"It's devil wors.h.i.+p," Angie said, pointing to the drawing Dan West was still holding in his hands. "Animal sacrifice-that's what they do! They sacrifice innocent animals so-"

"Let's just take it easy, Angie," Dan said. "Instead of making wild accusations, why don't you let me get to the bottom of this?"

"You won't find a bottom," Angie said, her voice hard, her eyes fixed on Sarah. "Evil is bottomless. Inexhaustible."

Dan took a deep breath and finished searching Sarah's backpack, finding no more than the same collection of books and pens that he'd found in Nick's.

No knives, no b.l.o.o.d.y rags they might have used to clean blood off themselves, nothing.

"Okay," he said, his eyes moving among the four kids, looking for something-anything-that might give him a hint as to what had happened here. But as with the backpacks and Conner's car, there was nothing. "You can all go home, but you all need to understand that this investigation is not over. It's just beginning, and you can be certain that I will find out what happened to our dog."

Elliot and Bobby began to walk away.

"What about them?" Lily Dunnigan demanded. "Why didn't you call their their parents? Why didn't you search parents? Why didn't you search their their backpacks?" backpacks?"

"Because n.o.body accused them of anything," Dan West replied, making no effort to keep the impatience out of his voice. "And you can believe I searched Conner's car and everything that's in it. Even Nick and Sarah said Elliot and Bobby didn't do anything, but Conner and Bobby both say that Nick did it, and Elliot said Sarah was close enough to the dog to have done it, too."

As Lily Dunnigan led Nick to her car, and Dan West opened the trunk of his cruiser, took out a tarp, and began to wrap up the dog, Sarah put her things back into her backpack. Angie watched, her blood pressure rising, and when Sarah was finally ready, Angie wordlessly marched back to her car, starting it before Sarah even got in beside her.

Her silence lasted no longer than it took her to pull away from the curb. "Where did you go last night when you stormed out of the house like a spoiled brat?"

"I just went out walking," Sarah said.

"Walking," Angie repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "With that leg and hip, you went out walking for hours when it was freezing."

Sarah looked up and met her gaze squarely. "I haven't done anything wrong," she said with infuriating calm.

Angie's blood pressure spiked, shooting into the red zone, and her temper along with it. "So far you've lied and been disobedient and disrespectful, and now you're dallying with the devil." She paused to take a deep breath. "I know what that picture means," she went on. Then she turned to look straight at Sarah, her eyes as cold as the air outside. "G.o.d will judge you, young lady," she said. "But before He does, Mitch will. And so will I."

Sarah didn't know which was worse-listening to Angie Garvey's tirade about the "evil" she was "carrying inside her like the seed of the devil," or the ominous silence that fell over the house as she sat at the dining room table waiting for Mitch Garvey to come home. When he finally came through the back door at five minutes before six, the first thing he did was pull a beer out of the refrigerator, crack it open, and start through the dining room on the way to the living room, where his couch and TV were waiting.

"What's your problem?" he growled as he glanced at Sarah. "How come you're not settin' the table or workin' on dinner?"

"Family meeting," Angie announced before Sarah could say a word. Then she yelled up the stairs for Tiffany and Zach to come down.

Mitch, looking annoyed even before Angie told him what had happened that afternoon, sat at his usual place at the table, his eyes fixed balefully on Sarah. "What'd you do to p.i.s.s your mother off this time?" he demanded.

Sarah bit back the first words that rose to her tongue. What good would it do to remind Mitch that Angie wasn't her mother at all, that her mother was dead? That would only make him madder. Deciding a noncommittal shrug was her best option, she said nothing, and a moment later Zach and Tiffany came pounding down the stairs. One look at the tableau in the dining room told them Sarah was in trouble, and they slid eagerly into their chairs.

"Dan West called me this afternoon," Angie said, her eyes boring into Sarah. "Someone slashed his dog. Slashed him to death. And Conner's at the hospital."

Sarah saw Tiffany stiffen and her eyes flick anxiously, first toward her mother, then toward her father, but she didn't say anything.

"So why did Dan call you?" Mitch asked.

"Because," Angie announced, once again fixing Sarah with a cold gaze, "our little Satan-wors.h.i.+pper here was involved. Dan had to search her backpack right there on the sidewalk for the whole town to see. I hate to think what everyone must be saying."

Sarah didn't need to look up to know that all eyes were now on her, and she could actually feel Angie's fury and Tiffany and Zach's hatred closing around her until it seemed she was suffocating.

"It was humiliating," Angie spat.

"So what did Sarah do?" Zach asked. "She really kill Conner's dog?"

"Dan doesn't know yet," Angie replied. "But she did do this!" She threw Sarah's drawing on the table, and Sarah could hear Tiffany's gasp as she caught sight of the bloodied dog she'd limned on the paper.

"Holy c.r.a.p," Zach whispered. "That's too weird!"

"I'm not letting her sleep in my room anymore," Tiffany said, her eyes moving from the picture to her mother. "You can't make me!"

"So what was going on?" Mitch asked, ignoring Tiffany, at least for the moment. "Who else was there?"

"Two friends of Conner's," Angie replied, then paused for a moment. "And Nick Dunnigan."

"Nick Dunnigan?" Mitch echoed. "He's kinda nuts, but I never heard of him hurtin' anything but himself. And what's this picture got to do with it? Sarah draw it after whatever happened happened?"

"She drew it before before the dog died," Angie said. "And then the dog got torn open, just the way our little Sarah here drew it!" the dog died," Angie said. "And then the dog got torn open, just the way our little Sarah here drew it!"

"So who had the knife?" Zach asked. "Sarah?"

"That's the thing," Angie said, her eyes fixing yet again on Sarah. "There was no knife. At least not that anyone saw or anyone found."

"C'mon, Ange," Mitch said, draining half his beer. "If no one had a knife-or a scalpel like in the picture-how'd the dog die?"

Angie Garvey's features darkened. "Witchcraft," she p.r.o.nounced.

"Aw, Ange, come on ..." Mitch began, but Angie cut him off.

"She drew this picture in Bettina Philips's Bettina Philips's cla.s.s, and half an hour later it all came to pa.s.s! Just like she drew it!" cla.s.s, and half an hour later it all came to pa.s.s! Just like she drew it!"

"Isn't that what we said?" Tiffany spat. "Didn't we say just last night that the same kind of evil that got her mom and dad would get her, too?"

"That'll be about enough-" Mitch began again, but this time it was his daughter who brushed his words away.

"It won't be enough until she's out of here," Tiffany raged. "I'm not living in the same room with someone like her, and you can't make me!"

While his sister went on talking, Zach turned the picture toward him for a closer look. "Jeez, that looks exactly like King-how'd she know what he looks like? And how'd she get crazy Nick to-" He cut off his own words, snickering. "Never mind-he's crazy, right?" He looked up at his mother. "So what are we 'sposed to do with her?"

Sarah felt like she must have suddenly turned invisible. How could he talk that way, like she wasn't even here? But she said nothing, waiting to hear what would come next.

"I'm going to call Kate Williams," Angie said. "She can come get Sarah right now."

Sarah's heart leaped with unexpected hope. Was it possible-actually possible? possible?-that she might not have to spend even another night here?

"Now just hold on," Mitch said. "Everybody needs to just slow down."

"Dad!" Tiffany screeched. "How could you let some-some Tiffany screeched. "How could you let some-some thing thing like this live in our house? After what she's done?" like this live in our house? After what she's done?"

"You think money grows on trees?" Mitch asked, then turned from his daughter to his wife. "You know that big-screen TV we talked about for the bedroom? Well, it was supposed to be a surprise, but it's being delivered tomorrow. And that county money's gonna pay for it." Angie silently crossed her arms in front of her chest, her furious eyes fixed on her husband, but Mitch didn't flinch in the face of his wife's anger. "We knew goin' in that we were gonna have a problem child living with us. I don't know why you're so surprised that something happened."

Please call Kate Williams, Sarah prayed silently. Please call her Please call her.

"Now, I don't like having her here any more than any of the rest of you, but we planned our finances based on what the county pays us for her housing, so we're just going to have to suck it up and deal with it."

Tiffany rose from the table. "You've got got to be kidding!" to be kidding!"

For the first time, Mitch squirmed a little. "Maybe she can sleep in the attic or something," he offered, but Tiffany only turned away.

"I'm locking my door," she announced. "And I don't care where she sleeps, as long as it's nowhere near me!" She marched out of the dining room, and a moment later Sarah heard her pounding up the stairs.

The bedroom door slammed.

And Sarah suddenly felt dizzy. What was happening? Where was she going to go? If they'd only call Kate- "You can get your stuff when Tiffany's in the bathroom," Angie said, and Sarah felt a flash of hope. "And then I'll show you where you're going to sleep from now on."

Sarah's brief moment of hope crashed down around her as she realized everything had been decided.

She wasn't going anywhere.

Something in the house had changed.

Bettina felt it the moment she opened the back door of Shutters and stepped into the mud room. Yet what could have changed? Maybe she was tired-it had been a long day at school.

And yet ...

Maybe it was the silence-usually when she opened the door, Rocky, the half-terrier, half-everything-else mutt she'd rescued from the woods five years ago was there to greet her, barking happily, rolling around on his back hoping to have his tummy rubbed.

Today there was no sign of him, nor were any of the cats staring pointedly at their empty food bowls. In fact, none of the cats were around at all.

Bettina set the portfolio of her students' work on the folding table next to the was.h.i.+ng machine, took off her coat and unwrapped the scarf from her neck, and hung them on the hooks by the back door. Then she pulled on the bulky wool cardigan that was always waiting by the door to ward off the chill of the house until she got at least the kitchen warmed up.

And today the house seemed even colder than usual.

Cold, and something else.

What?

She stood still, listening.

Nothing.

But even the silence didn't rea.s.sure her, for as she moved toward the kitchen, the sense that the aura of the house had changed grew stronger.

Was someone here? Had someone come into the house while she was gone?

No.

It wasn't that-it was something else. It was as if the house itself had somehow changed since she left for school this morning.

She was inside the kitchen now, and had just picked up the teakettle to freshen its water, when she felt the skin on the back of her neck tingle.

She was not alone in the kitchen.

Someone, or something something, was watching her.

"Wh-Who is it?" she said, her voice sounding preternaturally loud to her own ears.

Nothing.

She started to set the teakettle down, then changed her mind. It was still half full from this morning, and though it wasn't much, it was something.

Something to fend off whoever was behind her.

Bettina gripped the kettle's handle harder, steeled herself, then spun around.

And saw nothing.

Nothing except Cooper, the black mostly lab that had stumbled out of the woods a week after she'd taken Rocky in, knocked over three easels and a table within the first hour, and never left. Now he was sitting quietly in front of the door that led to the bas.e.m.e.nt, staring at her.

"What are you doing?" she asked him. "Guarding the bas.e.m.e.nt? Is something down there?" She started toward the door, and a low rumbling issued forth from the dog. Bettina took a step back and the dog seemed to relax. "Coopie?" she went on. "What's going on? I rescue you, feed you, I let you move in with me, and now you won't even let me go down into my own bas.e.m.e.nt?" But even as she spoke, she realized that she didn't want to go down to the bas.e.m.e.nt-didn't want to at all. Suddenly, just the thought of the steep narrow stairs, the dank walls, the musky smell, and cobwebby beams ...

Those beams ...

The beams Sarah had drawn. A s.h.i.+ver ran though Bettina, and she looked at the dog again. What was going on? Had he read her mind?

Or did he, too, feel the change in the house?

The teakettle began to steam, and she made a cup of tea, telling herself she was being silly. This wasn't the first time she'd felt strange in the house-even afraid. But all those other times were different; she'd been alone, watching the kind of movie that was designed to instill terror even in people in crowded theaters, let alone single women living by themselves in exactly the kind of house those movies depicted so well.

But tonight she wasn't watching a movie, and things just didn't feel right.

And Cooper, who usually lay at her feet wherever she was, was still at the door to the bas.e.m.e.nt steps, sitting quietly and watching her. And where were the other animals?

As if on cue, Pyewackett, the orange tabby cat she'd named after a cat in an old movie she watched the night she brought him home, padded in through the door to the butler's pantry and wound himself around her legs.

Stupid. She was just being stupid-everything was fine!

With Pyewackett trailing along behind her, but Cooper staying at his self-appointed post in the kitchen, Bettina took her cup of tea and her portfolio into the studio. But rather than ignoring the gloom of the rooms she pa.s.sed-and escaping paying for the electricity it would take to light them-this evening she switched on every light she came to, driving the darkness as far away as she could.

Thick fog pressed up against the enormous conservatory windows, and instead of seeing the vast expanse of near-frozen lawn sweeping down to the icy lake, all Bettina saw in the windows was a reflection of herself that, for a fleeting instant, almost seemed to be someone else altogether-a woman she recognized as herself, but who was no longer safe inside the house. Instead she was vanis.h.i.+ng into the mists outside.

Stop it, she told herself. Don't get started. Just do what you came in here to do.

She laid her portfolio on the drafting table, unzipped it, and pulled out the work her students had done that day. Those from her last cla.s.s-Sarah Crane's cla.s.s-were on top, and Bettina flipped through them, looking for the best student's contribution to her evening workload.

And found nothing.

Nothing but the usual collection of sketches ranging from uninspired to barely recognizable, but nothing from Sarah.

What had happened? Sarah had been in cla.s.s, and while the still-life arrangement was obviously a challenge for many of her students, Sarah would have had no trouble with it.