Familiar Spirit

Chapter Eight

The house haunted Sarah’s thoughts, waking and sleeping, and she found it hard to stay away. Half a dozen times every day she had to fight off the temptation to return. Often it was for practical reasons—a book, or a sweater, or a pair of shoes she had left behind in her flight. In the bright October sunshine, among crowds of people on the Drag or in the cool stillness of the library, Sarah’s memories of what had happened to her in that house seemed suddenly thin and vague, and she couldn’t quite believe in the demon called Jade.

But if she was in any danger of forgetting, the nightmares reminded her. Once or twice every night she woke, sweating and shaking, from terrors which seemed far more real than the bed she found herself in. And so she stayed away from the house, as she had agreed, and spent long hours in the library, researching witchcraft, magic, and the little-known ways of demons. She copied out ancient spells in a spiral-bound notebook, and her confidence began to grow. She would find the way, she thought. She didn’t need the untrustworthy Valerie’s help at all. A long-time student, Sarah trusted in books, and felt secure, on her own ground, in the familiar territory of primary and secondary sources. Somewhere among all these printed pages lurked the answer she sought.

Pete spent nearly as much time as Sarah in this research. Magic was all they talked about in the evenings, to Beverly’s growing boredom. Pete continued to maintain his detached attitude towards the subject, and the ease with which he could be distracted by tidbits of superstition and useless information annoyed Sarah, who thought he should be taking his reading as seriously as she took hers. But, she had to admit, even if he looked upon it as a diversion, he was reading as widely and intently as she was herself. It was from Pete that Sarah learned that a witch in seventeenth-­century England had claimed a toad called Lunch for his familiar. She wondered if Valerie had run across that fact in her reading, or if the name originated with Jade. Familiar spirits, according to the books, were given by the devil to his converts to aid and comfort them. Did that mean that Jade was the devil? The idea sent Sarah into despair. How could she fight the devil? She didn’t believe in the devil—but, then, neither had she believed in demons before she encountered Jade. What was Jade, exactly? And what was Lunch?

Sarah scanned book after book until she lost her bearings and simply swam in the subject, her mind a confused jumble of magic words and names, rites, rituals, powers, and horrors.

On Tuesday afternoon, as Sarah was getting into her car to go to the library, she caught the sleeve of her blouse in the door and ripped it. She swore, staring ruefully at the torn sleeve. She could go back inside and use Beverly’s machine to stitch it up, or she could borrow one of Beverly’s tops and go through the day feeling too tightly packaged.

She swore again and decided, getting into the car and slamming the door. Enough of this nonsense. She would go over to the house on West 35th Street right now and get the rest of her clothes.

Her skin prickled and her heart was beating faster in anticipation. Now she would see if it was all a dream, or real. Her memories of the demonic cat, the rat, the suffocating presence inside her head, the dead voice on the disconnected telephone all seemed as distant and unreal as the things she had been reading about. Had they really happened, or had she dreamed them?

But despite her doubts Sarah was cautious as she entered the house. Everything was so peaceful that she suspected a trap. The quiet, high-ceilinged rooms were filled with the cool, underwater light of sunlight through leaves, and a faint breeze freshened the air. The only sounds were those she made herself, footsteps on bare boards, her own breathing.

Sarah looked around, feeling a curious sense of loss. It was wrong for this house to be so empty. She had brought her things here and then abandoned them, making no effort to turn this place into her home. Why shouldn’t she be happy here? She sat on the couch and looked around at her books and posters. I belong here, she thought. She closed her eyes, trying to sense another, alien presence, trying to discover where Jade was hiding, but she felt nothing. She was alone.

The sound of a car pulling up in back distracted her and she opened her eyes, waiting to hear the sound of it reverse. Cars often took a wrong turn, not realizing the road led only into the camp. But instead she heard the sound of an engine being shut off. She rose and went to the back door to investigate.

Pete was walking toward the house, his expression apprehensive. “Sarah! Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course. Why?”

“I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“It was a spur of the moment thing. I came to get some of my clothes,” she began, her tone faintly apologetic. Then she realized the strangeness of what Pete had said.

“If you didn’t think I was here—why did you come?” she asked.

Pete looked uncomfortable. “I wanted to have a look around,” he said. “That’s all.”

Sarah smiled, feeling a surge of empathy. He was curious, of course. It was surprising he had waited so long. In his position, she would have done the same thing. “Come on in,” she said. “I’ll show you around. Don’t get your hopes up, though. The place feels pretty empty to me. I’m starting to wonder if—”

He was looking at her curiously. “You’re not having doubts?”

Sarah shrugged, uncomfortable. “It just seems so silly now. In the light of day, as it were. I was just sitting in the front room thinking how comfortable I was here, and what a nice place it was to live . . .”

“That doesn’t make what happened before any less real.”

“I know.” She laughed. “It seems odd, having me be the skeptic, and you arguing for the supernatural.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Come on in.”

He followed her into the house and she closed the door. “Would you like a beer?”

He hesitated long enough that she had turned back towards the refrigerator to get one when he stopped her. “I thought there was a pentacle drawn on the bedroom floor?” His voice was sharp.

Sarah looked through the bedroom door, following his gaze. “There was. I got rid of it. I couldn’t stand looking at it anymore. I thought I told you.”

“No. I kind of wish you’d left it, though. We could have used it for protection.”

Sarah tensed. “What do you mean? It’s not good to leave them after they’ve been used—the spirits might turn them to their own uses. I thought you might have run across that piece of information in your reading.”

He shrugged, still staring into the bedroom, a thoughtful look on his face.

“What are you thinking, Pete?”

Without looking around at her, Pete reached into the pocket of his corduroy jacket and pulled out a small, paperback book. “There’s a License to Depart given here—that’s the spell to send spirits away again. I thought I might recite it and see what happens.”

Like an atheist making a prayer and then waiting impatiently for God’s answer, she thought. She was annoyed.

“Why do that now? Why waste energy on the small stuff?” she asked. “I thought the plan was to learn as much as we could from all the experts, read all the books, and then work up a ritual and put everything we had into it—to give it our best shot.”

“But what have we got to lose by saying a simple License to Depart? It may be the only thing necessary. It’s the sort of thing that Valerie might have forgotten to do.” He was looking at her now, so calmly and earnestly that she wanted to shake him.

“What we’ve got to lose is our faith,” Sarah said. She sighed. “Not that you have any to begin with. You think of all this as very unreal, don’t you? Just something to do to humor Sarah. Do you think that by saying a few magic words you can make me feel all better?”

“Is that what you think?”

“Pete, will you quit that? Quit being so detached! You can’t have it both ways—you can’t be involved without believing. You’re the one who keeps telling me that magic requires belief. At least Valerie believes—she may be crazy, but she knows that Jade is for real. She knows that she summoned him up with words and ritual, so it makes sense to believe that some other words and rituals will send him back. I don’t trust Valerie, but I think that working together we might have a chance. But you . . .” She bit her lip. “I don’t know, Pete. I really appreciate your help and your friendship and everything, but I don’t know if you can help me now. Sometimes you even make me doubt Jade’s existence—and that’s no good. You make me doubt what I know.”

Pete looked distracted. “Did you hear that?” he asked. “A voice. Is there someone else in the house?”

Sarah shook her head, and then went cold as Pete turned his head rapidly from side to side as if expecting to catch someone trying to sneak past. “There is someone here,” he said softly. “Spying on us. And whispering and laughing, as if we couldn’t hear! Now where the hell is he hiding?”

“Let’s get out of here,” Sarah said.

A broad smile spread over Pete’s face; he looked much as he did when he won at cards. “It’s Jade,” he said, scarcely above a whisper. “That’s it, isn’t it? It’s him. There really is someone here. It’s amazing.” He sounded fascinated.

“Pete, let’s go. Now.”

He shook his head and gazed around the room, still with that expectant, pleased look on his face. “Hello,” he murmured. “Hello, hello. Will it manifest itself physically?”

“Christ,” Sarah muttered. She took Pete’s arm and tugged, but with no effect. “Pete, please. It’s not a game—you don’t understand what could happen—you don’t realize its power—”

“No, I don’t, but I’m starting to. I’m ready for him.” He looked down at her with a kindly expression and patted her hand. “Go on, if it upsets you. There’s no need for you to stay through this. Wait out in the car.”

“Pete, please!”

“I can’t leave now, Sarah. A few minutes ago you were accusing me of being detached, and not believing. Well, now I believe. I can feel another presence in the room with us. Now I know what you felt. I’m on the verge of understanding. If he comes closer, I’ll know more. I’ll know—” His face changed; his nose wrinkled as if he had caught a whiff of something foul. Then his eyes widened and he looked startled, almost frightened. “Christ,” he said, his voice alarmed and disbelieving. He pulled his arm out of Sarah’s grasp and backed away. “That’s—”

He was staring in horror at something behind her. Sarah whirled, but saw nothing. She turned back.

Pete had gone chalky-white, and his tall, thin body swayed. Before Sarah could reach him, his eyes fluttered closed and he rocked, then fell forward, catching himself on his hands and knees, hard on the floor.

“Pete!”

Sarah dropped to the ground and caught hold of his shoulders, pulling him to her. “Pete, what’s wrong? What’s happened? Can I help you? Let me help you outside.”

His whole body shook as he labored for breath, and he had broken out into a sweat. He didn’t have to answer. Sarah knew what had happened. Jade had attacked again, just as she had been lulled almost into disbelieving in his existence.

She wrapped her arms tightly around Pete and pressed her head against his and concentrated, trying to reach Pete, trying to sense Jade. She could not feel Jade’s presence at all, and that frustrated her. It must mean the demon was concentrating all its energy on Pete, and that left her helpless, without an enemy to fight and with no idea how to help her friend.

“Pete,” she said urgently. “I’m here, Pete. I want to help you. Let me help you.”

His only answer was a moan and a racking shudder.

Jade, she thought grimly, trying to aim her thoughts like an arrow. Get out, get away. Leave him alone.

She felt Pete tense suddenly within her embrace and then, before she could think about it or try to fight back, Sarah was lying flat on her back. Pete crouched over her, a look of demented courage on his tortured face, and his long, strong fingers were at her throat, choking her.

Sarah twisted wildly, feeling his fingers grip her more tightly, and clawed at his wrists, trying to pull them away. The pain intensified; she thought her chest would explode; the world turned red and purple. Despairing, Sarah brought up one knee as hard as she could, and connected.

With a cry, Pete jerked up and away from her, his fingers momentarily releasing their grasp. Sarah rolled away on the hard floor and scrambled to her feet, panting and watching Pete warily. As one part of her mind screamed at her to run, another part refused to leave him here alone, so totally at Jade’s mercy.

“Pete,” she said. It came out a whisper. She touched her throbbing neck, swallowed painfully and tried again. “Pete.”

He looked wildly around the room, and Sarah wondered what he saw and what he heard and if he was aware of her at all. She had never seen such terror on a human being’s face.

“No,” he said. “Get away from me! Leave me alone!”

Anything she said or did might add to his terror, Sarah realized. She had no idea what hell Jade had put him in. Again she tried to sense the demon and could not. For her, the room was normal and empty except for Pete, who was behaving like a madman.

And then Pete saw her. At least, he looked directly at her. But whatever he saw, standing in her place, made his face twist with a loathing so strong that it frightened her, and she backed away from her friend, realizing she was retreating only when she bumped into the wall.

“Pete,” she said yet again. “It’s me, Sarah. I don’t know what you’re seeing, but if you can hear me—

“No!” he shouted. He shut his eyes. “You’re not real, I don’t believe it, none of this is happening. I’m hallucinating, that’s all. This is not real. I’ll get out of this—I’ll prove—” He began to walk forward with his arms outstretched, fingers seeking although his eyes were still tightly shut. Sarah trembled, wondering what to do. Should she run? If he found her, would he know her, or would he again try to kill her?

Abruptly, before he reached her, Pete stopped and recoiled, drawing his arms in to his chest as if he had touched something.

“No, no,” he said, his voice a whimper and his face contorted. “No! It’s not real, none of it is. This is an empty house and I’m all alone . . . Sarah? Sarah, where did you go? Why did you leave me here?”

“I’m here, Pete.”

“Why am I here? What have I done? How do I get out?”

Sarah saw that he was crying. He slumped to the ground and wrapped his arms around himself, the sobs shaking him. Feeling a painful lump in her own throat, Sarah went to him and touched his arm.

He screamed and shoved her away, his eyes wide open now. “Get away, don’t touch me, you’re not real; I won’t believe in you, I won’t be one of you, get away!” He panted the words out in ragged gasps, staring directly at Sarah. Then, as if unable to bear the sight any longer, he clamped his eyes shut and cried out three words that Sarah did not understand.

And then there was peace.

As Sarah watched, Pete cautiously opened his eyes again, looking dazed and frightened. His gaze fell on her, and Sarah tensed for another outburst. But instead relief flooded his face and the terror began to recede.

“Oh, thank God,” he said. “Sarah, is it really you? I’m back? It’s over now?”

She nodded tentatively and stepped forward to embrace him, but he made a sudden, frantic gesture and a long shudder rocked him. He turned his head to one side and was sick on the floor.

Feeling slightly sick herself, but relieved by the obvious return to reality, Sarah hurried away to fetch a towel and a bowl of water. But when she returned, Pete pushed her aside and cleaned up after himself. Afraid to argue, still shaken by the violence and hatred he had turned on her earlier, Sarah leaned against the wall and watched without speaking. She had never seen Pete look so ill and exhausted; he suddenly seemed very old and frail.

“Shall I make you some tea?” she asked, watching his unsteady progress to the kitchen sink. He shook his head.

Sarah bit her lip. She wanted to go to him and put her arms around him and comfort him, but she did not dare. He would probably push her away again, or worse . . . She touched her throat.

But that wasn’t Pete, she thought. At least—it wasn’t Pete seeing me.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said sharply. “All right? I just want to get out of here.”

“I’ll take you home.”

He looked at her with pained, exhausted eyes, and slowly nodded. “Please.” Then, as they were leaving the house, he stopped her. “I’m sorry, Sarah.”

“That’s all right,” she said quickly.

“No. I’m sorry I doubted you. I just didn’t know. I thought of it as a kind of game, or as something you were overreacting to. I’m sorry, now, that I didn’t believe you. You tried to protect me, and I still walked right into it.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Sarah said. “I’m not so sure I would have believed it, if anyone had told me.”

“I wish to God I’d never gone in there.”

“Well, it’s over now,” Sarah said briskly, helping him into her car. “You never have to go in there again.”

“Of course I will,” Pete said dully.

Sarah looked at him but started the car without speaking.

“I have to go back for the same reason that you do,” he said. “We can’t leave that—thing—in there, alive. Somehow, we have to destroy it. Otherwise the next person who goes in there may not come out the same.”

“You were the one who told me I wasn’t responsible,” Sarah pointed out.

“That was before I knew.” He sighed and rubbed his face. “I wish to God I didn’t. But knowing, I can’t pretend I don’t, any more than you can. That thing is too dangerous, too horrible. We have to stop it, somehow. We have to find out how to get rid of it. If we don’t, who will?”

Sarah was silent, feeling a sense of relief so powerful it made her eyes sting. She wasn’t alone anymore. She wasn’t crazy. Pete knew. He had been through it, just as she had, and he understood, and he was united with her in a common fight. And together they would win. They would conquer the demon.

“One thing,” said Pete. “One thing that gives me hope—it isn’t much, but it is something—is those words.”

“Words?”

“Arabic words of protection against evil. I’d seen them in a reference book and copied them down. I didn’t really expect to remember them off the top of my head, but suddenly, when I couldn’t think of any way out, I saw those words, just as if they were on a page in front of my face. And I said them aloud and then . . . it was all over. I was out of hell and back in the house with you. So it must have been the words. They must have worked.”

Sarah said nothing, but she wondered. Were words that powerful? Had they really had an effect? Or had Jade simply come to the end of his repertoire of tricks for the moment? Had Pete simply been stronger than Jade anticipated, as Sarah had been herself? Could words really be enough to fend off, and ultimately destroy, the demon?

“Did you see anything?” Pete asked.

Sarah glanced at him and saw that he was staring away from her, out the window. She cleared her throat. “Only you.”

“So none of it was real. It was all just hallucination.” His tone was bitter. “But it didn’t do me any good to tell myself that.”

“Believe me, it was real enough,” Sarah said. “I went through it myself, or something like it.”

“I suppose it didn’t really take much time? It felt like days, inside. It was like being smothered. There was the most horrible smell. And nasty, sharp claws scraping at my head, trying to scoop out my brain. And those things, all around me. Gibbering at me, trying to touch me. I was turning into one of them. I couldn’t get away. I—” From the corner of her eye, Sarah saw Pete shudder and press a hand to his mouth. After a moment he took it away again, leaned back in his seat, and breathed in a shaky sigh. “It was all so real. And then, at the end, to have been able to make it all vanish with a few magic words. Hell!” He lurched forward in his seat.

“What is it?”

“The License to Depart. I forgot all about it. That’s what I went over there to do. Let’s go back.”

“Pete, not now! You’re in no shape to face Jade again. You need to rest. Tomorrow, or the next day—”

“Now, Sarah. We have to strike now.” She could feel his excitement filling the car. He was revitalized, his former sickness forgotten, pushed aside, by a sudden surge of hope and energy.

“My God, Pete, after what just happened to you? What if he attacks again? You might not be able to—”

“If anything, I feel stronger now than I did before, because I know what to expect. But the same won’t be true for Jade. I think that attack must have taken a lot out of him. He won’t be expecting us back. We’re probably safer right now than we would be if we gave him a few days to recover.”

Sarah turned and drove into the parking lot of a convenience store. There she stopped, letting the car idle. She looked at Pete, seeing how his weariness seemed to have been burned away. She wondered how far his excitement could propel him before he collapsed. She remembered the profound sleep which had followed her own battle with Jade.

“This is the time to strike,” Pete said. “I think we’ve got a damn good chance of winning. Why did Jade attack when he did? I think it was to keep me from saying the License to Depart. It was self-preservation, to distract me. If we go back now, we may catch him off guard—say the right words, and he’ll have to obey. If we give him more time to recover—”

Sarah nodded and shifted into drive. It made sense, what Pete had said, and they had to try anything that might work. She pulled back into traffic, now heading west.

Pete reached over and put his hand on top of Sarah’s, where it rested on the steering wheel. “We’ll do it,” he said.

While Sarah drove, Pete explained his plan. They would draw a protective circle on the floor with chalk, stand within it and recite the License to Depart and some other Words of Power that Pete had copied into his notebook. As he spoke, Sarah felt her spirits rise, and by the time they reached the house she was almost giddy with hope. They would do it, she thought. Of course they would do it! She had Pete with her now, actively believing. She wasn’t alone anymore. With the magic words and their combined strengths, they would send Jade back where he had come from.

As they got out of the car, Pete handed Sarah a piece of ruled paper covered with his neat, black printing. “These are Words of Power,” he said. “You might try to remember them—they could be useful.”

The words were many-syllabled, like children’s nonsense: Anrehakatha-sataiu, Senentuta-batetsataiu, Sabaoth . . . Sarah doubted that in a moment of crisis any such words would come to her lips. One, however, was simple enough. “Bast.” Beside it, in parentheses, Pete had written “to make all spirits depart.” That sounded promising, and the word was easy enough to remember. Bast. She moved her lips, pronouncing it silently.

Pete had already gone ahead of her, into the house, and Sarah followed after, in no hurry. She found him on the living room floor, crouching with a stick of chalk in one hand and an open book before him, copying a magic protective figure. She stood a moment, watching him, feeling detached. The house was quiet and peaceful, the sun filtered through leaves, making patterns on the wall. The air was humid, but it was not unpleasantly warm. Autumn afternoon edging towards a cool evening, her favorite time, her favorite season. It would be so nice, she thought, to sit on the porch and drink a glass of wine, enjoying the end of the day and waiting for the sun to go down. No worries, nothing to do. And afterwards, she and Brian, wrapped in one another’s arms—

Brian looked up from whatever he was doing on the floor and smiled at her seductively. “Come over here,” he said.

She couldn’t move.

It wasn’t Brian, she told herself; although she heard Brian’s voice and saw him there, and ached to touch him—that wasn’t Brian. Hard to believe that when she saw him smiling at her; hard to remember that she had come into the house with Pete, and that there was no one else in the house, when memory shifted and she saw Brian.

“Pete,” she said, pleading.

“What is it?”

It wasn’t Brian. It was Pete. Had been, all along. Pete crouching on the floor, drawing a rather wavering freehand circle.

Sarah sighed, relieved but saddened, and joined him on the floor, squatting nearby, within the parameter of the circle. “I thought you were Brian,” she said. “I saw him, I even heard his voice. That’s Jade’s doing. He’s already working against us, fighting back. He’s trying to distract us.” She put her hand on Pete’s arm. “Be careful.”

He pulled away as if her touch had scalded him. “You don’t have to tell me to be careful!”

The hostility in his voice shocked her. Nerves, she thought, trying not to be hurt. She watched him complete the circle by writing Latin words around the rim, and she said nothing. Let it be his show. She wouldn’t interfere.

Pete rose and gestured for Sarah to do the same. The circle was not large, and of necessity they stood very close together. They were not touching, but Sarah could feel Pete’s tension, his body giving off excitement like heat.

He began to read from his notebook: a formula for consecration of the circle, he had told her. She recognized it as a translation from an Assyrian tablet, said to be the oldest known formula for such consecration. Most of the formulae Sarah had found called repeatedly upon the Christian God. Pete’s attitude towards the religion he had been raised in was so antagonistic that Sarah had wondered how he could read an invocation praising God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit with anything like the proper reverence and conviction. He had side-stepped that difficulty by looking to the older gods—beings he could believe in with the same unresentful interest he had for ghosts and demons and familiar spirits.

“Ban! Ban! Barrier that none may pass,

Barrier of the Gods that none may break,

Barrier of heaven and earth that none can change,

Which no God may annul,

Nor God nor man can loose,

A snare without escape, set for evil,

A net whence none can issue forth, spread for evil,

Whether it be Evil Spirit or Evil Demon or Evil Ghost,

Or Evil Devil or Evil God or Evil Fiend,

Or Hag-Demon, or Ghoul, or Robber-Sprite,

Or Phantom, or Night-Wraith, or Handmaid of the Phantom . . .”

Pete’s voice, instead of growing stronger as he threw himself into the mood of the exorcism, was growing more uncertain. Sarah watched him, puzzled, wondering what was wrong. Suddenly he broke off his recitation and half-turned to face her. On his face was a strange mixture of pain and longing which Sarah did not understand, but which made her uneasy.

“Pete? Is it Jade?”

He made a sound low in his throat.

“Pete—” She reached out and suddenly she was in his arms. He clung to her tightly, trembling.

“It’s all right,” she murmured. “Fight him, Pete. I’m here; I’ll help you.”

He gripped her more tightly. “Pete,” she said. “Let me read the rest of the formula, if you can’t. We can’t let him stop us. Maybe if we consecrate the circle he won’t be able to touch us.”

His arms loosened somewhat, and Sarah was able to draw back far enough to see his face. And suddenly she knew the name for the expression on his face. Desire. Her stomach lurched. Not Pete. Not for her.

And then he was kissing her, or trying to. She writhed in his grasp, eluding his mouth. “Pete! For heaven’s sake!”

He still pressed her close. Denied her mouth, he was kissing her hair, sniffing it, murmuring her name. She could feel his erection.

“Pete, stop it.” She didn’t want to hurt him. She didn’t want to hit him. “Let me go,” she said, trying to make her voice calm and reasonable. She pulled away and this time, although he did not let go of her, he did not pull her back.

“Pete, this is crazy,” she said gently.

“I don’t care,” he said. He looked drunk, dazed. She had never seen him like this. “I want you, Sarah. I can’t stand it any more. I can’t fight it any more. Don’t you feel it too? I know you do—you must.”

Suddenly it wasn’t Pete but Brian who was talking, Brian who had his arms around her, Brian who begged her to love him. Reality slipped and shifted and Sarah felt that she had fallen into a dream. She put her arms around him and hugged him tightly. Brian was a bigger man, more solidly built, than Pete. She knew the feel of him in her arms so well, too well to be fooled; too well to be mistaken. She pressed her face against his chest and closed her eyes. If this was a dream, she would go on dreaming. This man in her arms was real, and the only thing that mattered.

She felt him moving, trying to disengage himself and gently push her away. She looked up at his face, her heart pounding, afraid that she would see that weak-willed apology, that pained look that said he was thinking of Melanie and feeling sorry for himself. But instead Brian was smiling at her, and there was love in his eyes. She felt weak, and turned her face up as if to the sun, closing her eyes and straining to kiss him.

His mouth met hers and they kissed hungrily. But it wasn’t Brian’s mouth; it wasn’t Brian’s kiss. And, she realized, it wasn’t Brian’s familiar body she was pressed against. In the space of less than a second everything had changed again.

Sarah broke away from the kiss, her breath coming hard, and she stared at Pete, hating him because he wasn’t Brian. Pete reached out for her, and she wondered who he saw, who inspired that longing on his face.

“Stop it,” she said sharply. She pulled his hands away from her breasts. “Pete, stop it! You’re letting Jade control you. Fight it!”

“I don’t want to fight it, Sarah,” he said. “I want you.” His fingers tightened on hers and he pulled her to him again, his head coming down to kiss her.

Perhaps he would turn to Brian again in her arms, she thought, first letting him kiss her and then kissing back. It would be only an illusion, but an illusion was better than emptiness. Her arms slipped up his back—Pete’s back—and pulled him closer, and their kiss increased in passion. He wasn’t Brian, but that wasn’t important. She had always liked Pete, and now his mouth on hers was compelling, his desire sparking her own. She couldn’t help responding to his hand on her breast, his tongue in her mouth. He wanted her and she wanted him, and where was the harm in that?

Beverly, she thought. There was the harm. Easy enough to give in now to the moment’s desire, but what about later, when they had to look at each other, and put their clothes back on, and go home and lie to Beverly?

She broke away from him. “Pete,” she said breathlessly. “Pete, listen to me. We can’t do this. It isn’t fair—it isn’t fair to Beverly!”

Passion made his face a stranger’s. “Is it fair to me?” he asked. “Are you being fair to me?” He caught her hand and pressed it against the bulge in his pants.

She jerked her hand away, angry for the first time. “We didn’t come here for this! Use your head, Pete! You wanted to come here to say the License to Depart. Let’s do that, then, and—”

“Later,” he said, reaching for her. “Later, we can do anything you like.”

“Not later! Now, before it’s too late!” She pushed him away, and bent to pick up the book he had dropped. When she came up, he caught her to him and kissed her hair and the back of her neck. Sarah squirmed, trying to avoid his caresses, and paged through the book, looking for the marked page.

“Sarah,” he murmured into her hair. “You’re driving me crazy. If you only knew how much I want you . . .”

She found the page with the License to Depart. She prayed that it would work, without the consecrated circle and without both their minds concentrated on it. She shifted and twisted away from Pete’s lips and hands and hoped that she, at least, would be safe from Jade. He can only fight us one at a time, she thought. In a trembling voice she began to read.

“O Spirit . . . Jade, because thou hast diligently answered me—answered Valerie’s—demands, I do hereby license and command thee to depart, without injury to man or beast. Depart, I say, and be thou very willing and ready”—she slapped at Pete’s hands—“to come, whensoever duly exorcised and conjured—”

Pete grabbed her head and held it still, kissing her mouth, silencing her. Sarah brought the book up in both hands into his stomach, but it was a weak and ineffective blow. Still, she managed to break away from him, and moved backwards hastily out of his reach.

“Depart, I say,” she resumed breathlessly. She looked for her place on the page. “And . . . be thou very willing and ready to come, whensoever duly exorcised and conjured by the sacred rites of magic. I conjure thee to withdraw peaceably and quietly, and may the peace of God continue for ever and ever, between me and thee. Amen.”

She looked up and saw Brian standing in the center of the chalked circle. Looking at the floor, she saw that she was outside the circle, and that her footsteps had smeared and broken the line. She bit her lip. She would not give up. Not yet. Perhaps it wasn’t spoiled. It might not be too late. Quickly she found the second marked page in the book—an exhortation if the spirit be reluctant to leave—and began to read it aloud. She was painfully aware of the man standing only a few feet away.

“I command you by all the holy names, by Adonay, Amay, Horta, Vegadoro, Ysion, Ysey, by the Holy Name by which Solomon did bind up the devils and lock them up, Ethrack, Evener, Agla, Goth, Joth, Othie, Veneck, Nabrack, by all the holy names and powers that be, Beroald, Berald, Balbin, Gab, Gabor, Agaba, by the grace and power of God, depart and leave us in peace.”

She looked up. She still saw Brian. Tears filled her eyes. She dropped the book on the floor, raised her arms above her head and shouted at the top of her lungs, hopelessly yet still hoping, “BAST!”

She opened her eyes and saw Pete. Relief flooded her. Tentatively she smiled at him.

He smiled back, but it was the wrong smile. He was looking at her still with desire, still controlled by Jade, tricked into seeing some other Sarah. Sarah felt cold and very much alone. She backed away from him when he held out his arms to her.

“I’m leaving,” she said. She turned away.

“Sarah.”

It was Brian’s voice.

She trembled but did not look back.

“Sarah, sweetheart, I love you. Come here and let me kiss you.”

She made herself walk away. She could not look back. If she looked back, she knew she would be lost. If she saw Brian she would go to him, even knowing that he was really Pete, even knowing that he was an illusion. She would make love to him gladly, greedily, accepting the illusion since that was all she had.

“Sarah, please. Come back to me. I need you.”

She broke into a run, then, through the kitchen and onto the porch and outside, down the three wooden steps. She was crying.

Outside, she slumped against the side of her car and wept. When the worst of it passed, she looked up and saw that Pete was sitting on the top step, head buried in his hands. She wiped her face with a tissue, watching him, but he did not move or speak.

“Pete,” she said at last.

He looked up, cautiously, giving her a hunted look. His face was haggard, and the expression on it might have been guilt or it might have been fear. He did not speak.

Sarah sighed, pushing herself away from the car. She felt like an empty shell, and it was an effort to move. “Come on,” she said wearily. “Let’s get out of here.”

Pete rose, moving like an invalid, and walked towards her. He stopped short while there was still quite a distance between them and said in a whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Sarah said. “It wasn’t you. It wasn’t your fault.” She hated the stricken look on Pete’s face. She wanted to forget what had happened—and what had not happened—but there was still this problem to be worked out between them. She sighed. “Let’s go,” she said.

They got into Pete’s car, Sarah again taking the wheel. She didn’t quite trust Pete to drive; she didn’t trust what his guilt and exhaustion might make him do.

“It was Jade,” she said again. “You don’t have to feel guilty.” She looked at him. “It was just another kind of attack. He was playing with us. I kept seeing you as Brian, and I wanted . . . all I wanted to do . . . Jade made me feel that, just as he made you feel . . .”

“But you saw Brian,” Pete said dully. “That’s why . . .” He drew a deep breath and rubbed his face fiercely with the palm of one hand. Not looking at her, he said, “I didn’t see anyone but you. I didn’t imagine that you were Bev, or anyone else. I knew what I was doing the whole time; I knew it was you. I don’t have an excuse, you see. I’ve always been attracted to you, Sarah. I love Bev. I would never do anything to hurt her. And there I was . . . acting out my fantasies about you. I don’t know what came over me—”

“Of course you do,” Sarah said sharply. “We both know that it was Jade. You wouldn’t have done that on your own. You don’t have to be ashamed of your fantasies—you would never have thought of trying to act them out except for Jade.”

Pete went on as if she had said nothing. “It was as if nothing else mattered, as if there was nothing else in the world except the two of us. And all I wanted was to make love to you. I didn’t want to think about what I was doing—hell, I didn’t even try to fight it! I can’t justify what I did.”

“You don’t have to. Pete, you’re talking as if you were alone in there—I was there, too, and I—”

“You thought I was Brian. Jade tricked you into seeing Brian,” Pete said. “He didn’t trick me.”

“Of course he did! Will you stop pitying yourself and be logical? I knew Brian wasn’t there—I knew it had to be you—but I didn’t want to argue against my own senses, and it was Brian I saw and Brian I felt in my arms,” Sarah said. “You could tell yourself you loved Beverly, but how could you argue against the lust Jade was making you feel? Jade was speeding up your pulse, muddying your thoughts, feeding your fantasies—how could you be expected to fight against that? He was playing on you physically and mentally—you didn’t have a chance. It wasn’t you, Pete!”

“The classic excuse,” he said dryly.

The hint of humor in his voice cheered her. “And it’s over now,” she said. “We’re out of the house, and out of that whole fantasy. Jade can’t touch us here. It’s over. Let’s forget it and go on, O.K.?”

He sighed, not looking at her. “I can’t shrug it off like that.”

“Why not? You have to. There’s no point in torturing yourself over it—it wasn’t your fault. Anyway, nothing happened.” She paused, watching him for some response, but he continued to gaze out the window. “Nothing happened,” she said again. “You kissed me. I kissed you. All right. We went a little crazy, at Jade’s command. That’s all. And it’s over now. If you’d been drunk and made a pass at me we could forget it and go on as friends.”

He didn’t answer.

“Give me the key,” Sarah said wearily.

He dug into his pocket and handed her the keychain, still not meeting her eyes.

Sarah started the car, feeling hollow inside. She missed Brian with a physical ache, remembering too well how he had felt in her arms. It didn’t help much to tell herself that she had held only Pete. However it had been done, Jade had given her a fresh reminder of what she had lost, and life was newly bleak without him. The wall of guilt and unease that had sprung up between her and Pete made her feel even more alone. She thought of the hopelessness of trying to confide in Beverly, of trying to make her understand what had happened.

As if he read her thoughts, Pete said suddenly, urgently, “You won’t tell Bev?”

Sarah looked at him pityingly and shook her head.

“I don’t know how I could explain it to her,” he said miserably. “When I can’t even explain it to myself. It would only hurt her. She wouldn’t understand it.”

Sarah nodded, dismissing the matter from her mind, and backed the car into the street. Looking up at the house before driving away, Sarah felt a rush of despair that swept away her earlier worries as insignificant. They had failed. Jade held all the weapons, and she and Pete were ignorant even of the rules of battle. She had no reason to imagine that she could do any better in their next encounter. It was hopeless. She had lost.