The soup was unsettled in my stomach. I inhaled deeply around the rim of my teacup again, if only to drive away the remembered stench of blood. I could not meet Damian's eyes, although I could feel them on me. The house creaked around us, I could hear someone walking on the stairs, and then a door being opened.

It made me think of the Doll House, and I wondered if the girls were missing me, if they had noticed my absence. If they would look for me...

"So you killed him," Damian said at last. I expected to hear disgust, horror, or anger. Instead, he sounded as if he had expected it. I looked up at him hesitantly, and found him pinching his lip in thought. Unbidden, my eyes trailed along his bare chest, lingering around the scars, taking in the lines of muscle.

"And I would do it again," I said. "I would make him suffer longer. I would gladly kill any man who saw fit to lay claim to my body without permission." I sincerely hoped he understood the threat. By the small sad smile that curled his mouth, I was made certain he had.

"The tale is not done," he said. "Dr. Carnickey offered you an abortion. There are women in Soule Asylum as we speak who have been committed for having such a procedure."

"I'm well aware," my voice came out vicious, a snarl from between clenched teeth. "Rest assured, Mr. Hearst, that with every action I took I became more certain of my own damnation. I went on regardless."

"I'm not laying blame on you," he said. "Sometimes the most damning courses of action are the ones that must be taken. But this Carnickey, I need to-"

"Dr. Hearst! Dr. Hearst!" Rapid footsteps were coming down the hall, a familiar voice calling through the house. I recognized the cracking tone immediately: Octavio. Damian stood and moved himself behind me, his hand landing lightly on my shoulder. I tried to shrug it off, but he insured it remained. His meaning was clear: stay where you are.

"In here, Octavio," Damian called, and the swinging door burst open to a red-faced and sweating Octavio. His face paled several shades however, when he laid eyes on me.

"Dr. Hearst, I...ahhhh..." He was struggling to avert his eyes, and I realized suddenly that I had allowed my sheet to droop down in the course of my story-telling, baring my chest. I didn't bother to cover myself, but sipped at my tea while batting my eyes with as much innocence as I could manage. I hoped they were both supremely uncomfortable.

"Octavio," Damian's voice held a warning. "Focus. What is it?"

"Father Alexander Iscariot is here, sir," he said, visibly swallowing. "He requests your assistance."

Damian stiffened at the name. I glanced up at him, and found a dark shadow had fallen over his face. His jaw was clenched, and for a moment I thought he was angry. Then it passed, and he quickly began to button up his shirt.

"Where is he?" he said tightly.

"In the parlour, sir."

"Take Samara upstairs at once and secure her. Insure the room is locked before you go." Octavio looked as if he desperately wanted to protest, but his mouth stayed tightly shut. I, however, had no qualms about protesting.

"Secure me?" I exclaimed. "I will not be secured anywhere, thank you very much! What the hell is going on? Who is this Father Alexander fellow? You've explained nothing, Hearst, and you have the nerve to-"

Damian leaned down to be eye-level with me. He grasped my chin, looked me straight in the eyes, and said, "If you don't go with Octavio willing and quietly I swear to Lucifer himself that your first meeting with Father Alexander will be as he watches you get spanked over my knee, and you will not like it."

My mouth was agape. I was too stunned to speak, too furious, too...well, I didn't even want to think about what other feelings his threat had elicited. With his shirt buttoned up, Damian made for the door and said to Octavio as he went, "Call for me the second she tries anything."

Poor Octavio. He was looking at me like some kind of diseased frog that had unfortunately hopped into his kitchen. He approached with an arm outstretched, as if to hold me and lead me, then thought better of it. He cleared his throat.

"Miss Samara...if you would..."

"Yes, yes, I'll follow you," I got up in a huff, clutching my sheet around me. He looked relieved, and kept glancing at me warily as I followed him back out into the hall. It was a hall with which I was familiar: we had passed the door to Damian's office wherein we'd had our first encounter, the kitchen being in the furthest back corner of the house. Once more I passed under the scrutinous gaze of the portrait of the white-haired woman with the milky eye and cringed as I did so. The door was right there...so close...I could outrun Octavio easily, and I had a headstart on Damian...

But I had too many questions, and not enough answers.

On the second floor, we passed a set of double-doors on our way to the next stairway through which I could hear the murmur of voices. I stopped abruptly, and pressed my ear to the wood. It was Damian speaking, and someone else with a loud voice and strong Scottish accent.

"Aye, I'm certain of it!" said the unfamiliar voice. "Sure as day, he was taken! I've him locked up but he won't be held long."

God's madman. Vile priest. Must be silenced.

"You can understand why I'm hesitant to trust your judgement, Alex. You've also claimed a woman was possessed because she argued with her husband."

"Well the lass was out her head, wasn't she now? Listen, I wouldn't have come to ye' Damian if I didn't believe it pertinent. But the lad was speakin' your name. Kept talkin' of...the sacrifice..."

"Miss Samara please!" Octavio was beside me so abruptly that he actually made me jump, his fingers digging into my arm. "Mr. Hearst requested that you be secured and I intend to see that you are secured!"

The young man's face looked as if he might be sick, but he had found his bravery. He led me by force up the next stairway as I struggled to resist the urge to rip out his throat.

Petty insolent little boy, rip him, kill him! Are you going to let them keep walking all over you, Samara, let them keep telling you what's good for you? Pathetic.

As we neared the room in which I had previously been contained, the humming in my ears began again. That wretched symbol above the door...it was some magic, I was certain of it. I expected to find the space still in disarray, with soup splattered and broken glass on the floor. Remarkably, the place was spotless and the floor had a freshly washed shine. Yet I'd heard Damian give no orders to have it cleaned.

"I'll have tea brought up shortly," Octavio said, lingering with his head poked in the door, ready to slam it shut at any moment. "Just wait quietly. I'm sure Mr. Hearst will return shortly."

"Who's Father Alexander?" I said. "A priest?"

Octavio frowned, as if uncertain what he should share. Then, slowly he said, "Father Alexander is an...acquaintance...of Mr. Hearst. A business partner."

"And what is his business?"

But Octavio had already shut the door. I heard the lock turn, and click into place, and his footsteps leaving me. The room suddenly felt close, and silent, and I had to clench my fists to keep myself from screaming.

"It will be alright," I whispered, trying to comfort myself as I paced around the bed. But I could not settle, I could not allow myself to relax. I was still only getting vague memories of what had happened Halloween night. But now I could recall looking in the window of the Place d'Armes Hotel, and seeing a face that was not my own staring back at me. The voice coming out of me...

It was the Black One, from my dream. I had no doubt. I could not excuse these things as false visions any longer. Damian suspected it was a demon within me, and the more I thought about it the more it felt true. It would explain...everything...yet offer so many more questions. But then that would mean...Dr. Carnickey...

There was the furious rumble of an engine being cranked to life outside my window. Curious, I rushed over and pulled aside the curtain, staring down at the street. A large gray automobile was parked just outside the house, overshadowed by the massive magnolias that lined the boulevard. Damian let himself into the passenger's seat of the rumbling, shuddering auto. Also with him was the man I could only assume was Father Alexander Iscariot. His hair was so blonde it was nearly white, trimmed short and neat as was the beard on his face. He wore a long black coat and black trousers beneath, spectacles upon his nose, his shoes alarmingly sharp and shiny. He climbed into the driver's seat, the engine roared, and the car began to pull away.

The whispers were growing.

Good riddance. Let them go. He'll take care of it for us, won't he? Of course, yes, they won't survive him. He has arrived at a critical time. Perhaps he will join us. His vessel will be strong.

Foreboding settled over me like a dark blanket as I pressed my face to the window to watch the car disappear down the street. What did I care where Damian was going or what he would face...but I felt certain that he was going to see a patient of a very particular nature. A possessed man...from what I could gather from the brief conversation I had overhead...

An exorcism...that must have been why the priest, this Father Iscariot, came to call on Damian. But could priests not perform exorcisms themselves? The priest had said someone was mentioning Damian's name...

The sacrifice is known. He is ours. Should we be possessive? Let the Beast have him. Get him out of the way. The Beast will feast on flesh and blood and bone.

They were talking now amongst themselves rather than to me, a strange phenomenon. "Who is the Beast?" I whispered, my hands tense where they gripped the edges of the windowsill.

Stupid girl. Foolish. Let the Beast have him. Save us the trouble. The Beast is ancient and hungry. He will consume. You've let him through like the others. Swine and peasants. Worthless leeches. They have uses. Let him eat.

The Beast will kill the exorcist.