"TELL US MORE ABOUT THAT PARTY ON THE YACHT," MARGARET urged Katt. In her voice was a girlish excitement. "That sounds so wonderful!"

Katt shrugged, quickly glancing across the dining room table at Rix. "Well, it was just a party. There were about a hundred people aboard, I suppose. Most of them work in the fashion industry, and there were other models there, too. We sailed around the islands in the moonlight. There were little twinkling lamps all up in the rigging. The breeze was fresh and clean, and when you looked out at the water you could see fish swimming around the boat, because they leave these beautiful blue-green trails behind them. It has something to do with the microscopic life in the water. Anyway, we had a great time. The next day we finished the shoot, and I came home."

"But didn't you meet any exciting men?" Margaret looked disappointed. "Surely there were all kinds of wealthy bachelors at that party."

"Mom," Katt said, smiling gently, "I've told you a hundred times I don't need to get involved with any wealthy bachelors. Anyway, I was in Barbados to work."

"Sounds like you were really breakin' your back, too," Boone commented. His eyes were still puffy from sleep, but he was dressed for lunch in a pinstriped suit and silk tie. He plunged his fork into his salad and filled his mouth with lettuce. "Could have got yourself killed, too. Sailin' around at night like that. Ever heard of reefs? Boat runs up on a reef, tears the whole bottom out of it."

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Margaret said. When she looked at her daughter again, her eyes sparkled. "Where will you be going next, Katt?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe Sweden in November for a shoot in the icebergs. I promised I'd do something for Stephano's coats."

"Freeze your ass up there," Boone said. "You get frostbite, you can wave that modeling career of yours good-bye."

Rix smiled as Katt rolled her eyes. He was, as always, stunned by her beauty. She had the finely sculpted face of a Celtic queen; her skin - now only lightly tanned from the Caribbean sun - was silken and free of all but the most gossamer of lines. They surfaced in the corners of her eyes when she smiled. Her hair, cut short and layered, was pale blond with hints of strawberry in it, and her brows were thick and blond as well. As striking as her bone structure was, her eyes were the feature that the cameras fell in love with: they were large and expressive, but slightly almond-shaped and mysterious, as if with a trace of Oriental blood. Boreal lights - green, amber, pewter - sparkled in her eyes. Today she wore very little makeup, just a trace of pale lip gloss, but her beauty had never relied on artifice, anyway.

Though she was thirty-one years old, she could easily pass for twenty.

Rix had seen her face dozens of times on magazine covers. When he'd gone to Wales, Katt's face had adorned the cover of the airline magazine stuck in the seat pocket in front of him. She'd smiled at him across the Atlantic. Rix recalled seeing her on the cover of Sports Illustrated, modeling a zebra-striped swimsuit, in the supermarket checkout line an hour or so before he'd found Sandra dead in the bathtub.

Katt had come in from the airport by way of the Jetcopter. Her white suitcases and traveling bags had just been delivered, and the family had sat down for lunch. Again, Rix noticed, there was no place set for Puddin'. The room had been misted with Lysol, but every so often Rix could smell his father. If Katt did, she wouldn't show it.

Rix loved her very much, but they'd seen little of each other in the past seven years. Whenever Rix had come to Usherland for a short visit, Katt was usually off for a few days on an assignment in some foreign country. Though she was a wealthy woman, she took jobs now as favors for designer friends and simply to keep her face before the public. Katt called Rix regularly, though, and she'd read all his books. She thought of herself, Rix knew, as the president of his fan club - as if there were such a thing - and she was always encouraging him to come to Usherland for an extended stay.

Her youthfulness was amazing. Rix knew she played tennis, swam, jogged, rode horses, fenced, skied, worked out with weights, and sky-dived. He hoped her troubles with drugs were over; the clarity of her eyes seemed to indicate that they might be.

"That's enough about me," she said. Her voice was low and quiet, a genteel Southern accent. "I want to hear about you, Rix. How was New York?"

"Full of surprises." He glanced at Boone, who was stuffing his face. "But fairly productive, I guess."

"Did they buy your new book? What's the title of it? Bedlam?"

"That's the one. Well . . . they're still considering it."

"What?" Margaret put down her fork. "Do you mean to say it's uncertain whether your next work is going to be purchased or not?"

"They'll buy it," Rix said defensively. "Publishers just take their time about things."

"Ought to write a spy book," Boone told him. "That horror crap is too unrealistic."

"But it's fun to read," Katt offered quickly. "Especially on airplanes. Rix's books make the time pass. I mean . . . that's not the only reason I read them, Rix. Your best one was Congregation. I liked the idea of a witch coven in a Southern town, and you made it so real you'd believe it could really happen."

"Right," Boone laughed harshly, "and the Pumpkin Man's out in the woods, too."

Katt looked at him and lifted her eyebrows. "He might be. You never know."

"Rixy thinks he's got somethin' to prove," Boone glanced quickly at his mother. "He probably couldn't write real books, could he, Momma?"

The repeated sarcastic use of his childhood nickname, particularly in front of Katt, finally snapped Rix's temper. He felt his face reddening, and he stared across the table at Boone. "Why don't you grow up, you dumbass? If you say something, be man enough to say it without getting Mom to agree with you!"

Boone grinned, his eyes cunning and cold. It was the same grin Rix had feared as a child, but now it only made him want to smash his brother in the face. "I'll say what I please, any way I please, Rixy. You're a goddamned failure and a disgrace to this family. Is that clear enough for you?"

"Don't talk about failures, Boone. Puddin' can tell us about failures, can't she?"

Boone froze. Slowly his lower jaw dropped, and he blinked as if slapped.

"Boys," Margaret chided softly. "Let's be friends at the dinner ta - "

"What did you say?" Boone's voice was choked with anger, and he half rose from his seat.

Rix almost stood up as well, his blood boiling. One punch, he thought. Just let me get in one good punch.

But then he saw the blood bleach from his brother's cheeks, and Boone let out a soft, small gasp. He was staring over Rix's shoulder. Rix twisted around to look.

"Hi, y'all," Puddin' Usher said in a slurred voice.

She was standing in the doorway, dressed in a floor-length, pearl-studded white evening gown with a bright red sash wrapped around her neck. Her posture, as she supported herself against the doorframe, was insolent and whorish, her hips thrust out to one side, her breasts about to overflow the plunging neckline.

Thick makeup covered her face, and her hair had been sprayed into a brass helmet, decorated with bits of gold glitter. It was immediately obvious that she had on not a stitch of underwear, because the gown stuck to her body like white paint. She wore bright red cowboy boots adorned with rhinestones.

When Boone stood up, he almost knocked his chair over. At the head of the table, Margaret's mouth was an O of surprise. "What are you doin' down here?" Boone snapped.

"Why, Boone, honey, I live in this house, too. I got tired of eatin' in my room, and I wanted to come say hello to Katt." Puddin' smiled tightly. " 'Lo, Katt."

"Hi."

She sashayed into the dining room, swinging her hips as if she were onstage in Atlantic City. She was reliving her finest hour for an audience of three. "Looky here," Puddin' said. "Ain't no place set for me, is there?"

When Margaret Usher spoke, the room became a deep freeze. "Young woman," she said, almost strangling, "you have overslept luncheon by twenty minutes. Luncheon in this house is served at twelve-thirty, and not a moment afterward. You may eat in your room or you may go hungry, but you shall not eat at this table."

Puddin' leaned closer to Margaret. The older woman blanched and put a lace napkin to her face. Puddin' whispered in her best Southern-belle imitation, "Bull . . . fuckin' . . . shit."

"Boone!" Margaret shrieked, trying to turn her head away from the fumes. "Do something with this woman!"

He moved as if he'd started the hundred-yard dash, and caught her arm from behind. "You're drunk. Go back to your room."

She jerked free. "No. I'm stayin' right here."

"You heard what I said! Get back to that room or I'll strop the whine out of you!"

"She smells!" Margaret moaned. "Oh Lord, get her out of here!"

"Come on!" Boone grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm, trying to drag her through the door. She fought him wildly, her free hand flashing toward his face. He ducked her fingernails, but she broke free and staggered against the table, knocking a glass of iced tea to the floor. Boone, livid with rage, gripped her hair and pulled at her gown as Margaret rose to her feet, screaming for help.

"Leave her alone!" Rix shouted. He was coming around the table. "Get away from her, Boone!"

"Oh Jesus!" Katt said disgustedly, and laid her fork down on her plate.

Boone and Puddin' grappled. He flung her against the table so hard that the breath whooshed out of her. Then he grabbed her around the neck and started dragging her out; she clung to the tablecloth and pulled plates, glasses, and utensils off in a mad clatter. A maid appeared at the door but didn't know what to do.

"Edwin!" Margaret screamed at the top of her lungs.

Rix caught his brother's shoulder. "Cut it out, Boone! Come on, damn it! Cut it - "

Boone snorted like an animal and backhanded Rix across the side of the face so fast he had no time to duck. The blow stunned him and made his eyes water; he was knocked backward a few steps.

"Bastard!" Puddin' was shrieking. "You cockless, freak-lovin' bastard!"

White-hot anger crackled through Rix! He felt something under his right hand, and he closed his fist around it. Then he brought it swiftly up. Even though he knew it was only a table knife, he meant to drive it into Boone's back with all his strength.

"Rix!" It was Katt's voice, penetrating through the din. "Don't!"

Something in Katt's shout made Boone twist wildly to one side. The knife snagged his coat, but was too dull to do much damage. Then Boone, still holding on to a writhing and cursing Puddin', saw the knife and the look in his brother's eyes. He swung his wife in front of him as a shield and started backing away. "He's tryin' to kill me, Momma!" he yelled, his voice shaking. "Get him away from me!"

In another instant, Rix's anger had evaporated. He stared at the knife in his hand, amazed at how quickly the urge to kill had come over him. Boone kept shouting, even as Rix opened his hand. The knife fell to the floor.

Cass pushed the frightened maid aside and stood in the doorway. "What's going on? Who's trying to kill who?"

"Take that insane woman out of here!" Margaret commanded. There was iced tea all over her lap as she stood up. "She's out of her mind!"

"Rix!" Puddin' said, and terror sparked in her watery eyes. "Don't let him take me upstairs! He'll strop me with his belt, Rix! Don't let him do it!"

But Rix was staring at his empty hand, working it into a fist and then opening it again.

"Cass?" Katt asked calmly. "Will you help my brother with his wife, please? I think she needs a cold shower."

"Yes, ma'am. Come on, Puddin'. No one's going to hurt you."

Puddin' tried to fight free again, but this time Boone had a firmer hold. "Y'all ask him about that talent agency!" she cried out as Cass and Boone wrestled her out of the room. "Just ask him what kind of - " And then Boone clamped his hand over her mouth; her shouting became incomprehensible.

Margaret slammed the door shut and stood trembling, unable to speak. Finally she patted her hair into place and smoothed her stained dress before she turned toward her children. "That woman," she announced, "belongs in an insane asylum."

Rix closed his hand, opened it, closed it again. Pain stirred in his head. He stared at the knife on the floor, unable to believe that a moment ago he'd tried to stab his brother. My God! he thought, as the cold sweat gathered on his face. I tried to kill Boone! If that knife had been sharper, it might've gone right through Boone's coat and into his back!

"Rix?" Katt asked carefully. "Are you all right?"

I wasn't really going to stab him, Rix thought. I was only going to scare Boone. I knew the knife wasn't sharp. I knew it. He bent, retrieved the knife, and laid it on the table. Margaret was watching him with an incriminating stare. Was I really going to stab my brother in the back? he asked himself.

Yes . . .

Rix trembled. The answer had come in a soft, sibilant whisper that flowed like freezing water through his veins.

"Rix?" Katt asked.

"I'm okay," he said, still looking at the knife. He feared the pain in his head was going to strengthen, but instead it was ebbing. He picked up a napkin and wiped the beads of sweat from his cheeks and forehead. "I'm okay," he repeated.

Margaret moaned, "My dress is ruined! Just look at it! Oh, that foulmouthed little lunatic!"

Someone knocked at the dining room door, and when Margaret opened it, one of the elderly black butlers said quietly, "Excuse me, Miz Usher, but Mr. Usher say he'd like to see Miss Kattrina."

"I'll go up in a minute, Marcus," Katt told him, and the dignified old man went off along the corridor. "Well," she said, looking at the shambles of the dining room, "I guess I'd better go up and see Dad."

"You haven't eaten your lunch yet!"

"He wouldn't like to wait," Katt reminded her. She came up close to Rix and searched his face. "You sure you're all right?"

"Yeah." He smiled tightly. "Peachy."

Katt left the room. When his mother started raging about her ruined dress again, Rix hurried after Katt. "Has everybody in this house forgotten what it means to be civilized?" Margaret called from the doorway.

Rix and Katt climbed the stairs together. An occasional whiff of decay floated past.

"I don't know why I did that," Rix said. "Jesus Christ! I really wanted to hurt him!"

"No, you didn't. I saw you turn your arm so you wouldn't stab him. I think you wanted to scare him, and it worked. His eyes were as big as dinner plates."

"I'm not a violent person. But he taunts me, Katt. You know how he's taunted me before. I just can't take it anymore. Christ, I don't know why I came back here! I thought things would be different. But they never change here, do they?"

"Things will change here," Katt said as they reached the second floor. "Very soon."

Her tone of voice was firm and knowing. Rix asked, "What do you mean?"

"Dad and I have been talking, probably more lately than we've talked in our entire lives. I think he wants me to take over the business. Oh, he hasn't come out and said so, but that's my impression. He's been letting me know about some of the current projects. If I do get control of the business, I'm going to make some changes."

"Like what?"

"With the business comes ownership of the estate," she said as they walked along the corridor. "I'm going to send Boone packing. Then I'm going to start research in some new directions."

"But I thought you enjoyed what you were doing! You don't seriously want the responsibility of the business, do you?"

"The vice-presidents and research teams would have to run the show for a while, until I could figure out what was going on. But I like challenges, Rix. I like to go where I don't belong. And who else is there to take it over? Not Boone; the way he manages his own money, he'd break Usher Armaments within five years. And you certainly don't want it."

Rix couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You don't want to be responsible for more death and destruction, do you?"

She stopped at the foot of the stairs that led to the Quiet Room, and turned toward him. In her angelic face, her eyes seemed dark and haunted. "Rix, you're not being very realistic, are you? I wish to God that our family made toys or thimbles or electric plugs. But that's not how things are. You and Boone seem to think of yourselves as the only Ushers, but you're wrong. I'm an Usher, too. I regret what the family business is, but I'm not ashamed of it. Someone has to make the weapons. If we don't, another company will."

"There are better ways to make money."

"Yes, there are," she agreed. "But not for us."

At that instant, Rix looked at his sister as if she were a stranger. He'd never suspected she was even remotely interested in Usher Armaments, and now he wondered how well he really knew her. What had happened to the little girl who used to tag along behind him and drive him crazy with silly questions? "I never knew you felt that way," he said.

"There are probably a lot of things you don't know about me." She held his gaze for a few seconds longer, then said, "I'd better go up and see him now." She climbed the stairs to the Quiet Room, paused to put on a surgical mask and a pair of rubber gloves, and entered the chamber.

Rix got away from the staircase before a fresh wave of his father's stench could reach him. He walked along the corridor toward his room, pondering Katt's attitude. There was a hidden part of her, he realized - a dark part that he'd never seen. Nobody in his right mind would want to create the kind of destruction that Usher Armaments manufactured!

Ahead of him, a telephone on a table in the hallway began to ring. The elderly butler, Marcus, was coming toward him, and stopped to pick up the receiver on the second ring. "Usher residence."

Rix had started to pass by when Marcus said, "I'm sorry, miss, but I'm not to relay any of your calls to the family." He began lowering the receiver.

Dunstan's daughter, Rix thought. And suddenly he turned to grasp the phone before Marcus could hang up. "I'll take it," he said quietly, and then, into the phone, "This is Rix Usher. Why do you keep harassing my family?"

There was shocked silence on the other end.

"Well?" Rix prompted. "I'm listening."

"I'm sorry," the woman said, with a smoky Southern accent. "I didn't expect an Usher to answer the phone."

"I'll take care of it," Rix told Marcus, and the old man moved away. "What can I do for you, Miss Dunstan?" he asked, when Marcus had gone.

"I'm surprised you know who I am. You've been living away from Usherland for seven or eight years, haven't you?"

"I'm sure you didn't call here to ask about me. You know, there's a law about harassing people over the telephone."

"All I want is the answer to one question: What's Walen Usher's condition?"

"His condition? What are you talking about? My father's fine."

"That's strange to hear," she said, "especially since Walen hasn't gone to the plant in almost two months. A silver-gray Cadillac, rented to a Dr. John Francis from Boston, goes back and forth from Usherland three or four times a week. Dr. Francis is a cell-disease specialist. If Walen Usher isn't ill, who is?"

Hang up on her, he told himself. But as he started to put the receiver down, he realized the power of his position. This was the daughter of the man who'd been working on an Usher history for six years. She needed information, and Rix did, too. The chance might not come again. Rix asked quietly, "Is there a place we can meet?"

Again, she was cautiously silent.

"Hurry and decide. I'm taking a hell of a risk as it is."

"The Broadleaf Cafe," she said. "In Foxton. Can you meet me this afternoon?"

"If I'm not there by three, I won't be coming. Good-bye." He returned the receiver to its cradle, and instantly felt a twinge of shame. Was what he was about to do a betrayal of his family's trust, or simple cold practicality? Information about Walen's condition might be the key he needed to get close to Wheeler Dunstan, to find out how he was researching the book and how much of it was finished. He wanted to see that manuscript, and if he had to divulge something that would have to come out sooner or later anyway - so be it.

As he passed Boone's door, he heard Puddin' sobbing. Boone cursed - a muffled, brutal sound - and then there was the crack of flesh striking flesh.

Bastard! Rix thought grimly. Boone was going to get his own reward one of these days - and Rix ardently hoped he'd be around to see it happen.

What was it Puddin' had said downstairs? Rix asked himself. Something about Boone's talent agency? Maybe all wasn't as it seemed, he thought. And maybe it would be to his advantage to find out.

The sound of the next blow made him wince. He reached toward the doorknob, intending to interrupt the beating - but suddenly that shining silver circle with the roaring lion's face was before him, and he couldn't bear to touch it. Within an instant, it had faded again.

Something in the Lodge? he thought. What? A doorknob? What door, and leading where?

All shadows, hidden in the past.

He pulled his hand back and went on.

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