It caromed around the room for a scant few seconds as if seeking its freedom, bounced once on the hearth, and disappeared up the chimney, spinning like a dervish. The whole display was over so quickly I wondered if my mind had played a trick on me, but Melaphia’s earsplitting scream proved it was not my imagination. Her cry reverberated in the vault loud enough to make the dogs, who had frozen in terror at the sight of the fireball, dive for cover underneath the chaise in front of the bar. Fearing for her still-fragile mind, I stood up and shook her by the shoulders. This trance was too deep, too dangerous. And Satan only knew what the significance of the flaming ball of light had been or what might be next. I couldn’t sacrifice Melaphia for Jack. That’s the last thing he would have wanted. I could tell the exact moment Melaphia came back to herself. Her eyes became clear and focused narrowly on mine. “I failed him, William,” she wailed.
