“You’re changing the subject.”

“Answer me,” Bella demanded. “Why?”

“They want a sound body. They want a strong vessel to carry a strong spirit.”

“They don’t give a rat’s ass about a strong spirit. They want a tight ass so men will want them. They will deny it to the death, but it’s true. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you will realize your own power.”

“You’re sick. This goes against everything you’ve ever taught me.”

“This is the most important thing I ever will teach you, so listen! Know your price, Rachel.”

“No.”

“You think I’m some cheap slut, do you? You think you’re above selling yourself? How much rent have you ever paid here?”

“I offered. You said it didn’t matter. I loved you.”

“That’s your price, then.”

“It’s not. It’s love.”

“Sold!” Bella climbed out of bed and strode across the room, her long gray hair flying behind her. She took her robe from the closet, threw it around herself, and tied the sash. “Love me for what I am, Rachel. Just as I love you for what you are. Nothing has changed. Dr. Mendenhall will be back, whimpering like a puppy. If it will make you feel better, you can be the one that takes him. Maybe we can do it together.”

“You’re sick. How could you even suggest such a thing?”

“Rachel, as long as you see men as human beings, we are going to have a problem. They are inferior beings, incapable of love. How could a few moments of animal friction with a subhuman affect us? What we have between us?”

“You sound like a man caught with his pants down.”

Bella sighed. “I don’t want you around the others until you calm down. There’s some money in my jewelry box. Why don’t you take it and go down to Esalen for a week or so. Think this over. You’ll feel better when you get back.”

“What about the others?” Rachel asked. “How do you think they’ll feel when they find out that all the magic, all the spiritualism you preach, is just so much bullshit?”

“Everything is true. They follow me because they admire my power. This is part of that power. I haven’t betrayed anyone.”

“You’ve betrayed me.”

“If you feel that way, then perhaps you’d better leave.” Bella went into the bathroom and began drawing a bath. Rachel followed her.

“Why should I leave? I could just tell them. I know as much as you do now. I could lead them.”

“Dear Rachel.” Bella was adding oils to her bath and not looking up. “Didn’t you learn anything from killing your husband? Destruction is a man’s way.”

Rachel was stunned. She had told Bella about the accident but not that she had caused it. She had told no one.

Bella looked up at her at last. “You can stay if you wish. I still love you.”

“I’ll go.”

“I’m sorry, Rachel. I thought you were more highly evolved.” Bella slipped out of her robe and into her bath. Rachel stood in the doorway staring down at her.

“I love you,” she said.

“I know you do, dear. Now, go pack your things.”

Rachel couldn’t bear the idea of staying in Berkeley. Everywhere she went she encountered reminders of Bella. She loaded up her van and spent a month driving around California, looking for a place where she might fit in. Then, one morning while reading the paper over breakfast, she spotted a column called “California Facts.” It was a simple list of figures that informed readers of obscure facts such as which California county produces the most pistachios (Sacramento), where one had the best chance of having one’s car stolen (North Hollywood), and tucked amid a mélange of seemingly insignificant demographics, which California town had the highest per capita percentage of divorced women (Pine Cove). Rachel had found her destination.

Now, five years later, she was firmly set in the community, respected by the women and feared and lusted after by the men. She had moved slowly, recruiting into her coven only women who sought her out — mostly women who were on the verge of leaving their husbands and who needed something to shore them up during the divorce process. Rachel provided them with the support they required, and in return they gave her their loyalty. Just six months ago she initiated the thirteenth and final member of the coven.

At last she was able to perform the rituals that she had worked so hard to learn from Bella. For years they seemed ineffective, and Rachel attributed their failure to not having a full coven. Now she was starting to suspect that the Earth magic they were trying to perform just did not work — that there was no real power to be had.

She could lead the coven to attempt anything, and on her command they would do it. That was a power of sorts. She could extract favors from men with no more than a seductive glance and in that, there was a power. But none of it was enough. She wanted the magic to work. She wanted real power.

Catch had sensed Rachel’s lust for power in the Head of the Slug that afternoon, recognizing in her what he had seen in his ruthless masters before Travis. That night, while Rachel lay in the dark of her cabin, contemplating her own impotence, the demon came to her.

She had locked the door that night, more out of habit than need, as there was very little crime in Pine Cove. Around nine she heard someone try the doorknob and she sat upright in bed.

“Who is it?”

As if in answer, the door bent slowly inward and the doorjamb cracked, then splintered away. The door opened, but there was no one behind it. Rachel pulled the quilt up around her chin and scooted up into the corner of the bed.

“Who is it?”

A voice growled out of the darkness, “Don’t be afraid. I will not hurt you.”

The moon was bright. If someone was there, she should have been able to see his silhouette in the doorway, but strain as she might, she saw nothing.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“No — what do you want?” the voice said.

Rachel was truly frightened; the voice was coming from an empty spot not two feet away from her bed.

“I asked you first,” she said. “Who are you?”

“Ooooooooooo, I am the ghost of Christmas past.”

Rachel poked herself in the leg with her thumbnail to make sure she was not dreaming. She wasn’t. She found herself speaking to the disembodied voice in spite of herself.

“Christmas is months away.”

“I know. I lied. I’m not the ghost of Christmas past. I saw that in a movie once.”

“Who are you!” Rachel was near hysteria.

“I am all your dreams come true.”

Someone must have planted a speaker somewhere in the house. Rachel’s fear turned to anger. She leapt from bed to find the offending device. Two steps out of bed she ran into something and fell to the floor. Something that felt like claws wrapped around her waist. She felt herself being lifted and put back on the bed. Panic seized her. She began to scream as her bladder let go.

“Stop it!” The voice drowned her screams and rattled the windows of the cabin. “I don’t have time for this.”

Rachel cowered on the bed. She was panting and felt herself getting light-headed. She started to sink back into unconsciousness, but something caught her by the hair and yanked her back. Her mind searched for a touchstone in reality. A ghost — it was a ghost. Did she believe in ghosts? Perhaps it was time to start. Maybe it was him, returned for revenge.

“Merle, is that you?”

“Who?”

“I’m sorry, Merle, I had to…”

“Who is Merle?”

“You’re not Merle?”

“Never heard of him.”

“Then, who — what in the hell are you?”

“I am the defeat of your enemies. I am the power you crave. I am, live and direct from hell, the demon Catch! Ta-da!” There was a clicking on the floor like a tap-dancing step.

“You’re an Earth spirit?”

“Er, uh, yes, an Earth spirit. That’s me, Catch, the Earth spirit.”

“But I didn’t think the ritual worked.”