"Lovely evening, isn't it?"

Johanna spun in surprise, but the ancient temple room remained empty behind her. In the near corners, large statues of forgotten gods grinned wickedly in the dancing torchlight, and shadows swallowed the attached corridors. With a sinking feeling Johanna looked up just in time to see the last few feet of her rope disappear over the lip of the hole in the room's ceiling. Cole looked down at her, smiled cheerfully, and waved. The rising moon cast a silvery glow onto his dark hair and gave him an undeserved halo.

"What do you think you're doing?" She chided herself immediately for sounding foolish. It was perfectly obvious what he was doing. He seemed to agree, as he ignored the question entirely.

"If you're looking for this, I'm afraid it's already been safely re-located." He held up the small statuette that -- until very recently -- had been located under the altar Johanna had been preparing to open. It was difficult to see the idol properly in the dark; her lantern illuminated the room but not the ceiling well, and the full moon hadn't yet risen very far. She didn't need to see it, however. She'd known for days he'd steal the artifact the first time he got the chance. A glance around the room yielded only the familiar carved-stone surroundings and no handy weapons to throw. Johanna almost wished she'd brought her gun.

It was infuriating. It had taken her weeks to convince the British museum officials that her credentials were good enough to be allowed into their precious dig, days longer to convince the local tribe that she wouldn't be sullying their ancient holy place by the touch of her female hand. They were idiots; the site was dedicated to a goddess to begin with... not that she could just come out and say that.

Weeks of her life, gone -- wasted. Yet Cole had walked in, smiled his charming smile, smoked cigars with the officials, talked about ... whatever men talk about when the women are away, and within days -- days! -- he was traipsing around the place like he owned it. Whether under her feet, reading her notes over her shoulder, or drinking the brandy he stole out of her travel gear, he hadn't ceased bothering her since he'd arrived.

"I hate to run, pretty girl, but ... you know how it is. There's trains to catch, places to go. Buyers to satisfy." He tossed a bag down into the temple room and it landed on the stone floor with a thud. "There's a water bottle, in case you don't have one, and a blanket."

"Oh, thank you so much."

"I don't want you to spend the night being uncomfortable. It'll make you cranky when Yaheen and his bodyguards -- excuse me, 'tribal advisors' -- find you in the morning and ask why you were trying to pilfer their religious heritage."

Johanna crossed her arms and glared up at him. "I'll just tell them you stole it, won't I?"

"Ah. Well, you could, but unfortunately, I mentioned the other day that I'd seen you talking to an accomplice -- sorry, 'unknown assistant' -- out in the woods. I also mentioned that I'd heard you could be a bit 'disreputable'."

"I don't have an 'accomplice'."

"Really? Then who double-crossed you and left to you hang?"

"And I suppose you've already covered *your* exit?"

"Well of course. I might have to work with the British again." She couldn't see his dark brown eyes in the dark, but she knew they were dancing. Cole loved to win.

"You're an utter bastard, Nash."

"Not very proper language for a Lady, Johanna. You have a good night, and I'm sure I'll see you again."

Cole disappeared from the edge of the lip and the night resumed its tranquility. Johanna stepped to the far side of the room, but still couldn't see the moon. With a sigh, she pulled out the blanket Cole had so thoughtfully provided her, turned off the lantern to save oil, then sat down to wait.

Hours passed. The night was full of the soft sounds of the jungle above her. The humidity was still high, but without the heat of the day it wasn't as stifling. The moon slid slowly up and over the opening in the ceiling until it was nearly directly overhead. Johanna waited as long as she dared, but there was no sign that Cole was anything but long gone. Soft, blue-white moonlight flooded the room, and there was no need to re-light the lantern. It was nearly time to start.

From her own bag, Johanna pulled out the canteen of ritually purified water she'd brought with her, and poured it out into the wide, shallow depression in the top of the alter. Setting the canteen aside, she pulled out the dagger she used for magical rituals. A glance up at the moon's position told her to wait a few more minutes.

There was a shimmer across the water when the moon hit its zenith far above, the barest ripple of old power gathering its breath and waiting. Johanna drew a symbol across the water's surface with the tip of the dagger, then sliced an arc across the palm of her other hand before the ripples faded.

Quietly chanting the words she'd fully expected to say twenty-eight days before, Johanna felt the power come alive and build for her as her blood dripped into the bowl. There was an oddly familiar feel to the energy, similar to hearing a lullaby in a foreign language. She couldn't identify the nuances, but she knew the intent.

Slowly, the bloodied water began to glow under the moonlight. Red energy pulsed rhythmically, growing brighter and more solid with every pulse. Finally a swell of it rose up from the shallow pool and snaked through the air in a graceful, lazy twist before increasing its speed sharply and plunging into a large statue in a corner of the room.

The pulses continued for a silent moment, and Johanna realized they were tied to her heartbeat. Then there was one last, brilliant pulse, and the statue fell apart, collapsing until it was nothing more than a pile of rubble on the floor. Echoes reverberated against the hard stone walls, and Johanna held her breath, fearing for a moment the sound could have carried back to the tents. She let the breath out slowly as the dust settled. A few moments later, and the peaceful quiet of the night had resumed.

Johanna pulled a strip of cloth out of her pack and wrapped it around her hand. Then she walked to the rubble and moved a handful of rocks before her eyes caught the gleam that signaled the end of her search. Smiling, she reached out and picked up the talisman and dusted it off gently.

It exuded no magical aura -- though perhaps she just wasn't of the right religion -- but it shone like a small, round star in the palm of her hand. The exquisitely carved piece of circular alabaster depicted a moon goddess on one side, and the other side was covered in inlaid opal, pearl, mother of pearl, and what looked like aquamarine and ruby -- though it was difficult to tell in the moonlight.

The carving pierced through the piece at regular intervals near the rounded edge, and Johanna undid the clasp of one of her necklaces, slid off the simple pendant and tossed it into her bag. Then she fed the chain through one of the holes in the disc. When she replaced it around her neck, the end of the chain -- and the talisman -- slid down into the front of her shirt where it had been since she'd arrived.

No one at the dig -- neither the English or the locals -- knew the talisman had been in the temple, and no one would be able to say it hadn't been hers for a very long time. And that was assuming they ever saw it in the first place. It lay flat against her skin, not even raising a bump under her shirt, and it warmed to her body temperature almost immediately.

Now there was the trouble of dealing with the mess Cole had left her in. She'd been careful to not let him suspect her real goal, and he'd fallen for the bait, but that bait was gone now, and everyone involved was not going to be happy with her. The only possible solution was to make certain they believed her over him.

Considering her options carefully, Johanna decided that a bruised and tattered-looking woman would be believed more readily. With a sigh, she selected a rock from the pile at her feet, cursed Cole for a moment, then hit herself on the cheek hard enough to leave a bruise. Her dagger was sharp, and the cut she made at her hairline bled nicely. She could tell the men she'd poured the water in the basin to wash off some of the blood, and that would cover the presence of the water. And the blood, come to think of it, since that would upset everyone more.

The blanket was tempting, but she would look considerably more pathetic and worn if she managed to stay awake all night. She also needed to work out all the kinks out of her story. She needed to account for the large broken statue, the missing smaller one, and why she was down here in the middle of the night with a blanket. And most importantly, the blame needed to fall squarely on the shoulders of Dr. Cole Nash.

* * * * *

The bells on the door chimed softly as Johanna stepped into the cramped shop. It was dark after the blinding sunlight of the street. Bright shafts of sunlight lanced through the small, high windows and pierced the cool shop in a dazzling array. They landed on piles of assorted merchandise, shelves crammed with every possible oddity, and the rare bit of open floor. Coming through the mass of accumulated goods, Johanna heard Benji's voice before she saw him.

"Welcome, welcome!" He moved his bulk through his shelves and cases of merchandise with practiced ease, and she saw his face break into a broad smile when he saw her. "Miss Johanna! So much time passed -- I have been praying for your safe return. Praise be to Allah."

"Thank you, Benji..." she was cut off by his exclamation as he got close enough to her to see her face in the dim light.

"Mercy -- Miss Johanna, what happened?" His dark eyes filled with concern.

She touched her swollen cheek gingerly with her bandaged hand and smiled tightly. "We will discuss that in a moment, Benji. Do you still have the amulet?"

He frowned. "I do, Miss Johanna. But I will be pleased to be rid of it. You will call me superstitious, but I have come to think it is giving me nightmares. You were able to acquire the talisman?"

"Yes."

"Why were you gone so long? Did you become ill?"

"No." Johanna frowned. "They wouldn't let me into the dig."

"But the Englishman who oversees digs for the London museum in this area... is he not a friend of yours?"

"Manfred Howell. Yes, he is. But apparently he isn't doing field work anymore. His replacement is some sort of child prodigy who makes up for his lack of age and experience by being officious and bossy. And pompous. And rather rude. Justin Winthrop is his name; if he comes through here, charge him double for everything."

Benji smiled and well-worn creases appeared at the corners of his eyes. "With pleasure, Miss Johanna."

"While I'm expressing displeasure over the unfortunate aspects of my trip..." she brushed fingertips lightly over her cheek, "Benji, did you tell your brother where I was going?"

There was a pause as Benji's face moved from concern to consternation. "I... did. But..."

"We've been over this before." Her mouth set into a thin line, and Benji nearly flinched. "He's not an evil man, Benji, but he's a drunk. He sold me out to Nash."

Another pause came and went as Benji blanched. "But... he's my brother, Miss Johanna. And my business partner. I ..." he trailed off, raising his hand to gesture at her face. "Did Mr. Cole do that to you?" The look of horror on his face nearly made Johanna smile.

"Nash is responsible for it, yes." With a little effort she softened her voice. "This is the last time this is going to happen, Benji. If not, then we won't be able to do business anymore, do you understand?"

He nodded, his face a portrait of chagrin and apology. Johanna wondered, not for the first time, if he was genuinely that transparent, or the best liar she'd ever met. Both possibilities seemed equally unlikely; perhaps he just had this reaction to women. She watched him start to fidget, and waited for a moment before prompting him.

"What is it?"

"Miss Johanna... I have the amulet, and the trade agreement still stands, but ...I am terribly sorry, but if you do not have the statue, I can not give you the money we agreed upon."

"Yes, yes. I am aware of that." She undid the clasp of her necklace and slid the talisman free of the chain. He watched the movements and his eyes widened when she turned the disc over in the dim light of the shop.

"It is indeed lovely. Extraordinarily so. I will return." He turned and maneuvered his way around the piles of merchandise in a flurry of robes and the scent of spices.

Johanna rubbed her temple with one hand and looked wistfully at the talisman in her other. Indara had said the buyers contacted her temple with very specific instructions: the exact location of the African temple and the details of the ritual needed to free the talisman from its prison. Benji had been arranged to act as an intermediary, which allowed Johanna to wrap up two missions with one trip since he had come to be in possession of an amulet for which Johanna had been searching.

A long line of artifacts, magical and otherwise, and passed through Johanna's hands since she'd begun travelling for Indara, and only on rare occasion did it hurt her to part with one. The moon-shaped talisman in her hand, however, was a rare find. She knew little of its origin, yet still it called to her. Indara had assured her, however, that its buyers would provide a good home for it.

Benji returned with surprising speed, holding in his hands the box into which she'd seen him place the amulet before she had left. He set it on a nearby shelf, then picked up another box and handed it to her. "For the talisman." She was relieved, in a small way. It was entirely possible that the carved icon had never been touched by a man, and it seemed disrespectful to be the one responsible for causing such an event. Benji was a trifle on the superstitious side, however -- it was also possible the buyers had given him instructions to that end.

In any case, the randomly presented box happened to be exactly the right size -- making Johanna wonder again how much of Benji's manner was staged -- and the disc settled into the silk-lined interior, then was gone from her sight with the closing of the lid.

Talisman and container disappeared into Benji's voluminous robes, and he held out the box he'd brought in. Johanna took it, flipped the lid open, and looked at her new acquisition.

In comparison to the lovely icon she'd given up, the amulet was an ugly, gaudy trinket for the nouveau riche. The center stone was huge, but not attractive, and the gold setting was ostentatious and overly worked. What it did have was power, more of it than seemed possible, radiating from it in waves. It crawled over her skin and she felt the tendrils of it wrap around her.

She was about to look away from it when the stone caught her eye. She looked more closely at the stone, then pulled the amulet out of its box. There was a hairline crack running from one corner into the center.

"Did you drop it?" Her tone was sharp, and Benji's eyes widened.

"No! It has not been out of the box since you were here, Miss Johanna. My solemn word..." he trailed off and shuddered. "To drop it, I would have had to have touched it. I have been most happy that I did *not* have to touch it."

Deciding that the damage was done -- however it occurred -- Johanna let her questions go. With a sigh of distaste, she slid the loose chain in her hand through the bail of the amulet, and prepared to fasten it on.

"You do not plan to wear it," Benji exclaimed with obvious disgust. His soft, long-fingered hands made the sign to ward off the evil eye as she slid the empty box into her purse.

"I must. Some men won't think twice about searching a lady's suitcase or even purse, but very few will reach down her shirt." The image seemed to shock him somewhat, and Johanna was a bit pleased. Petty, perhaps, but she was counting little victories. Benji continued to look doubtful, but he didn't push further. Johanna pressed her palms together and bowed in the gesture of namaste. "Thank you. It has been an honor to do business with you again."

He returned the bow, still looking doubtful, then his face brightened. "Miss Johanna, I have had an idea! You will stay at my home tonight -- my wife will cook you dinner, your native curry... we can leave that horrible thing in the shop one more night..." he added the last as an afterthought, waving his hand in the general direction of her chest.

"No. I can't." The words came out harsher than she'd meant them, and she tried to soften her tone as his face fell. "Benji, I haven't the time. I've lost weeks arguing with Winthrop and there are people waiting on me, worrying about me. There's a train leaving town in two hours, and not another for nearly a week. I have to go now."

"I understand," he said with a look of disappointment. "At least let me give you this." He stepped away and reached up to the top of a stack -- how the entire place didn't collapse into a heap was beyond her understanding -- and pulled down a dirty, scratched bottle. "Do not let its appearance fool you; it is the finest nabidh ever tasted by man. Or woman," he added with a smile.

She returned the smile and accepted the bottle. "Thank you, Benji. I'll take you up on your offer of dinner the next time I'm through here." Nabidh was a honey-based wine of which Johanna was particularly fond. She wondered how long the bottle had been sitting in the shop, and whether it was meant to help her forget that Cole had shown up on her heels and deprived her -- again -- of a source of income.

Benji bowed again and let her leave. The bells on the door chimed as she passed into the assaulting afternoon sunlight.

*****

A mass of people pressed into Johanna from all sides, forced against her so tight that she couldn't draw enough air to properly scream, yet she screamed anyway, as loudly as she could. The sound was lost, however, in that vast mass of bodies, for they were all screaming, a sound that tore through her. It seemed somehow that the noise assaulted not only her ears, but something inside her mind. With so many screaming people, it was an endless sound, as though none of them ever needed to stop and draw air.

She couldn't remember how she'd come to be in that place, but it had the feeling of a mass grave. More than that, though, was the overwhelming sense of impending horror, the certain knowledge that at any moment something even more terrible was due to come. Memories rose from Johanna's subconscious, a childhood of demons and devils, boogeymen, and monsters so horrible they'd never been given names by man or woman.

Waking with a start, Johanna bit back a scream. Her train compartment was empty, and she was grateful for the solitude as it kept her from having to explain. It also gave her time to compose herself and shake off the dream. She could still feel the press of bodies around her, and couldn't shake the feeling of having been touched by the grave.

The steady movement of the train had lulled her to sleep, but now it reinforced the sense of being disconnected with the world. Johanna took a deep breath, and stood. Maybe a walk to the dining car and a glass of wine would make her feel better. She paused with one hand on the door of her compartment, and a flash of paranoia made her pull the amulet from her shirt.

It was still there, a hideous display of bad taste and poor craftsmanship. Was it her imagination, or was the crack a trifle larger than before? She shook her head, trying to clear it, and opened the door.

The dining car was fuller than she'd expected, given the late hour. As she passed the tables looking for a seat she overheard two different conversations about disturbing dreams. Only three days into a trip of two weeks, and if the entire span of time was like this, she didn't know what condition she'd be in when she made it home to India. And if the other passengers were having difficulties as well, it could be problematic. There was always the chance one of the more psychically sensitive passengers might begin interacting on a subconscious level with the souls, or that a weak mind might break from the metaphysical assault. She drank her wine, looked out the window into the night, and contemplated her options.

Three more days and nights passed, and eventually Johanna removed the amulet from her neck and replaced it in its box. She didn't think removing it would help, as the passengers around her were having the dreams without wearing it, but she had to try. With every stop, more people got off the train than got on, and the staff were beginning to show signs of fatigue and poor temper.

As she'd expected, removing the amulet didn't help, and she could no longer bite back the screams when she awoke. She was hardly alone in that, however, and it was becoming rather commonplace to hear screaming from the sleeping compartments at all hours of the day and night as people tried in vain to rest.

Johanna was certain now that the crack was getting larger. She knew that the amulet had been created to hold souls until they could be fed to ... something, but she was beginning to suspect that more souls had been pushed into the item than it had been designed to hold. The magic was breaking down, leaking out, and it was only a matter of time before it failed utterly.

The consequences of containment failure were difficult to imagine. Had they died normally, they'd have moved on, but placing them in the amulet had tied them to this plane. They couldn't move on now unless a passage were to be opened for them. Johanna was getting the sense that most of the souls were insane, but in addition, some of them seemed angry as well, and bent on destruction. Hard to blame them, really, but Johanna couldn't be responsible for allowing the flood of unsettled, angry souls to hit a mass of unsuspecting bystanders who were ill-equipped to deal with the onslaught.

The problem was that she herself was ill-equipped to deal with it. Knowing the nature of the object she'd gone to retrieve, she'd prepared a ritual room at home to deconstruct the amulet's power, re-contain the souls, and funnel them to their proper destination. But that room and its expensive, difficult to find ritual components were still more than a week away.

Moving through the train, Johanna sat down in the hallway to wait out a brawl happening in front of her, and seriously doubted that either she or the train's other passengers would make it to her destination. At dinner that evening, a woman had been taken to her cabin and sedated when she began confessing an infidelity through screaming sobs, then picked up a steak knife and began to hack away sections of her hair. Johanna had overheard a man talking to himself the day before -- talking himself into raping his step-daughter. Johanna had warned the man's wife, but the woman's wild eyes spoke of other problems surfacing in the family's landscape.

There was no choice; she was going to have to improvise.

The next stop would be a city large enough to have some of the supplies she needed, and perhaps substitutes for the rest. Johanna thought her way through the list, and cursed Justin Winthrop anew. She resolved that if the ritual turned disastrous, causing her to become possessed by a demonic entity and she had to spend the rest of eternity feeding on human hearts, she'd travel back to the dig site and limit her menu to the hearts of pedantic, misogynistic museum officials.

Closing her eyes and letting her mind drift, Johanna realized after a bit that she had spent several moments contemplating whether English hearts would taste as bland as the rest of the meat they served in the country. Clearly, she needed sleep.

When the train came to the next stop, most of the remaining passengers flooded out of it as though they were trying to escape hell. The train staff were wide-eyed, and holding on by threads. Johanna let the wave of people carry her out of the train and station, then broke away from them and made her own way.

Three hours later and Johanna was counting the currency which remained to her. The difficulty in haggling, Johanna thought darkly, is that if one is asking strangers for the powdered blood of murderer, the need is undoubtedly too high to refuse all but the most ludicrous of requests. Of course, if she'd been able to pull the statuette out of the dig site, she'd have had the extra money she'd planned on. And if the amulet hadn't started falling apart, she'd have been able to travel home and not re-purchase supplies. And if she hadn't had to pay for a room in this unplanned-for stop, she'd have not had to spend that money, either. If, if, if...

She'd saved a little on her last purchase simply because she'd finally lost her temper. She supposed she should feel badly about threatening the man, but she'd come to the end of the inconveniences she was willing to tolerate graciously. Making her way back to the room she'd barely been able to pay for, she thought of the statue in Cole's hand, and added his heart to the list of items which would be acceptable dietary choices if she became possessed.

In truth, she knew the odds of possession were slim. It was much more likely that her mind would break and she'd spend the rest of her life in a small, dirty room in a straight-jacket. Johanna had been to asylums, however, and it was much more comforting to imagine Winthrop and Nash screaming in terror of her.

The sun had gone down by the time the circles had been properly created. It wasn't the configuration Johanna would have liked, but she'd moved the room's tattered furniture to the walls and placed her steamer trunk on the bed, and there still wasn't room for a separate protective circle for her to sit in. So instead she'd constructed concentric circles, with the amulet in a center containing circle, and her in an outside ring. It would have been safer to have been farther removed from the amulet, but there wasn't the space.

Compromise, concession, and substitution. She was sitting in an unpurified room, in an improvised circle form, using second-rate ritual catalysts purchased from unreliable sources. Moreover, she couldn't remember the last time her head didn't hurt. She wasn't sure if it was the lack of sleep, or the foul mood, or the amulet's power battering against her weakening defenses.

She was *not* going to end up insane. It simply wasn't an option. She repeated it a few times, just to reassure herself, then she prayed, quietly and fervently, imploring her goddess, the goddess of her mother and grandmother, to protect her. Then she lit the candles and started to draw in the energy.

Once she had a solid field of energy constructed around her, she turned her attention to the amulet lying in the center circle. She remembered for a moment how she had thought the ritual would be: sitting in her room at home, incense burning, working to un-make the amulet's design like carefully untangling a tight knot with a needle.

The reality was messy, and lacked the incense. The amulet's magic was losing coherency; she could almost see it collapsing as she watched. The center circle was designed to hold in the power -- and act as a second container for the released souls -- until she could get the passage open for them to move through. Looking at the fraying ends of the spell, Johanna was glad she hadn't had to spend another night travelling on the train.

It was an easy matter to pull apart what was left of the spell; it unraveled like a poorly-knitted sweater. But as soon as the souls began to leak out, Johanna knew there was a problem; the inner circle wavered at the first contact with the soul-energy. She fought to keep it intact while the amulet spilled out more souls. There was a cacophonic screaming echoing in her head, distracting her, and the barrier of energy that kept the souls away was weakening under the onslaught.

More and more of them poured out of their former prison, only to find a new one. They railed against it, clawed at the thin boundary, and screamed in unison. Johanna chanted as quickly as she dared, trying to open the portal which would give them release -- and provide relief to the weakening barrier.

A loud, deep sound like thunder hurt her eardrums, and Johanna raised her hands to her face in an instinctual gesture. The stone in the amulet had cracked apart, its spell completely destroyed. There was another multitudinous scream from the horde, a brilliant flash of light, and the inner circle containing them shattered apart.

Johanna cried out, or thought she did, as the mass of angry, terrified, confused souls washed over and through her, transmitting their pain. Suddenly, it was difficult to breathe, though surely she could still get air.

The outer circle was holding, though it was difficult to tell how long it would continue to do so. Above her, a crack opened in reality, and Johanna gasped out the last few words to fully open it.

The crowd of souls screamed again, not knowing how or why they were being pulled and moved, but most of them were too far gone to care. The portal tugged at them, a vacuum of nothingness drawing in their ethereal mass. There was another disorienting flash, a suction, and then Johanna felt a weight slip off her. She was so relieved that the pressure on the strained outer circle had abated, it took her a moment to realize she was floating.

Around her, the souls still screamed, howling out their rage and pain and frustration, but it was much harder to concentrate than it had been earlier. The rift lay open above her and with a start, she realized she could see her body below, still sitting straight-backed, but with utterly vacant eyes. Meanwhile, the rift beckoned and pulled her upwards.

Panic seized her and for a moment she couldn't think. The pull of the portal was strong, and the souls -- including her own -- were falling up into it. Desperately, Johanna focused her attention on the flesh below her, and began pulling herself back down into it. The weightless sense vanished immediately, and the undertow became apparent.

Souls still flowed by her, pushing her up, passing through her somehow, and she could feel them as they passed -- feel them *after* they'd passed. Sheer will kept her moving down, the space immeasurable and the pace achingly slow, but it was movement nonetheless. The souls touched every part of her as they merged and separated, as though they were leaving fingerprints on her heart and mind. More quickly than she could have imagined, it began difficult to tell where they ended and 'Johanna' began.

It could have been hours perhaps, or seconds, until she made contact with her body and forced her way in. It felt foreign, and cramped, both larger than it should have been and yet too small to hold her. It shouldn't have been that difficult, she heard herself think, but everything was difficult ... had been difficult... she wondered what was wrong, or if it was just the bizarre sensation of again wearing muscle and bone.

There was a dizzying, sickening moment when a flood of sensations assailed her as she settled at last into her own skin. With flesh came a resurgence of gravity, and she fell. Her head hit the floor with a hard crash and more pain than she'd expected exploded through her mind.

Her voice shook when she spoke the words to close the portal, but the rift closed. The room seemed suddenly as quiet as a body exhaling its last breath before dying. There was no way of telling how loud the sounds had seemed from outside the door, but if no one had come to check already, then they likely wouldn't.

For a few long moments, Johanna lay still in the cool silence of the room and listened to the pounding in her head. She wondered about the possibility of a concussion, but she couldn't remember if it was good to sleep with one or not. In any case, she had some work to do before she could rest.

In a daze, she sat up and surveyed the room. She'd fallen on the remains of the amulet, which had melted into slag; the heat from the still-hot metal had burned a sizable hole in her skirt. The only other clothing she had left was filthy from traipsing around in the jungle. On the other hand, it occurred to her that with the amulet's power gone, she had a mass of melted gold -- which meant she didn't have to sell her possessions to get home.

There was dust everywhere from the powders she'd used to lay out the circle, in addition to the burnt out candles, dripped wax and other detritus from her improvised ritual. The room was a mess. She'd paid for several days, since the next train wasn't due for some time, so the odds were good that no one would disturb her. If someone did enter, however, and she were seen sitting in the remains of a spell, she'd be sleeping on the street -- if she didn't get burned alive or stoned to death.

With a sigh, she picked herself up and started to extinguish the few candles still lit. As she turned in the direction of the bed, she nearly screamed out loud. Another unsettling shift of perception hit her, and Johanna let herself sit back down on the floor with a thud.

She could still see the room, normal, mundane and empty. But her eyes were also seeing a small girl hunched on the bed. Johanna's brain was vehement in both perspectives: the girl was absolutely not there, the girl was obviously present. Johanna could feel her presence as well as 'see' her.

Slowly, a small face rose from behind the pale knees where it had been hidden. Johanna had a watery impression of blond hair, wide eyes and freckles, then the apparition spoke.

"Hi. I'm Amelia. Everyone calls me Mouse, though."

It unsettled her to realize that although the girl's mouth was moving, there was no sound -- she was hearing the words in her head. Johanna didn't have the energy left to calculate what that might mean, but she had a sinking feeling she couldn't deny. Her stomach soured and turned.

For a long moment, she contemplated being sick, but she vetoed the idea because it felt as though any more pressure might fracture her skull. A ridiculous thought, but there was no sense in not being prudent.

For another long moment, Johanna considered the idea that she had gone insane after all. In the aftermath, it really didn't seem all that unpleasant an alternative -- and now at least, she had someone to talk to when she was put in the asylum.

Still, always better to assume sanity unless there are glaring reasons to discount it, she figured.

"I'm Johanna," she offered. The girl smiled shyly and held up the rag doll she had tucked under her arm.

"This is Clara."

"Hello, Clara. Mouse, why didn't you leave with the others?"

"Couldn't."

"Why?"

Mouse shrugged her tiny shoulders in ignorance, then changed the subject. "You look tired."

"I feel tired." It was possibly the largest understatement she'd ever made. She was bone-numbingly exhausted, but there was still a room to clean. She stood, slowly, and Mouse yawned.

"I'm tired, too." Big, hollow eyes caught Johanna's. "It was ... bad. In there, I mean."

"I know."

Mouse nodded, her gaze still intently fixed on Johanna's face. For a gut-wrenching second she could see herself through Mouse's eyes -- a third, disorienting perspective on top of the first two that were already making her dizzy. Shocked, she looked away shaking her head, and the view ended.

There had to be a way to get rid of the ghost. She'd research it as soon as she got home. Well, no. First she'd drink a bottle of something worth drinking, then she'd sleep for a week on a bed with real sheets. And *then* she'd send the ghost on its way. With any luck at all, seeing through its -- her? -- eyes was a residual effect of the magic still in the air, and would never, never happen again.

The room was still a mess. With a groan, Johanna stood. The first ten minutes of cleaning went slowly as Mouse began to ask over and over when they could sleep. The whining increased in frequency and 'volume' until, in exhausted desperation, Johanna went to the bed and prepared to scold. Huge, lost eyes stared up at her, though, and she was too tired to argue. Wordlessly, she pulled the cover back on the bed, and Mouse settled into it and smiled sleepily when Johanna settled the threadbare blanket back in place. Something like contentment filled the haunted face, and Mouse closed her eyes, gave a deep sigh, and vanished.

Johanna was too tired to further contemplate the possibility of insanity. The room was far from its original state, but she'd done enough. Still dressed in charred clothing, she sank onto the mattress. Everything that had to be done had been done, and Johanna lay down and closed her eyes. She'd sleep as long as she liked, then she'd work out the rest.

**fin**

March 20, 2003

Return to Table of Contents

Feedback can be sent to: Apocrypha at Seventh_Chevron@hotmail.com