When Liz exited her apartment, a well-dressed gentleman was standing at the curb in front of her apartment building's steps. Parked at the curb behind him is 1930's model Rolls Royce touring car. The passenger compartment’s door was standing open.

Liz briefly wondered whom the car belonged to. She didn't know anyone in the neighborhood who was affluent enough to own such a car. Either someone had a visitor or the driver was lost.

As Liz turned to lock the entrance, a small cough drug her attention back to the strange man and car. "Miss Downing?” She heard behind her, the man's tone gentle and inquisitive.

Liz turned back with a start. "Yes?" Mr. Duvalle had told her he was sending a car for her but this isn't what she had expected.

"Mr. Duvalle has asked that you accept his hospitality by allowing me to convey you to your appointment."; The man's words were formal, yet they were delivered with a genuine smile and a kindly manner.

"This isn't quite what I expected." Liz said hoping she wasn't under dressed for the occasion. She had been told it was casual and had dressed accordingly but seeing the Rolls made her wonder if she should have at least worn a dress intead of the slacks and blouse she had picked out.

"Our Mr. Duvalle has a taste for the vintage, 'e does." the driver said. "I kin see yer a bit uncomfortable, never ye mind about yer dress, yer as pretty as a picture, I tells ya. Fit right in even if you was wearing rags." The man's voice was warm and comforting, and the smile shone brightly on his face and eyes.

Liz blushed at the compliment. She still felt as if she would be out of place but didn't want to make the driver wait so she decided to take his word for it.

The driver bowed slightly, his arm flourishing towards the open car door. "Whenever yer ready Miss, Ol' George'll see you safely to the manor."

"Thank you, sir." Liz said getting into the backseat.

The passenger compartment was well appointed, the leather and wood trim was luxurious yet comfortable. Liz felt very comfortable, as if the warmth of the charm had suffused the compartment. The window separating the open driver's cabin from the passenger compartment was designed to slide down into the separating wall; along the wall were several smallish shelves, one holding what seemed to be a decanter of some liqueur, another holding square tumblers. A third shelf held a couple of books, the spines well creased, the leather covers were well oiled and apparently well cared for.

George leaned in the compartment. "Ya make yersel' comfortable. I'll have ya there in a flash."

The opulence of the interior was somewhat intimidating and Liz was careful not to touch anything as she settled herself in. The presence, gaining strength from her anxiety, tried to convince her to get out and forget the whole thing but Liz barely noticed. The force containing it proving to be stronger still.

"How long a drive is it?" She asked George.

"Well, that will depend on traffic, but shouldn't take more'n fourty five to fifty minutes. Oakhurst is on the outskirts of Windlesham, just north of the Golf course." Geroge said, his smile never fading. "You want some music? I had Mr. Duvalle install a modern stereo system, I can find near anything you like."

"That would be great, George. Um, anything would be ok. As long as it isn't too slow." Liz answered.

George fumbled through the radio stations before settling on a pop station. The music was full of sythesizers and guitars, but it had an infectious dance beat.

"Perfect." Liz said from the backseat.

For most of the drive Liz sat silently watching the scenery outside as the vehicle made its way through the countryside, every once in a while commenting on this or that to George as they drove by something that caught her eye. When they finally reached the entrance to Duvalle's manor Liz once again wondered why she had been asked to come and worried she was underdressed.

The sentry at the small guard shack recognized the car and had the gate opened by the time they hit the entry. George barely slowed down as they crossed the threshold onto the estate's private drive. As the car wound its way along the estate, Liz was pleasantly surprised that the grounds were as beautiful as the countryside. The brooding clouds of the threatening storm seemed lessened here. The evening light streaming through the clouds gave the grounds an ephemeral quality, as if she were driving into a land of myth and legend.

Liz looked around wide eyed. With each passing second she was feeling more out of place and she wondered what the rest of Duvalle's guests were going to be like. She ventured a question to the driver. "George, do you know anything about the others who were invited?"

"Not really miss. Four locals and one transfer student, from Italy I believe the locals are a doctor, a preacher, a bookstore owner and the last does something with computers. Just yer average everyday folk. Nothin' to be worrit about." George replied, as if sensing her unease.

They pulled up to the house. The mansion did little to dispel the image. Its architecture was typical of upper class society in the late 17th century. The home was obviously that of a landed nobleman, its size and architectural features spoke of wealth beyond the masses. The well-manicured gardens and grounds spoke of absolute control over its environs, yet the abundance of natural materials bespoke a love and harmony with its surroundings, the land from which it was built.

The driver opened the door to hand out his charge. Seeing the apprehension in her face, he patted her hand as he helped her out of the car. "Now, now miss, Don' you fear. Mr. Duvalle might be an odd duck, but he don't bite. You'll see. He'll make you feel right at home. Never you mind the others. They put their nose in the air, they can't see the ground they walk on."

"Thanks, George." Liz said giving the driver a weak smile. "If Mr. Duvalle is half as kind as you, I know I'll like him."

George smiled proudly to himself, seeing Liz's own smile. "You jus' stick with ol' George, I'll see ya get where ya need ta be.” Taking her by the hand, George led Liz up the walk, opening the big double doors for her. Just inside, a man came striding up. He was dressed smartly, almost formally. His stride was measured and very correct. He sniffed at the sight of the driver, almost as if the jovial older man was trespassing.

George chuckled softly before speaking up. "G'won wit' ya Harold, I've got the Missus. I'll take her on ta the Library right enough. No need to stir yersel'.” Without stopping, he continued down the hall leaving the other man standing gawping. The hallway led deeper into the house, closed wood-paneled doors led off to several rooms, yet George passed them without a thought, finally stopping before another door that was partially open.

"Here ya go Miss. G'won, make yerself at home. Mr. Duvalle will be along soon enough. You mind my words, now. He has his quirks, but he's a good sort. You'll do right enough.

"Thank you, George." Liz said a bit nervously. She really didn't want to be left alone. She pushed tentatively on the door, as if she were a little girl entering a room she wasn't sure she was supposed to be in. They didn't budge. It took her a second to figure out they slid open. Liz took a deep breath before sliding open the polished wooden doors.

Easily the size of her entire flat, the Library's walls were lined with floor to ceiling book shelves. Over ninety percent of the available wall space was taken up by them. The room was cheerily lit by four large freestanding candleabras strategically placed. Several styles of chairs, sofas, setees graced the chamber, most gathered around the fireplace.

Though the fireplace cast a warm rosy glow on the south wall and the room was comfortable, Liz shivered as she crossed the threshhold. The presence that she constantly battled awoke again as she entered the room. Soft whispers in the back of her mind spoke convincingly of leaving, of not hearing the old fool out.

Liz stopped just inside the door and started to turn back. She had nearly forgotten the presence in the days leading up to the dinner. Whether it was the charm Duvalle sent or she was gaining control of her hallucinations she didn't know but it had been a relief. Now it was back. That alone was enough to make her think this whole thing was a bad idea. But she had come this far, she might as well meet the old guy.

The east wall was dominated by a beautiful dark oak desk. It's top was neatly organized showing off beautiful inlay of ash and mother of pearl in geometric designs. They seemed to glow in the reflected firelight.

An area rug that covered the center of the room immediately caught her eye. The rings within rings design and geometric patterns drew her eye and seemed to make the presence uneasy. The charm at her neck tingled slightly as she moved near the rug, and the presence quieted.

Liz gave an unconscious sigh of relief as the voice inside her head subsided. Was it something about the rug that it didn't like? Testing the thought Liz moved closer to the rug until she was almost standing atop it.

She felt the tingling at her neck intensify, the presence tried struggling but seemed to get bound deeper and deeper into a coccoon of warmth and reassurance. Its struggling became nearly imperceptible, and Liz got a final blast of pure hatred, and a sense of it biding it's time. The tingling faded, and the charm grew warm, not uncomfortably so, somewhat like a battery after being charged. It rested against her skin, and the warmth spread from the hollow of her neck outward, slowly infusing itself throughout her body.

She felt rather peaceful.

Liz closed her eyes with a sigh. This was the first real peace she had felt since the attack and she couldn't help but bask in it. Forgetting for the moment where she was, Liz stayed like that until the sound of someone entering the room intruded.

The figure that stood for a moment in the doorway was partially silhouetted by the light from the hallway. Though she could not make out any details, the man's sheer presence filled the room. His careful strides into the library were that of the very old, who moved carefully and precisely to avoid incident. The man's appearance belied his stride however. Though obviously elderly, the strength of the man's spirit burned bright enough that one would have thought he was half his apparent eighty years. He was dressed in a well-tailored suit, which was at least a century out of date. His long white hair tied cleanly at the nape of his neck with a black silk ribbon.

As he caught sight of the library’s occupant, he smiled. "Ah, Ms. Downing, there you are. Thank you for coming, I have eagerly anticipated your arrival and making your acquaintance. I am Jeffrey Duvalle, welcome to my home."

For a brief flicker of a moment Liz was filled with pure hatred of the man standing before her. She gasped at the strength of it before it settled back and she realized its source. Whatever force keeping the presence at bay had not been enough to keep it from making its hatred of Duvalle known.

"Uh... Oh... I'm sorry, I was lost in thought. You startled me." Liz stammered. Pulling herself together she continued, "It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Duvalle, though I must say I have no idea why you would want to meet me."

"There's no need to apologize, This room tends to provoke deep thought." Mr. Duvalle smiled enigmatically as he gestured for Liz to resume her seat. He pulled up another chair closer and sat down, leaning into the soft leather chair as if it was the comforting arms of a lover. A few moments passed by before the elderly gentleman opened his eyes again and fixed Liz's gaze with his own. His penetrating gaze seemed to hold the wisdom of the ages. Feeling slightly insignificant, Liz shifted uncomfortably beneath the intense gaze, before it suddenly softened.

The compassion, understanding and reassurance in the man's gaze instantly triggered in Liz the complete and total understanding that this man was responsible for the charm and feeling of peace that pervaded this room. His smile was warm and inviting as he began to speak.

"For understanding to come, a sacrifice must be made." he said simply, his voice soft and ephemeral. "What did you have to sacrifice to simply be present tonight? How much more do you think you will sacrifice before the night is through? How much have you already sacrificed in the events of last year?"

Duvalle paused a moment, as if his thoughts had strayed a great distance from their intended path. A small yet visible shudder passed through his elderly frame before he focused again on his guest. "I understand your sacrifice my dear. I know that which lingers from previous events will require even more of a sacrifice from you. I have taken a personal interest so that I may ease my own troubled brow by helping support you with the burden you bear." His voice again trailed off, becoming soft almost an inaudible whisper. "A burden I was unable to successfully bear myself."

Liz had remained silent until it seemed Duvalle was finished. The presence was still quiet after its burst of hatred and she found herself liking the old gentleman despite her reservations. Even if his words made him seem a bit eccentric. "I'm afraid I still don't understand, Mr. Duvalle."

Duvalle chuckled softly. "I apologize for speaking cryptically. I often forget myself. Simply put Ms. Downing, I know what has afflicted you, I know what causes the visions you have had, and I believe I know how to help you in controlling them. But it will require sacrifice, most importantly sacrificing what feeds it, your fear. You are no longer alone Ms. Downing, not in your knowledge of its terrible power, nor in seeking to prevent it from swallowing you whole."

Liz shuddered at the thought of her visions. "Is that what you meant when you said the doctors were wrong?"

"Indeed." Duvalle chuckled softly, "Most are so grounded in the physical world surrounding them that when they encounter something not in their precious textbooks, they grasp at straws, trying to force it into understandable, mundane terms, usually as some form of psychosis."

"And you're telling me it's not?" Liz asked torn between hope and terror. Hope it wasn't all in her imagination. Terror there was something real lurking in her mind. Something outside herself. The terror seemed to give the presence strength and felt as if a coil slipped free of a net. Suddenly she was filled with a surge of hate for the elderly man across from her. A hate so vile it soured her tongue.

"Absolutely not!" Duvalle smiled reassuringly, his eyes full of compassion.

The sudden change in his guest's demeanor pulled the ancient mage from his musings. He could almost feel the pull of that damned bowl. The enmity pulsating from the young woman was nearly tangible. Shifting his vision into ethereal he examined the girl's aura. The dark miasma was clouding her aura, its tendrils threading through the bright energy that was her normal state with evil and parasitic intent. His heart went out the young woman. To have to carry that cursed hunger... He shuddered at the memory of his own lost battle.

He coughed slightly to cover his moment of weakness. He would help her. He owed her that much. Indirectly, it was his fault she carried the burden she did. If I had only destroyed that damned bowl when I had the mind and strength to. The silent cry echoed in his thoughts, a familiar yet haunting refrain.

"You may not believe it, but I understand your burden. It was once mine. I failed once. I will not fail again. Though the details must remain, for the moment, fuzzy, I asked you here tonight to start on a path that just might free you. Impossible though it might be, I ask only one sacrifice from you. I ask that you sacrifice your fear in order to reach understanding." His voice was firm, filled with determination.

This old guy has lost it. Liz thought unkindly. Anger at having wasted her time surged within her and she barely contained it when she spoke. "Mr. Duvalle, I'm not sure what I expected when I accepted your invitation but mockery was not on the list. I think I should be going now."

I was afraid of this. Duvalle thought sadly. The fear is too strong, and it feeds the bowl's power. "Of course if that is truly your wish, I do assure you; however that I am not mocking you. What you witnessed was real the night of your attack was real. The presence you feel in your mind is real and it feeds off of your fear. It's why I sent the charm, to hold it at bay for a little while." Compassion filled Duvalle's eyes, his whole demeanor presented a calming and reassuring presence. "If you would give me a few moments, I can prove to you that I am not just an eccentric old fool. Remember, I did say that I would ask a sacrifice of you, that you sacrifice your fear."

Though her suspicions remained, Liz felt a small sense of her previous calm and peacefulness return. The man's very presence seemed to elicit a trusting response from her, yet that annoying voice kept whispering, feeding on her fear, its very presence increasing the abundance of its lifeblood. She fingered the charm she wore at her neck. It wouldn't hurt to give Duvalle a few minutes.

Ignoring the howl of frustration in the back of her mind Liz nodded. "I guess I can stay for a few minutes."

Duvalle nodded in relief. A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. He thought idly. As Liz resumed her seat, he took the first step of his own journey. "Thank you. Again, please forgive me my eccentricities. I'll certainly explain my odd ramblings, I fear however that you would not believe me if I told you the whole of it." He said. A sense of pain and regret flitted through his gaze, as he paused. He spoke softly, hesitantly as if unsure of his listener. "But tell you I must. Part of it anyway. First, I must ask a question; how much do you remember from the night of your attack?" The faded blue of his eyes captivated Liz, as he silently encouraged her to speak. She felt drawn into them, wrapped in the compassion and understanding present in those tired orbs.

"Not much." Liz admitted. "I remember someone coming up behind me and putting a sweet smelling cloth over my face and passing out. Then waking up tied to a chair with some bookworm type fellow muttering to himself."

Liz paused, not wanting to relive that night. Too many times had she tried to tell others what she had seen and felt only to have them tell her it was all in her imagination. What if Duvalle did believe her? Wouldn't that just make him as crazy as she was?

"After that, the only thing I'm sure happened is the guy cut my wrist." Liz concluded.

The elderly man just nodded solemnly, absorbing her every word and nuance. He could tell the story was incomplete.

His face smoothed into a reassuring expression, his very presence exuded an air of calm and support. "I know recalling the incident is difficult for you. I apologize for asking you to. Please understand that I mean no harm."

"I know you don't Mr. Duvalle." Liz hadn't realized she'd meant to say those words until they were spoken.

"What happened after he cut you?" Duvalle coaxed, his voice warm. The charm at her neck was pulsating slightly, and the peace she'd felt earlier seeped into her body. The presence had stopped struggling, wrapped tightly in seemingly unbreakable bonds.

"I... I'm not really sure. I was pretty out of it from the loss of blood." Liz stalled.

Duvalle nodded. "I'm going to show you something. I promise there's no harm that'll come to you, but it may help clarify things. Please, don't be frightened."

Before Liz could say anything more, the elderly man before her began chanting softly, his hands formed into shapes that seemed almost painful to the young clerk. The sibilant voice in the back of her mind hissed in anger and coiled tightly. Liz felt a sharp and intense desire to get up and leave. It took every ounce of her will to sit still.

A hazy cloud began to form in the space between the two of them. Duvalle's chanting changed in intensity and rhythm. As he again formed a different shape and pattern with his hands, the haze thickened briefly before smoothing slightly. Suddenly an image resolved itself in the haze. It was Liz. She was looking at herself, tied to an old wooden chair.

Liz watched in a mixture of horror and fascination as the events of that night replayed in front of her.

Her will finally broke and she no longer fought the part of her wanting to leave. Her eyes were still riveted to the scene playing out in front of her as she got to her feet and backed toward the door.

As soon as Liz stood up, Duvalle's haunting chant faded into silence. The scene froze. The last coherent image she saw as the scene began to break apart was the purple glow from the broken bowl flicker along the trail of blood until it reached the stream still flowing from her wrist. The glow seemed to coalesce and swirled up the tickle of blood still flowing from the wound.

The image broke apart; however one fragment persisted, showing Liz a face. A face she vaguely remembered as hovering over her right before the knife sliced across her wrist, before the world went crazy the purple fire burned through her arm and body, consuming the world around her leaving her in blackness. A slight eddy finally tore the final image apart, leaving no evidence that anything out of the ordinary had existed.

Her back to the doors Liz struggled frantically trying to open them. In her haste to leave the room she had forgotten to slide them and not pull. "Let me out of here." Her voice was near frantic.

Duvalle could feel her fear. It was an almost palpable force. He could also feel the presence that fed on that fear. Cursing himself silently for pushing her too far, Duvalle stood. "Please Ms. Downing stay. Your fear only feeds that which you fear. You can be consumed by the presence you sense within. I offer you the chance to understand it, to constrain it and to ultimately banish it.” His voice quavered with the intensity of his plea. "I know the burden you carry intimately. If you stay, you will learn more about why you were chosen and why you suffer now."

"How did you do that?" Liz asked giving up on the doors. She still wanted out of the room, to be away from the madman who claimed to want to help her, but her panic was getting her nowhere.

"That, my dear, along with the event you witnessed that night was a manifestation of power. Magic, if you will." Duvalle said simply, keeping his voice warm and modulated. "A simple charm, it allowed me to show you what I'd been shown, shown by my own visions. The bowl that you saw, both that night and in the display that I showed you, was an ancient artifact. It was endowed with the ability to show its owner what he wished to see. The future, the past, the present.” Jeffery continued to speak, his voice soft and warm. His expression was calm, reassuring. "This bowl was sought after by kings and those desperate for it's power, for to see the future, to prepare and manipulate events to your benefit is a powerful ability and nigh irresistible temptation."

The elderly man paused a moment, his voice regaining some strength. "However, there was a price. The bowl must be fed. A sacrifice had to be made. Your attacker had been a slave to this foul object for over a year. Your blood was just a small amount fed to fulfill his basest desire. It was only the intervention of someone from my organization that saved you from dying."

"When the bowl was broken, its power was at full strength. It needed a receptacle. Unfortunately, it chose you, the intended sacrifice. In so doing, it sowed the seeds of both its release and its destruction. You see, you, a living being have a choice in your destiny. You can fulfill the destiny that the power has decided for you, I believe that you have an idea of how that will turn out. Or you can choose your own."

Liz leaned back against the doors. "Suppose I believe you? There's a way to get rid of it?"

Duvalle nodded, a grim smile on his face. "In time, with a lot of work. First you must master it, which will not be easy. The magic of the bowl was sentient, in a way. It struggles to work it's will, and will struggle for it's own preservation. It feeds on your fear. It will try to confuse you, trick you. The charm I gave you is a temporary forbearance, something to keep it at bay, but it won't stand up for long."

Liz was silent for a long while. What Duvalle said would explain some of her odd reactions recently but magic wasn't real. At least that was what she had always believed. She wasn't sure what bothered her more, that the visions were a product of her own mind or that they were the result of some malignant force preying on her. Neither explanation was comforting.

"What do I have to do?" She finally asked.

"For now nothing. Wear the charm, I'll create another more permanent one. Mastery comes through understanding. For understanding to come, a sacrifice must be made. In this case your fear of the power. Your fear feeds it, gives it strength. The less you fear it, the more you'll understand it, the more you understand it, the better you'll be able to master it. Once mastered you can then decide to banish it."

"And if I can't master it?" Liz had a pretty good idea if Duvalle was right and the presence she felt wasn't just her imagination what the result would be but she had to confirm it.

"Then it will master you." Duvalle said simply. His eyes looking very sad.

Fear surged through Liz at Duvalle's words. She had known what his answer would be but it still frightened her to think her mind wasn't entirely her own. The presence surged against it's bonds, and she was filled with a loathing so primal, so powerful that it consumed rational thought. She hated the old man before her. Hated him so much that she wanted to see him die.

Before she knew what was happening her hands were reaching for the the elderly man's frail neck. A look of horror crossed her face as she realized what she was about to do and she turned away burying her face in her hands and softly sobbing.

Duvalle watched in horror as Liz's pretty face twisted into a mask of rage and loathing. As she reached out, obviously intending to choke him, he leaned back and brought his hand up, it's gnarled fingers twisted into a warding gesture. Is it too late? Has that thrice damned bowl grown too powerful?

As Liz regained control, and turned away. Duvalle sighed. He formed a different ward, and spoke softly. The charm grew warn again, and Liz was surrounded in a cocoon of comfort and support. She felt as if she were a child, wrapped in a fine down comforter, snuggled up in her father's arms, his strong embrace protecting her from the world as he read her favorite story. A memory of safety, comfort and calm.

Liz kept her back to Duvalle her shoulders shaking with her silent sobs. Minutes passed before she finally took her hands from her face and not looking at him, muttered an apology.

"There's no need to apologize." Duvalle replied. "You weren't acting of your own volition. That you regained control is promising. It means that you have the strength for mastery. It means that I can help you help yourself."

At Duvalle's last words, a soft knock came at the door.  Just outside stood the man George had waived away.  "Mr. Duvalle, More of your guests has arrived. Per your instructions, I've situated them in the drawing room to await your pleasure."

"Thank you, Harold.  Mr. Aldred should be arriving shortly as well, you have your instructions.” Turning to Liz, he continued his voice still warm and soothing. "Will you stay for dinner? There is more to explain and discuss."

Liz nodded silently, shifting from one foot to the other. It was clear she was still upset by what had happened. "Is there somewhere I can freshen up?"

"Of course my dear." Duvalle said warmly. He stood and offered his hand to help her stand.

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