The sun was beginning to set as Anita returned from Marionville, her mind a tumult of thoughts and unresolved mysteries. The drive back to Harrow Hall was uneventful, but as she approached the entry to the familiar two-track road leading to the estate, a white SUV with tinted windows pulled onto the highway ahead of her. She narrowed her eyes, trying to get a better look, but the vehicle sped away too quickly for her to see any identifying marks.

A chill ran down her spine. The SUV looked suspiciously like the one that had tried to run her over in Marionville on Sunday. She considered following it, but it was already racing away, and her concern shifted to what they might have done at the Hall. Anxiety gnawed at her as she turned onto the two-track, her car bouncing over the uneven path.

As the Hall came into view, Anita’s heart skipped a beat. There, sitting on the front porch swing was Doreen. She was gazing out over the grounds with an air of calm that contrasted starkly with Anita’s own frantic state. Relief washed over Anita, mingling with the confusion and worry that had been her constant companions since morning.

"Doreen!" Anita called out, as she jumped out of her car, slamming the door. "What are you doing here? You weren't supposed to fly in until the end of the week. Is everything okay?"

Doreen looked up, a tired smile spreading across her face. "I was worried about you, Anita. You haven't been responding to my messages or calls. So, I found an earlier flight and got a rideshare from the airport in Windsor Locks."

Anita’s heart warmed at her friend’s concern. “My phone got damaged.” She took the porch steps two at a time and enveloped Doreen in a hug. The familiar scent of her perfume and the solidness of her presence were incredibly comforting after the day’s supernatural horrors.

"I'm so glad you're here," Anita said, her voice muffled against Doreen's shoulder. "You have no idea what I've been through—today alone."

As their embrace ended and the greeting cooled, Anita couldn’t help but glance back toward the road. A niggling suspicion wormed its way into her mind. Could Doreen have been in that SUV? It seemed unlikely, but the coincidence was too glaring to ignore.

"Doreen, did you see a white SUV with tinted windows when you got here?" Anita asked. She couldn’t keep the concern verging on panic from her voice.

Doreen blinked in surprise. "A white SUV? No, I didn’t see anything like that. Why?"

Anita hesitated, her thoughts racing. "It’s just that a white SUV tried to run me over in Marionville yesterday. It seemed odd that the same kind of vehicle would be around here."

Doreen’s eyes widened. "Run you over? Oh my God, Anita, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I’m fine. It just shook me up a bit. But are you sure you didn’t see anything? How long have you been here?"

Doreen looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking her head. "My rideshare was just a regular car. I don’t know anything about an SUV."

Anita was surprised by her friend's reaction. Something nagged at her to push the matter and repeat her unanswered question about how long Doreen had been on the porch, but she decided to brush it aside for now. She attributed the suspicion to the surrealness of her day so far. Maybe the SUV had come in far enough to see that someone was outside and then turned around and left right away. Anita forced a smile. "Okay. Let’s get you and your luggage inside."

They gathered Doreen’s bags from the porch and made their way into the Hall. The grand foyer, with its dark wood paneling and antique furniture, felt eerily quiet after the events of the morning. Anita couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched, but she forced herself to focus on Doreen.

Doreen chose a room for her stay, delighted by its blue and white colors and French theme, and she and Anita nicknamed it the Bleu Room. They shared another hug. “I have so much to tell you,” Anita said. “You won’t believe what has been happening.”

The friends lounged on the huge four-poster bed while she attempted to explain the strange events that had happened since she arrived in Connecticut. With Doreen, she held nothing back. She only stopped for Doreen’s occasional questions for clarification. When Anita had finished recounting the events, she stood from the bed, tracing the pineapple finial on a post at the foot end.

Doreen lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, taking it all in. After a couple of minutes, she responded, “Holy shit!”

They both burst out laughing, and Anita collapsed back onto the bed. “I know, right? I don’t know what to think of it most days myself.”

Through the breeze of the open window, Anita heard the crunch of gravel outside. She peered out and saw Logan’s pickup pulling up the driveway. Relief flooded through her.

"Logan’s here," she announced to Doreen, who followed her down the main stairs. He knocked and let himself inside. His expression was a mix of determination and concern as Anita took the steps two at a time with Doreen behind her.

Logan caught Anita’s hand at the base of the stairs, and she appreciated the tug to his side. She melted into the embrace he offered. “Logan, this is my friend Doreen.”

He held out his free hand to shake hers, holding Anita close with his other arm. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Likewise,” Doreen said.

In answer to his questioning gaze, Anita said, “She was worried about me, so she took an earlier flight.”

Doreen yawned and stretched. “I’ve been on night shifts for the past two weeks. The flight wasn’t so bad, but the morning is getting to me.”

“Why don’t you go get some rest, and we’ll make some lunch?” Anita suggested.

“Sounds like a plan, ’Nita.”

Anita flinched slightly at the nickname coming on the heels of her encounter with Vance’s ghost. Doreen gathered her into a big hug and then headed back upstairs.

Anita and Logan walked into the kitchen, the comforting smells of spices and freshly washed vegetables already mingling in the air. The spacious kitchen, with its rustic wooden beams and large windows overlooking the grounds, always felt like a safe haven amid the chaos that seemed to pervade the Hall.

As Logan began to chop vegetables for a salad, he glanced over at Anita, who was busy boiling water for pasta. The silence between them was filled with the unspoken weight of their respective discoveries.

“I went to see Father Shane,” Logan began, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, but there was an underlying tension. “He confirmed what Vanessa was pushing. I was born a Harrow.”

Anita paused, turning to face him. “What did he say?”

Logan took a deep breath. “He told me about how my mother gave birth to me here at the Hall, and then Hyacinth gave me up to the Emmerichs right away. My birth father...he was a priest. That’s why Hyacinth never revealed my parentage. She believed that the Harrow would harm me because of my father’s faith.”

“And Father Shane believed this from Hyacinth, but didn’t believe Melsusine when she had come to him for help?”

“He admitted that later on in life experience showed him his mistake, but by that time it was too late to change it.”

Anita absorbed the information, her mind flashing back to her own encounter in the cemetery. “Logan, there’s something you need to know. I went to the cemetery this morning, and I saw some strange things.”

Logan’s knife paused mid-chop. “Strange things?”

Anita nodded, her expression grave. “The women’s headstones...none of them had death dates. It was like they never truly died. Oswald’s stone was the only male one without a death date. I think it has something to do with the Covenant of Shadows game. It’s like it took life from those who went missing over the years, and their fates were never truly sealed.

“The Harrow family—the men and women—their spirits or their essences, I’m not sure what I saw—they are set against each other in some kind of enraged war. The men claim that the women turned them into murderers.”

Logan’s eyes widened as he listened. “That’s...unsettling. But it makes a twisted kind of sense.”

Anita hesitated, then continued, “I saw Vance’s ghost, Logan. He told me to find the dice used in the game. He said they hold the key to ending the curse.”

Logan’s reaction surprised her. Instead of shock or disbelief, he nodded thoughtfully. “I know where the dice are.”

“What?” Anita asked, taken aback. “How?”

“When we received the cremated remains of what we thought were Victor Harrow, Hyacinth asked me to add some strange dice to the inside of the urn,” Logan explained. “I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now it makes sense.”

Anita’s mind raced with the implications. “Then we need to get that urn. But there’s something else. I visited Samuel Prendergast. He showed me letters from Melusine. In one of them, she swore to take the rules of the game to her grave.”

Logan’s expression turned grim. “So, you’re saying we might have to dig up two graves? Melusine’s and Vic’s?”

Anita nodded slowly. “It seems like it.”

At that moment, Doreen walked in, her cheerful demeanor a stark contrast to the serious conversation. “Lunch smells amazing!” she exclaimed. “I wasn’t able to sleep, so I thought I’d come down and join you.” She walked over to the pasta pot and grabbed a noodle, slurping it down. “So, what’s this I hear about grave robbing?” she asked nonchalantly as she chewed.

Anita laughed. “I was just filling Logan in about what happened today.”

Logan’s expression was wary of Doreen. “Oh, Anita caught me up about what’s been going on here. Don’t worry, I’m all in.”

They dished up lunch and sat down at the kitchen island. Anita couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out. She caught Logan’s eye across the table, a silent understanding passing between them. They had a daunting task ahead, and every moment counted.

After lunch, Doreen offered to clean up, insisting that Anita and Logan take a break. They stepped out onto the porch and were met with a cool breeze.

“We need to be careful,” Logan said quietly. “Digging up those graves...it’s not just about breaking the curse. It’s about uncovering the truth, no matter how dark.”

Anita nodded, her resolve hardening.

They stood in silence for a moment, watching the clouds roll in from the horizon. The storm brewing seemed to reflect the turmoil in their lives. But together, they knew they had the strength to face whatever came next.

Inside, Doreen hummed a tune as she washed the dishes, seemingly oblivious to the storm gathering both outside and within the walls of Harrow Hall. But for Anita and Logan, there was no escaping the shadow of their legacy. They could only move forward, armed with the truth and their unyielding determination.

***

Thunder clapped again as it had been for the last hour, and rain pounded against the windows of the Hall as it had all afternoon. Anita and Logan lay on the couch in each other’s arms, both scouring stacks of letters and journals from the attic. Doreen sat sideways in an oversized chair, her legs slung over the arm, scrolling online forums.

“There aren’t really any direct mentions to a Covenant of the Shadows, but I’m finding hints of things that might be related. Nothing, though, that specifically explains a dice game.”

Anita slapped down the journal she had been reading and sat up. “There’s nothing here. We need to find Melusine’s grave.” Another crack of thunder rattled the Hall, and the electricity went out. “Great!” She threw her hands up.

Doreen turned on the flashlight on her phone. “You know, ’Nita, maybe what you need is a break from all of this. We should head out and see if town still has electricity—find somewhere with a drink.”

Despite Anita’s pushback, Doreen insisted. Anita thought to herself that Doreen’s arrival had come at the worst possible time, but she didn’t want to alienate her friend by throwing her into the middle of the chaos they were facing. She could find no easy way to justify how critical she felt the timing was to get to bottom of everything, so when Logan suggested a neighboring town’s trendy pub, Anita just went with it.

As they entered the dimly lit establishment, a mix of laughter, clinking glasses, and music enveloped them. The pub was buzzing with life, filled with patrons enjoying their evening.

The trio found a cozy booth near the back, away from the bar's hustle. They ordered drinks and began to unwind, recounting the events of their week. Anita was starting to relax when a man with thick pop-bottle glasses approached their table in the dim light.

"Wow, man! Nothing for 20 years and then twice in one year. What are the odds of that?" he exclaimed.

“Sorry. Do I know you?” Logan asked.

The man startled. “Oh, sorry. I thought you were—Jeez, you sure look like someone else. Sorry.”

Anita and Logan exchanged a look. As the stranger turned away, Anita lunged forward to the edge of the booth catching his sleeve. “Wait. Who did you think he was?”

“Oh, it’s not important. Just, uh, someone—”

“Was it Vance Miran or Victor Harrow?” Anita asked hurriedly.

The man turned back toward the table and nodded.

“I’m Anita Miran. Vance was my husband.”

“Was?” He questioned the tense.

“Yes. He died around eight months ago.”

“No! What happened? I just saw him last October in Vegas.”

Anita’s stomach dropped. Vanessa hadn’t been the only one from Vance’s earlier life to meet with him at the tech conference in Nevada.

“Please sit down,” Anita said, motioning to the spot next to Doreen.

“How did you know Vance?” Doreen asked as she scooted over a bit to give the lanky man some room.

“Well, it sounds like the cat’s out of the bag for the whole Victor/Vance thing, then?”

Anita nodded, and Doreen took a long slug of her drink.

“I guess it would be okay then to tell you. I’m Oliver Crane, the one who assisted Victor in becoming Vance, on the paperwork end at least, more than 20 years ago.”

“And then you saw him again in Las Vegas in October around Halloween?” Anita questioned.

“Yes. We were both attending a popular technology conference as vendors.”

Logan drummed his fingers on the table. “There was another person from this area of Connecticut there also. A tall, slender blond woman, around 35. Probably always in heels and a designer suit.”

The man adjusted his glasses. “You mean Vanessa Briggs?”

Anita’s mind began racing. "Did you see them together?"

Oliver hesitated, but the intensity in Anita's eyes compelled him to speak. "Yes," he said quietly. "I saw them together. There was a huge blowup between them. They were arguing loudly, and it drew quite a crowd."

"Do you have something to do with Vanessa’s work in banking?" Logan asked.

Oliver shifted uncomfortably. "I can’t tell you that," he said. "I’m under a non-disclosure agreement. Vanessa is the last person I would want to cross."

Anita’s frustration boiled over. She surged forward, leaning over the table toward Oliver. "Vance’s death looked like a suicide, but I know someone killed him. I need to know exactly what went on at that conference, and I’ll figure it out any way I can!"

Doreen spilled her drink at the outburst, and it poured over the edge of the table onto Oliver’s lap. She grabbed for a stack of napkins.

Logan placed a calming hand on Anita’s shoulder. "Anita, let’s take it easy," he said gently. "Getting angry won’t help."

She eased back to a seated position. Taking a deep breath, she tried to regain her composure. "Please, Oliver. We need to know the truth."

Oliver sighed, realizing he had no way out. "My tech company is developing a program for Vanessa and her bank," he admitted. "It assists in hiding accounts and assets from the government."

Anita’s eyes widened. "Did Vance know about this?”

Oliver continued to wipe at the spilled drink. “He was aware of it, but with his own history, I don’t think he was planning on touching it with a ten-foot pole.”

“So, he wasn’t trying to stop you?" Doreen asked. “That doesn’t seem like the Vance I knew.”

Anita was surprised at Doreen’s comment. She glanced at her friend sipping a vodka cranberry but returned her focus quickly to Oliver.

“What was his argument about with Vanessa then if not that?” Logan asked. He handed his glass of water and some more napkins to Oliver.

“Thanks. From what I could tell it was the Vic to Vance thing.”

Anita looked at Logan. “That would have been enough certainly to make someone even like Vanessa blow up publicly. She thought he’d died long ago.”

“We all did,” Logan said.

“I knew that he’d had a girlfriend way back when. He’d intended for her to believe the same as everyone else.”

Doreen leaned back. “Well maybe you have it then. His secret was finally out. This Vanessa sounds like a piece of work, and I doubt she kept the news quiet for very long. He probably just couldn’t bear the truth getting out there. Especially to you, ’Nita.”

“Vance did not kill himself,” Anita said firmly, furrowing her brow at Doreen.

Doreen gave Anita a pitying look. “Hon, I thought you were past this. For heaven sakes, you’re the one who found him like that.”

Anita couldn’t believe the position her friend was taking. As if sensing her growing anger, Logan caught her hand and gave it a squeeze. Anita took a deep breath.

Oliver held up his hands. "I swear I had nothing to do with his death. I didn’t even know he was dead."

"We need to be careful," Logan said. "If Vanessa was somehow involved, we’re dealing with things a lot deeper and dangerous than we first realized."

Anita nodded slowly, her resolve hardening. "We’ll get to the bottom of this," she said firmly. "For Vance."

The weight of the conversation hung heavy in the air. Oliver stood up and sidled out of the booth. “Look, I’m really sorry to have interrupted your night. It’s just that you look so much like him, man.”

After Oliver slipped away quietly, clearly relieved to be leaving, Anita, Logan, and Doreen decided it was time to leave the pub, too. Its lively atmosphere seemed distant and surreal compared to the gravity of their conversation. They headed to Logan's pickup, and Anita decided it was time to fill Doreen in on the biggest parts of the hauntings and strange occurrences at the Harrow estate as they drove back. She was convinced that the reason Doreen wasn’t being supportive was because she didn’t understand everything that was going on.

The winding road seemed longer in the darkness, the headlights casting eerie shadows on the trees lining the path. Doreen listened intently, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

"I still can't believe you went through all of that alone," Doreen said, shaking her head. "The spirits, the voices...it’s like something out of a nightmare."

Anita nodded, her expression grim. "It was, and it still is. But we have to finish what we started. We need to find Melusine's grave and get Victor's urn and the dice. I believe they're the key to stopping all of this."

When they arrived at the Hall, the night was overcast, and a thick blanket of clouds obscured the moon, but the rain had slowed to a drizzle. The house loomed in the darkness, its silhouette imposing and foreboding. They parked near one of the outbuildings. Logan handed out some rain gear, and Anita found flashlights and shovels.

"Doreen, Logan, I need you two to go to the family cemetery and dig up the urn. I don't want to risk reawakening the spirits like I did before," Anita instructed. "I'll find the apple tree where Samuel Prendergast buried Melusine and start digging there."

Logan gave her a reassuring nod. "Be careful. We'll find you as soon as we have the urn."

Doreen held her shovel at arm’s length. “Spirits and digging up graves? Are you sure about all this, ’Nita? I mean—”

“—Stop calling me that!” Anita snapped and tried to calm herself. “Yes, I’m sure, and you’re my best friend, so it shouldn’t even be a question.”

Doreen shrugged. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

Anita tried to be understanding. All of the strange events of the past weeks were so very real to her and also to Logan. Of course, Doreen must be shocked, but she just wasn’t acting the way Anita had expected. Hadn’t she come early because she was worried about Anita? Well, this was the way to fix what was wrong. Couldn’t she see that?

Anita watched as Doreen and Logan made their way toward the cemetery, their flashlight beams bobbing across the darkness. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the task ahead, and headed towards the apple tree that Samuel Prendergast told her about.

She found it easily, even in the night, feeling as if she’d been led right to it, past the hundreds of other trees in the orchard. It stood tall and twisted, its gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. Anita's flashlight beam illuminated the M carved into the tree just below the crook of the lowest branch more than half a century ago. She paced off about four feet from the trunk and began to dig. The soil was damp and heavy. As she dug deeper, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched.

Three feet down or so, Anita's shovel struck something solid. Her heart raced as she cleared the dirt away, revealing flat planks of lumber. She dug more fiercely, exposing the perimeter of the apple cart that Samuel had buried. She used the spade to pry the partially rotted wood off the top of the cart’s frame.

Inside, tattered cloth from the burial quilt and clothing still clung to bones. Anita gently shifted some of the remains, and her flashlight illuminated a small leather journal nestled near her ribcage. The pages were yellowed with age but surprisingly intact.

She carefully retrieved the small book. Anita felt a chill run down her spine. This journal could hold the answers they desperately needed. As she clutched it to her chest and laid her shovel to the side of the grave, a sharp pain exploded at the back of her head. The world spun and went dark as she crumpled. Her last blurred view before losing consciousness was a fleeting image of Melusine's tortured spirit.

***

When Anita came to, she felt an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia. She was in a confined space, her body curled awkwardly. She tried to move, but wooden walls pressed against her on all sides. Panic surged through her as she realized she had been buried alive. Melusine’s bones poked into her back and sides.

She screamed and thrashed, but the wooden planks of the apple cart that enclosed her were sturdy, bolstered by the packed earth around. The lid she had pried open had been replaced with new wood fastened down tightly. Her cries were muffled by the dirt above. Tears streamed down her face as she pounded on the walls, her mind racing with fear and despair.

Suddenly, a spectral figure appeared before her glowing faintly in the darkness. "Do not panic," a woman's voice whispered, eerily calm and soothing. "Help is coming. You must stay strong."

As Anita lay trapped in the cold, damp grave, her heart pounding, the shadows fled with fear, as a soft, ethereal glow spread. Slowly, a discernible figure emerged. Melusine’s ghost was a vision of haunting beauty, her translucent form shimmering with an otherworldly light. Her long, flowing hair cascaded around her like a silken veil, rippling gently as if stirred by an invisible breeze. Her eyes, deep and sorrowful, held a wisdom and sadness that transcended time, yet there was a serene calmness in them that eased Anita’s terror. Melusine's delicate features were ethereal, her lips parted in a gentle, understanding smile, as if she knew every fear and every sorrow that plagued Anita’s heart.

The spectral figure floated gracefully, her ghostly gown billowing around her like mist, its edges fading into the air. As she drew closer, the chill of the grave seemed to dissipate, replaced by a comforting warmth that radiated from her presence. Melusine’s hands, slender and pale, reached out towards Anita, offering solace and protection. Her touch, though ghostly, felt like a soft whisper against Anita's skin, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, beauty and light could be found. The ghost’s aura was calming, wrapping around Anita like a protective embrace, and in that moment, the oppressive weight of the grave felt lighter, the shadows less menacing. Melusine, with her haunting elegance and calming presence, became a beacon of hope in the suffocating darkness.

Anita's fear waned. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, and, in the moments, reflected on everything that had happened. She thought about Vance and how his death had been falsely ruled a suicide. She had been so close to uncovering the truth and bringing justice to the Harrow family. And Logan—she realized with a pang of fear and affection how much she had come to care for him. What had happened to him and Doreen? Had they been attacked as well?

“Tell me Melusine. What was in your rule book that will help us stop the Harrow?”

“You must share the roll thrice, and it can only end in light.”

“The roll of the dice?”

The shimmering woman nodded.

“Share it how?”

“The Harrow was never meant to extend the lives of only the women, but when Victoria and Oswald came to this place, she stole the Harrow from him completely.”

Time passed slowly, each second feeling like an eternity. Anita's thoughts swirled as she lay trapped in the apple cart. The weight of the earth above pressed down on her, but she fought to keep her mind clear, focusing on Melusine and her advice.

Finally, she heard scraping sounds above her, followed by muffled voices. Hope surged within her as the noises grew louder. The wood above her splintered and cracked, and she shielded her face as dirt and debris fell in.

"Anita!" Logan's voice was filled with desperation and relief as he ripped the remaining planks away. He reached down and pulled her out, cradling her in his arms. His face was bruised and bloodied, his movements slow and pained.

Within him, the ghost of Vance flickered in and out of view. His spectral form seemed to be infusing Logan with strength, keeping him upright and moving. Logan's eyes were filled with a mixture of anguish and determination as he held Anita close.

"It was Doreen," Logan said, his voice ragged. "Doreen, Vanessa, and the bank security guard, Atkins. They attacked me in the cemetery the minute we found the urn."

Anita's heart ached with betrayal. "Doreen? But why?" She felt a warm wetness coming from Logan’s chest. She leaned back, making an inspection in the dark. “Logan is this a gun shot? Oh my God, what did they do to you?”

Logan shook his head, wincing from the pain. "They worked me over pretty good. Vance woke me up. I think he’s somehow helping me to stay alive."

Anita watched Vance flicker through Logan, who gave her a solemn nod. "You have to stop them," he said, his voice echoing with an otherworldly resonance. "They have more plans in motion, and they won't stop until they get the Harrow for themselves. It’s all that Vanessa has ever wanted."

Anita helped Logan to his feet, her mind racing with the implications of what had happened. "We need to get out of here," she said urgently. "We need to get you medical help and regroup to figure out our next move."

Logan shook his head, leaning heavily on her for support. "We don’t have time. We have to stop them."

"Anita," Vance's voice echoed softly, yet with an urgency that cut through the silence. "They’re in the covenant room. They are going to try to awaken the Harrow. If they get control of it, it will be all over."

Anita's eyes widened with alarm. "Can you lead me to the room, Vance?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Vance nodded. "Follow me."

They walked along the side of the Hall, catching sight of the malicious white SUV parked at the front. They entered a side door. In the dimly lit Hall, the air was thick with a sense of foreboding. Shadows flickered along the walls as if the house itself was alive, breathing a slow, menacing breath. Anita stood in the hallway, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. The spectral form of Vance appeared to shimmer through Logan’s body, casting an odd translucence in the faint light.

Anita followed, her footsteps echoing softly on the wooden floors. They moved through a series of twisting corridors, the Hall's labyrinthine layout becoming even more confusing in the dim light. Finally, they reached a hidden panel in the wall of Anita's room. Logan pressed against a small, inconspicuous spot, and a secret door swung open with a creak.

"This way," Vance whispered, leading her into a narrow, dark corridor.

Anita stepped inside, the darkness enveloping her like a shroud. She felt a chill run down her spine as she followed Vance, his ghostly glow the only source of light. They moved slowly, the sound of their breathing the only noise in the suffocating silence.

As they crept down the corridor, the faint rise and fall of voices reached them. Anita strained to listen, recognizing Vanessa's pleading tone. They approached a heavy wooden door, slightly ajar, from which the voices emanated. Vance paused, his form flickering with tension.

"Be careful," he warned. "We’re close."

Anita nodded, peeking through the crack in the door. Inside, she saw Vanessa and Doreen standing near the large, ornate chair. The security guard, Atkins, was bound to the chair, struggling against his restraints. Doreen held a handgun. Nearby, the four dolls were arranged around the carved mahogany table, their glassy eyes reflecting firelight. The ghost of Victoria Harrow stood the table, her spectral form shimmering with an ethereal glimmer.

"Please, Victoria," Vanessa was saying, her voice filled with desperation. "We need to awaken the Harrow to continue the game."

Victoria's ghostly face was impassive, her eyes fixed on Vanessa with a cold, distant gaze. She seemed to be listening, but there was a palpable sense of reluctance in her stance.

On the large table, Melusine's book of rules lay open, and the dice were placed beside it. Anita's heart raced as she realized the significance of the scene. If Vanessa succeeded in awakening the Harrow, the consequences could be catastrophic. She was already corrupt. Anita feared the havoc she would wreak with the Harrow behind her.

Anita took a deep breath, steeling herself. She had to stop them. She crouched low, staying against the wall, creeping into the room on her hands and knees. Her eyes were locked on the dice. She moved slowly, inching closer to the table, her heart pounding in her chest.

Just as she was about to reach the dice, she felt a hot, iron grip on her wrist. She gasped and looked up to see the doll dressed in mourning clothes, holding her hand with an unnaturally strong grip. The touch made Anita’s stomach churn.

"Mrs. Harrow has joined us," the doll intoned in a chilling voice, its glassy eyes staring into Anita's.

Anita's blood ran cold. The doll's grip was unyielding, and she struggled to free herself. Vanessa and Doreen turned at the sound, their eyes widening in shock and anger.

Vanessa’s face was flushed with a manic determination. She shoved hard at Doreen. “You said you got rid of her.”

Anita, feeling the desperation in Vanessa’s voice, took a step forward, her gaze shifting to Doreen. She could see the conflict in Doreen’s eyes, the way she shifted uncomfortably. Anita seized the moment.

“Doreen,” Anita said softly but firmly, “how long have you been involved in this?”

Doreen hesitated, her face pale. Vanessa shot her a warning glance, but Anita pressed on.

“Please, Doreen. If there’s any part of you that cares about what’s right, you’ll tell me. How long?”

Doreen’s shoulders slumped, and she let out a shaky breath. “It started shortly before Vance’s death,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Vanessa came to California to try to get Vance to turn the estate over to her. I came over and witnessed them fighting… She promised me a way out, Anita. I just. I owed so many dealers. I…”

Anita’s mind reeled. She had trusted Doreen, never suspecting she had been part of this all along. “Why didn’t you ask us for help?”

“I never meant for it to go this far,” Doreen pleaded, her face crumpling with guilt. “I just wanted a way to escape the life I was trapped in. Vanessa promised she could help.”

Vanessa, unable to contain herself any longer, stepped forward, her eyes blazing. “I paid you well enough.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” Tears streamed down Doreen’s face.

Vanessa whirled on her. “You should have thought of that before you drugged Vic and pulled the trigger.”

Anita’s vision blurred with shock and red-hot rage. “You killed him?” Her voice cracked. “You killed Vance?”

Vanessa smirked, the cruelty in her eyes evident. “Yes, she did. He refused to cooperate, and it was the only way to take control.”

Doreen pushed past Vanessa. “I didn’t want to, ’Nita. I swear. I just had the drug access. She was supposed to do it, but then she made me.”

Anita’s fury erupted, and she felt something within her respond. The Harrow, the malevolent force that had haunted her nightmares, awakened by her anger. Blue smoke began to seep from the walls, swirling around Vanessa, Doreen, and the security guard.

Anita’s anger transformed into raw power. The Harrow’s smoke engulfed the room, its tendrils wrapping around the three figures.

Vanessa’s smug expression turned to one of fear. “What is this?” she shrieked.

Doreen screamed and dropped the gun, her voice piercing the air. The security guard struggled, but the smoke tightened its grip. The room filled with the eerie blue light of the Harrow’s power.

Logan, or rather Vance in Logan’s body, dragged himself into the room, his face contorted with pain. “Anita, stop!” he called out, his voice strained.

Anita, consumed by her rage, barely heard him. The Harrow’s power surged, responding to her emotions. It was exactly as Victoria had described—strong, intoxicating. But then, through the chaos, she saw something that made her pause. Victoria Harrow’s ghost was smiling, a look of pure delight on her face.

That smile snapped Anita out of her trance. She realized with horror what she was doing. “Stop!” she commanded, her voice trembling.

The Harrow eased, its smoke receding. Anita looked at the symbols on the table, the blue smoke and light infiltrating them just as it had in her nightmares.

“Vance, what do I do?” she whispered desperately.

Vance’s voice was faint but clear. “The dice, Anita. You and Logan must roll a light symbol three times in a row. Remember how to roll.”

Anita grabbed the dice, her hands shaking. She handed one to Logan, who nodded weakly, understanding what needed to be done. Victoria Harrow’s ghost shrieked in fury, and the dolls began to climb over their chairs, coming for them, their eyes glowing with malice.

“Roll!” Anita shouted, her voice cutting through the pandemonium.

Logan, with all the faint strength he could muster, rolled his die. It landed on a light symbol. Anita’s heart pounded as she rolled hers, and it too landed on light.

Victoria Harrow screamed, her ghostly form twisting in agony. The dolls lunged at them, but Anita and Logan fought them off, aided by the spirit of Melusine, who appeared beside them, her presence radiating strength.

The second roll was just as tense. Logan’s die landed on light, and Anita’s followed suit. The room shook with the force of the Harrow’s rage, but they pressed on.

“Just one more,” Vance whispered, his voice a lifeline amidst the chaos.

Logan, his face pale and sweating, rolled his die for the third time. It teetered on the edge before landing on light. Logan collapsed, his and Vance’s collective strength spent. Anita rolled her die, her heart in her throat. It spun and finally settled on light.

A deafening roar filled the room as the Harrow’s power was sucked into the table, the symbols glowing brightly. The dolls exploded in a shower of blue dust, their malevolent energy dissipating, and the table split jaggedly along the center, the break shaking the Hall and Anita to the bone.

Anita rushed to Logan’s side, her hands shaking. “Logan!” she cried, her voice choked with emotion.

He opened his eyes, a weak smile on his face. “We did it,” he whispered.

Anita hugged him tightly, tears streaming down her face. The nightmare was over. The Harrow’s power was gone, and the Hall was finally at peace.

She looked around the room, taking in the aftermath of the battle. The security guard was unconscious, but alive. Doreen was sobbing quietly, her face buried in her hands. Vanessa lay still, her expression one of shock and defeat.

Victoria Harrow’s ghost lingered for a moment, her form flickering. She looked at Anita with a mix of anger and respect before finally fading away, her presence no longer a threat.

Logan lay in Anita’s arms, his breaths shallow and ragged. The room, once filled with chaos, was now eerily quiet. She held him tightly, her tears falling onto his face, mixing with his own. She could feel his life slipping away, and the pain was unbearable.

“Anita…” Logan’s voice was weak, barely more than a whisper. “I could feel Vance’s love for you. He… he would have never left you.”

Anita sobbed, her body shaking with the force of her grief. “Please, Logan. I can’t lose you too.”

Logan’s eyes were filled with sorrow. “I’m so sorry…I wish… I wish I could stay.”

Anita clung to him, her heart breaking. “You can’t leave me. Not now. Please, Logan, please stay with me.”

His breathing grew more labored, and Anita could see the life draining from his eyes. She felt a deep, wrenching pain in her chest as she held him, begging for a miracle.

As Logan took his last, shallow breaths, the room began to glow with a soft, sublime light. Anita looked up through her tears and saw the spirits of Melusine, Hyacinth, and many other Harrow women appearing around them. They stood silently, their presence both comforting and sorrowful.

Melusine, dressed in a 1920s flapper dress with pearls draped elegantly around her, stepped forward. She knelt beside Logan, her celestial form shimmering. She pressed her hand against his chest, her eyes filled with compassion.

Anita watched in awe and desperation as Melusine’s hand seemed to transfer a gentle glow into Logan’s body. One by one, the spirits of the Harrow women began to fade, their forms dissolving into the light that flowed into Logan. Each ghost gave a part of themselves, their sacrifice a silent act of love and redemption.

The light grew brighter, enveloping Logan completely. Anita felt a surge of hope mixed with fear. She held her breath, praying for a miracle.

Finally, the last of the spirits disappeared. Logan lay still in her arms, not breathing. Anita’s heart shattered, and she let out a cry of pure anguish.

But then, Logan’s chest rose with a sudden, deep gasp. His eyes flew open, and he inhaled deeply, his body shuddering with the effort. Anita’s breath caught in her throat as she watched, hardly daring to believe it.

“Logan?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He looked at her, and there was no flicker of Vance in his eyes. Logan was alive. He was truly back. The Harrow women had given up all their power to save him.

Anita’s tears flowed freely, but now they were tears of joy and relief. She hugged Logan tightly, feeling his warmth, his life. “Oh, Logan,” she cried. “You’re alive. You’re really alive.”

Logan, still weak but breathing steadily, held her close. “I’m here, Anita. I’m here.”

Anita looked around the room, knowing that the spirits had given up everything to make this possible. The air felt lighter, freer, as if the weight of the past had finally been lifted.

“Thank you,” she whispered to the spirits, though they were no longer visible. “Thank you.”

In that moment, surrounded by the remnants of the Harrow’s legacy, Anita and Logan held each other, their love and the sacrifices of the past binding them together in a way that nothing could ever break.

The blight was cured.