that?"

"I just wanted to go out with my friends today," Diane said in a low voice.

"I know you do, honey, and I'm glad to see you finally coming out of your shell."

Diane gave her a mystified look as she backed away from her mother in order to take off her coat. "Shell?"

Janet gave her a small smile. "Well, maybe that is a bit strong a word, but you were never much the social butterfly."

"That's just how I am, mother."

"Oh, I know, darling, and I would never criticize you for it." Janet took Diane's coat and hung it and her own in the hall closet. "But I do like you being around a somewhat larger crowd."

Diane tilted her head. "Why is that?"

Janet had hoped Diane would just accept it like she did a lot of things her mother said. Or at least that was the way she used to be. She realized she should be glad that her daughter was finally showing some independence, but the timing felt off, like Diane still needed her protection.

Protection from what, she was not sure and cared not to speculate.

That only led her thoughts around in circles. She could no longer shake the sensation that something was fundamentally wrong in Haven, and somehow her daughter was in the middle of it. She had no evidence, only a gut feeling and a desire not to see her daughter hurt.

"If you want to take a walk around the neighborhood, that would be fine," Janet said as the phone rang. She turned towards the extension in the kitchen, but Ralph waved her off and jogged up to it. Janet turned back to Diane. "So long as you wear those weatherproof boots I bought you last year that you begged for and never wore."

Diane drew in her breath, caught herself, and simply nodded, but Janet heard the breath escape her nose. Janet held her tongue. At least she could be thankful that Diane was not playing the part of the totally rebellious teenager.

Now the same motherly instinct which had hinted at danger caught the fact that Diane was more upset about this than Janet thought warranted. Should she press her daughter on the issue and take shameless advantage of her daughter's meekness? She wondered how much she had done just that while Diane was growing up just for the sake of having an obedient child and thus doing more harm than good.

Janet stared at Diane, and she shrank from the scrutiny. Something was wrong, far beyond just being denied a privilege. Like the town, the way Diane carried herself was a bit off.

Janet folded her arms. "So are you finally going to tell me what's been--"

"Love?" Ralph called out, holding the phone in the air. "For you."

Janet frowned. "Who is it?"

"Ah, a woman named Debby Radson."

"Mrs. Radson?" Diane suddenly said.

Janet turned to her daughter. "That's Susan's mother, isn't she? The one who drove you home a few times recently?"

"Yes, that's her," Diane said in a nervous voice. "I-I don't know why she's calling here. Um, father, are you sure she didn't want to talk to me?"

"She said she wanted to talk to your mother," Ralph said, waggling the receiver back and forth.

Janet wanted to ask why Diane would think Debby would want to call her directly, but abandoned it as being too intrusive. Her daughter had a right to make acquaintances with anyone she wanted within reason.

Debby Radson was considered within reason. For now.

Janet marched across the room and took the receiver. "Hello? This is Janet Woodrow, Diane's mother."

"Yes, hello, delighted to finally speak to you directly."

Janet hesitated as if surprised. What was she expecting? Chanting? A recited spell? She shook her head at her own foolishness. "What may I do for you, Mrs. Radson?"

"Normally I would have asked this of Diane directly, but seeing how you may be concerned about the roads today, I wanted to make sure it was okay with you first."

Janet glanced at Diane, and that was all she needed to know that Diane was innocent, but this still seemed too coincidental. "If this is about letting Diane out on her bike--"

"Oh, dear, with the streets covered in snow and ice? Heavens, no."

Janet relaxed a little, but her daughter's interest seemed piqued now, which kept Janet on her guard. "So what is this about?"

"Diane expressed how much she loves looking at the freshly fallen snow."

"Yes, that's right." Janet paused and let herself reminisce, her voice growing softer. "She used to like to see the little bunny tracks in the snow."

Diane's lips twitched into a tiny smile, and she blushed. Janet felt a surge of affection for Diane. At least something hadn't changed about her daughter.

"I share the same love," said Debby. "There are some fields at the east edge of town that remain pristine for some time after the snow falls. I would just love to drive her over there."

"I ... I'm sure Diane would be grateful for the offer, but ... well, the roads felt a little dicey even to me."

"Mother, our church is in the foothills," Diane suddenly said. "The roads are always worse up there."

Janet was right; this was not a coincidence. While she did not believe Diane had orchestrated this call, it was obvious Diane had something planned. Janet realized she should feel better about her daughter being in the company of an adult, but this ...

No, that was just prejudice talking again. "What kind of car do you have, Mrs. Radson?"

"Please, call me Debby," Debby replied. "A minivan with snow tires and experience hauling around a daughter who for five years of her life insisted on trying out for every winter sport she could possibly manage, and with a habit of telling all her friends, 'yes, my mother has room for everyone in that van!'"

A ghost of a smile passed over Janet's lips.

"Now, if I could handle a half-dozen giggly girls in a foot of snow on winding foothill roads, I think I can handle getting Diane across town and back."

Janet suddenly felt very foolish for anything bad she may have thought about this woman. "Can you hold on one moment, Mrs. ... I mean Debby?"

"Sure."

Janet clamped the receiver to her bosom. "Diane, Mrs. Radson wants to take you to see the snowy fields on the east side of town."

"The snowy ...? Oh, yes, of course!"

Yes, something was definitely up. "All right. Would you please indulge me and put on your long underwear before you go? I know how you like to stand in the deep snow and don't want you catching cold this close to Christmas."

Diane was already sidestepping towards the stairs, a smile breaking out across her face. "Of course, I'll be right down!"

Janet watched Diane race up the stairs. She brought the receiver to her lips and quelled the urge to demand what Diane had really planned for the day. "Debby, I told her I would let her go."

"Oh, splendid!" Debby gushed. "Is she on any sort of diet I should be aware of? I always like to have a nice big mug of cocoa after returning home. Just wanted to make sure it was okay to share."

"Yes, that should be fine." Janet lowered her voice. "May I ask you something, Debby?"

"Yes, of course ... Janet?"

"Yes, you can call me Janet. I just ... I had heard ... this is no offense intended, and it shouldn't matter to me in any case ... but, um ..."

"I believe the question you are so delicately trying not to ask, my dear, is: am I a Witch?"

"Well ... yes."

"Yes, I am," Debby said. "Now, feel free to believe or not believe as you may--"

"Oh, no, it's not that," Janet said. "To be honest, I'm not sure why I asked."

"The most common reason is fear that I'm teaching witchcraft to your daughter, which I am not," Debby said in a congenial voice. "Now, that is largely because she has not expressed an interest in it. If she did, well, I would be having another talk with you to obtain permission first."

Janet found relief in that statement, but she could not be sure which part triggered it. Just a few months ago, she would not be having this conversation, as she would never have entertained the notion that she could feel comfortable with someone like Debby.

But a few months ago, she had been ignorant as to her daughter's sexual orientation.

"Thank you," was all Janet could think of to say. "Can I take it that you've been spending more time with Diane than maybe Diane is letting on?"

"That is possible, Janet, and I am sorry if that distresses you."

"Not because--"

"Yes, I know, not because I'm a Witch, but because you simply want to know where your daughter is at any given moment."

Janet reminded herself she was talking to a fellow mother first and a Witch second. "I do admit ... if she has to be anywhere, I would rather it be with adult supervision."

"Oh, yes, I concur. I would never have let Susan go on her ski trip if the parents of one of the other girls were not going as well." Debby paused. "If it helps any, even if you don't believe in witchcraft, perhaps it would comfort you to know I often cast protective spells for people who I have over to my house."

"Yes," Janet said in a heartfelt and sincere voice. "Yes, that actually does comfort me."

"Then I'll continue to do so. Would ten minutes be enough time for Diane to be ready?"

"Certainly. And please have her call me if she stays out past midday."

"I will indeed. Thank you, Janet, it was wonderful to finally speak with you."

Janet's lips twitched into a smile. "Yes, same here."

Richie would have wondered why his mother bothered dragging the likes of Cathy down to church on Sunday if he had any idea why his mother bothered with church at all. While she did flirt with the guys, she could do that anywhere. Not like it really mattered; he imagined that every time she cranked up the charm, the Darkness would step in and do the rest.

He felt some guilt as he stood alone in the living room listening to the garage door go down in the wake of his mother and cousin leaving. All he had needed to do was dangle the promise of sex in front of his mother like a carrot before the donkey, and he got her to do anything he wanted, such as letting him skip church.

Not that he had any qualms about not attending church. He figured that, if anything the church taught him was at all true, he had done enough bad shit to earn him a permanent place as Satan's foot slave. He was more worried about Melinda.

He wanted to believe he should have no reason to fear for her. She had received as much of the potion as he, and he was holding out just fine. She should be able to keep her aunt at bay. He just didn't want her to think he had abandoned her.

Richie snorted and turned away from the window. Was that sentiment? Caring what others thought of him? Since when did he give a shit about that? Richie was reminded of the answer when he thrust his hands into his pockets and touched the cell phone.

He yanked out the phone and flipped it open. He wished he could tell if his father were getting his voice mails. He could not decide if the silence was helpful or hurtful.

Then again, his father had already made his thoughts known the day before, when Richie was far from the corrupted line energies. He could not have been more clear if he had been standing right there. What was taking you so long? Why do you keep fucking your cousin and claim it's okay? What's your lame excuse this time? Why did you share the potion with Melinda?

None of his mental pleas for his father to explain why he had fucked Heather and Melinda's mother had been answered. Didn't he know who she was? She had taken off her damn wig for fuck's sake!

He looked out the window again and muttered a curse when Debby's minivan was still not there. He looked down at the phone again and sighed. The recent call list still had his father's number in it. He thumbed it and brought the phone to his face, his heart hammering.

He had no idea what he was going to say if his father answered. Demand explanations from the man? His father was more interested in demanding them from Richie. Richie wanted to know why his father thought he had the right to criticize when he had abandoned both his wife and child.

(Don't be a dick)

Richie let out a shaky breath as the voice mail picked up again. He swallowed at the sound of his father's voice and realized he had no business finding fault with the man. If Richie could claim similar noble purpose behind fucking his cousin and possibly his own mother come Monday, his father had the right to do the same.

His father had fucked Penny Sovert specifically to gain the power to see the Auras. That was the explanation Richie chose to believe. Now Richie could follow in his father's footsteps and prove he could be just as good in his intentions.

"H-Hi, Dad," Richie said in a quavering voice. "I think I understand now. I know how you got it. I know how you could see that black shit on Mom." He paused when his throat tightened, and he cleared it loudly before continuing. "And ... I-I know what I have to do. You don't have to--"

Richie stopped and shook his head. No, he couldn't beg for his father to stop yelling at him. That would be the coward's way out. He was no coward, and he was going to prove it.

"I'll get it done, Dad," Richie said in as firm a voice he could muster. "I'm not just fucking blowing smoke this time. I know I didn't do a lot of things you told me to do, but I'm going to get this done. You won't have to see the black shit on Mom anymore because it will be gone. I just need another day. Just one more day. I have to--"

His head whipped around as he heard something crunch against the packed snow outside. He peered through the window and saw Debby's minivan pull up to the curb and idle in front of the house.

"I have to go, Dad," Richie said, heading towards the door. "Just one more day, okay? Please? Bye."

He snapped the phone shut and shoved it into his pocket as he opened the front door with the other hand. He ran down the walk, sneakers crunching against rock salt. He shielded his eyes from the bright morning sunlight, though more of it glared from the fallen snow than from the sky. He yanked open the side door of the minivan and dove inside, slamming it shut in his wake.

"Hi, Richie," said Diane, giving him a small smile.

Richie turned to her as he wrestled with his seat belt, and his eyebrows rose as he spotted what covered her feet and calves almost to the knee. "Nice boots."

"Oh, um, thanks," Diane said in a sheepish voice. She shifted in her seat.

Richie checked his next comment at the door; Diane would not be interested in how sexy he thought they looked on her. She would rather hear a comment like that from Heather. Sometimes he wished Diane were not a lesbian, as it made it difficult for him to figure out what he could or could not say.

(Don't be a dick)

He muttered a string of curses until he got the belt secured across his lap.

"You okay?" Diane asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine, everything's fine," Richie said in a tense voice. "Let's go."

Debby craned her neck and asked, "Are you sure you're all right, Richie?"

Richie clenched his teeth. Just how much did that damned psychic aura tell her? Between her, Cassie, and his father, he felt that having a private thought was impossible. "Yeah, I'm fine! Let's get this done, okay?"

Debby faced forward and pulled the minivan from the curb. "It may take us a little while. Most of the roads over there are unpaved, and I have no idea how often they're plowed. I want to stay on paved roads as much as possible."

"Maybe you could use the little shortcut that goes by Gina's house, Mrs. Radson?" Diane suggested. "It's unpaved but it's really short."

"We'll see. I doubt the city even considers that a viable thoroughfare anymore."

"I'm just glad you're going with us, and I don't mean just the snow."

"I understand, Diane," said Debby. "I would be going with you regardless of whether it had snowed or not. I was not very keen to hear you two had gone over there alone."

"For fuck's sake, Ned was with us," Richie snapped. "And the fucking cult can't do shit to us without Victor."

"Places like that, Richie, especially considering what it was used for, often have accumulated residual energies which could be harmful to people like you who are more attuned to the supernatural," Debby explained. "At least I can cast a protective circle if needed."

Richie rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I don't even know if I'm going to see jack shit. I'll probably just see the same damn thing I did last time."

"I don't think we have any choice," Diane said. "I don't know where else to go."

Richie heard the helplessness in Diane's voice and glanced at her shimmering eyes. "Yeah, I know," he said in a softer voice.

Just get it done. That's what Richie told himself over and over in an attempt to drown out the rising volume of his father's voice as they crept away from the influence of the line.

Get it done.

And don't be a dick doing it.

Melinda had dreaded this moment since Friday.

The potion had been a godsend, helping her keep her sanity through the weekend. Now she could be herself in private when Aunt Jo was not using her as a sex toy. The night before she had even dared to slip out of bed after everyone had gone to bed and put on a pair of panties. Never had the touch of one article of clothing ever meant so much to her nor led to the most peaceful night's sleep she had had in weeks.

Here it would not help. If she reined in her enslaved self, Aunt Jo would surely know something was amiss. She was forced to let herself squirm as her pussy grew hot and wet. She wore her long skirt, but nothing underneath, and Aunt Jo had bunched up her skirt as she sat so her bare ass sat on the pew. Her pussy oozed and dripped onto the polished wood.

Melinda bit her lip to suppress a whimper when her pleasure rose. She dared not resist it for fear of dipping into the energy which had pooled inside her mind. Aunt Jo draped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. To everyone else Melinda was sure it looked like nothing more than simple affection, despite how she shuddered and panted softly at the press of her aunt's body to hers.

Her protected self was still free to think. She felt the absence of Richie, but not for whatever support he could have provided. She knew why he was not there. Why was he being so foolish? Why was Diane still pursuing this nonsense?

Melinda glanced at her mother, who stared straight ahead. What would be accomplished by freeing the woman? She was sure that was what the other Harbingers would expect of her once they learned Richie had given her some of his potion. Would her mother then magically set everything right?

And would it ever be enough for Melinda to forgive her?

Melinda did not forgive easily, even in the best of times. She remembered every slight against her, and was always quick to bring them up if it meant she could deliver a nice barb at someone with whom she was arguing.

The pleasure rose enough to distract even her protected self. She could do nothing to stop how she reacted to sexual stimulation. Melinda shivered with the effort to stop writhing. She swallowed and let out a soft, breathy moan.

Jo leaned over and whispered in her ear. "Nothing's going to stop it this time, my little church slut. You've got nothing left."

Melinda's heart raced. She clenched her pussy muscles and drew her thighs together, until she felt her heartbeat pulse in her folds. It slowed her rise but little more.

Melinda gave her mother a pleading look. Penny glanced at her, her eyes cloudy, then looked away. She saw her mother draw in her breath slowly and let it go, then shift her hips once.

Why would she expect any help from her mother? Why did she cling to hope that her mother would, in reality, protect her?

Reflecting on the past did not help. As Heather approached fourteen, the world had begun to revolve around her. Melinda used to resent Heather for that, but she realized it was really their mother who was to blame.

That was another thing Melinda realized she was good at: assigning blame.

And why not? Clearly it was deserved here. If her mother had not showered so much attention on Heather, maybe Melinda would have grown up differently. Maybe she wouldn't have so many resentments.

That's what she wanted to understand. If Richie and Diane insisted on dredging up the past, that was what she wanted to see. She wanted to know why her mother went from favoring no one to favoring Heather. What had she done to deserve all the attention and leave the scraps for Melinda?

Her thoughts dissolved as her pussy strained. Every muscle tensed, first at her bidding, and then at the bidding of her desperate pussy. She clenched her teeth and choked down a cry as her pussy exploded into climax between her quivering thighs. She was forced to part them to relieve the pressure when her hips threatened to buck.

She closed her eyes and pressed herself against Jo, reveling in the warmth from the side of one of Jo's breasts. She let out a whimper of both desire and despair. Her throbbing continued unabated for nearly a minute, a soft march of illicit and mortifying pulses of pleasure.

Melinda's protected self felt no less embarrassed and ashamed yet tempered by fury as she sensed Jo mentally nudging her pussy into continuing its throbbing cadence.

"Now you are a complete and utter slut, Melinda," Jo cooed in her ear. "You've cum in the middle of a church service. So shameful. So sexy, but so shameful."

For a moment, Melinda's trembling came not from her senses drowning in sensual and despairing delight, but in rage from her protected self.

The line had been crossed. If no one was able to do anything to stop Jo from taking her Monday, she would be gone. The potion would wear off, and her psyche would fall into the role expected her as Jo's sexual plaything.

She looked at her mother one last time. The woman deserved no forgiveness from her. Even if she suddenly came to her senses and pulled Melinda away from Jo and promised she would never be taken, it would not be enough. Melinda would remember this moment for the rest of her life.

Her mother: traitor to her children.

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