"CeeCee, how could you!" Gifford had demanded.
  
  "Only that young man who's always with her."
  
  That had put Aunt Gifford over the edge. After that Mona was technically sworn to stay 
away from First and Chestnut, to never set eyes on the house again. Of course she didn't 
pay much attention. She walked by whenever she could. Two of her friends from Sacred 
Heart lived pretty close to First and Chestnut. Sometimes she went home with them after 
school, just to have the excuse. They loved to have her help with their homework, and she 
was glad to do it. And they told her things about the house.
  
  "The man's a ghost," her mother had whispered to her right in front of Gifford. "Don't 
ever tell the others that you've seen him. But you can tell me. What did he look like?" 
And then Alicia had gone into shrieking laughter again until Gifford had actually begun 
to cry. Ancient Evelyn had said nothing, but she'd been listening to all of this.  You 
could tell when she listened by the alert look in her small blue eyes. What in God's name 
did she think of her two granddaughters?
  
  Gifford had taken Mona aside later, as they walked to Gifford's car (Jaguar sedan, very 
Gifford, very Metairie). "Please believe me when I tell you to stay away from there," 
she'd said. "Nothing but evil comes out of that house."
  
  Mona had tried to promise. But it hadn't interested her much at all; indeed, the die 
was cast for her. She had to know all about that place even then. And now, after the 
quarrel of Rowan and Michael, it was top priority: get inside and find out.
  
  Finding the Talamasca document on Ryan's desk downtown had only tripled her curiosity. 
The File on the Mayfair Witches. She'd scooped it up and hurried out to a lunch counter 
to read the whole thing, there had been no stopping her, before anybody caught on to what 
she'd done. Donnelaith, Scotland. Didn't the family own property there still? Oh, what a 
history. The details about Antha and Deirdre of course were the real scandal. And it was 
perfectly clear to her that this document, in its original form, had gone on to include 
Michael and Rowan Mayfair. But it didn't anymore.
  
  Aaron Lightner had broken off "the narrative," as he referred to it in those pages, 
before the birth of "the present designee." This was not to violate the privacy of the 
living, though the Order feels that the family has every right to know its history, 
insofar as such a history is known by anyone and recorded anywhere.
  
  Hmmmm. These Talamasca people were amazing. "And Aunt Bea is about to marry one of 
them," thought Mona. That was like hearing that a juicy big fly had just been snared in 
one's sticky web.
  
  That Rowan Mayfair had slipped through Mona's clutches, that Mona had never had five 
minutes alone with Rowan, that was a tragedy to be filed under \WS\ MONA \ DEFEAT.
  
  But Mona had caught the very strong impression that Rowan was afraid of whatever power 
she had, just as the others were afraid.
  
  Well, these powers didn't scare Mona. More and more Mona felt like a dancer just coming 
into a time of perfect strength. So she was only five feet one inch tall, and not likely 
to grow much taller. Her body was maturing with every passing day.
  
  She liked being strong and unusual. She liked reading people's thoughts and seeing 
things that other people couldn't see. The fact that the man she'd seen was a ghost 
thrilled her. And she hadn't really been surprised to hear it. If only she had gotten 
into the house in those days.
  
  Well, those days were gone, weren't they? And now was now. And now was really quite 
terrific. The disappearance of Rowan Mayfair had stirred up the family; people were 
revealing things. And here was this great house, empty except for Michael Curry, and for 
her.
  
  The smell by the pool had dissipated somewhat, or she'd gotten used to it. But it was 
still there.
  
  And the moment was all hers.
  
  She proceeded to the back screen porch and checked one by one the locks of the many 
kitchen doors. If only one door had been forgotten... but no, that stiff-necked Henri had 
locked up the place like a fort.  Well, no problem. Mona knew how to get in this house.
  
  She crept around to the very back of the house, to the end of the old kitchen, which 
was now a bathroom, and she looked up at the bathroom window. Who would lock a window 
that high? And how would she get to it? Pull up one of the big plastic garbage cans which 
weighed almost nothing at all. She went down the alley, caught the can by its handle, and 
what do you know, it rolled. How efficient! And then she climbed on top of it, knees 
first, then feet crushing down the flexible black plastic lid, and she pried open the 
green shutters, and pushed at the sash.
  
  Up it went, just that easy. It didn't jam until there was an opening quite big enough 
for her to get in. She was going to get her dress dirty on the dusty sill, but it didn't 
matter. She gave herself a boost with both hands, and slipped through the window, and all 
but tumbled to the carpeted floor.
  
  Inside First Street! And it had been a slam dunk! For one second she stood there in the 
little bathroom, staring at the glimmering white porcelain of the old toilet and the 
marble top of the washstand, and remembering that last dream of Oncle Julien where he had 
taken her to this house and together they had climbed the stairs.
  
  It was hazy now, as dreams always get, but she had written it in her computer diary 
under \WS\DREAMS\JULIEN as she did all the dreams in which he came to her. She could 
remember now the file, which she had reread many times, though not the dream.
  
  Oncle Julien had been playing the Victrola, the one that Mona was supposed to have, and 
he had been dancing about, in his long quilted satin robe. He'd said that Michael was too 
good. Angels have their limits. "Pure goodness has rarely defeated me, you understand, 
Mona," he had said with his charming French accent, speaking English for her as he always 
did in her dreams, though she spoke French perfectly, "but it is invariably a nuisance to