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deepened into restoring sleep. Truth picked up the pill bottle. DEMEROL, the label said. ONE EVERY SIX HOURS, AS NEEDED FOR PAIN. But Aunt Caroline had taken two. It would be hours before she awoke again.
    Truth felt a keen sense of relief, and acknowledged guiltily that she was grateful not to have to listen to what her aunt had to say about events a quarter of a century in the past. Aunt Caroline was confused, that was all. There was no one to find; no one to help. Blackburn’s misguided followers had scattered to the four winds, and Truth Jourdemayne certainly had no intention of aiding any of them, even if they needed it.
    She stared around the room and, after a moment’s hesitation, picked up Aunt Caroline’s address book from the end table by the phone. Here, as she’d hoped, was the number of the visiting nurse who was to look in on Aunt Caroline. A quick phone call arranged for a visit in a few hours. The nurse already had a house key.
    Truth scribbled a hasty note and left it on the coffee table where Aunt Caroline or the nurse would see it. Then, pausing only to retrieve her coat, purse, and the hateful box, she walked quickly from the house where Caroline Jourdemayne slept the heavy drugged sleep of the terminally ill and Katherine and Blackburn’s pictures kept watch over the past.
    Â 
    How could she do it? The question remained unanswered as Truth piloted her Saturn along the rutted back roads of
Stormlakken in the direction of the Thruway. She supposed she ought to have offered to stay, but she hadn’t made arrangements to be away from the Institute for more than the day, and she found she was reluctant to spend any more time than she must in the house that now seemed so imbued with Thorne Blackburn’s harlequin presence.
    To be entirely honest, she could not bear to stay there now that she knew what Caroline Jourdemayne’s feelings for Thorne Blackburn were, and she could not bear to hurt her aunt by revealing her own feelings.
    From the very beginning, Truth had always respected Aunt Caroline’s mind, had patterned her maturing personality on Aunt Caroline’s model. How could someone she had always trusted to be right be so wrong about Thorne Blackburn?
    That she was wrong Truth had no doubt. But it wasn’t Aunt Caroline’s fault. It was his. Thorne Blackburn’s. Somehow he’d managed to work his charlatan spell even on Caroline Jourdemayne.
    It wasn’t fair. Unhappiness roiled Truth’s stomach and brought on the outriders of a pounding headache.
    No. It was more than simply not fair. It was not right.
    Truth’s life, in its small way, had been dedicated to supporting Right. Sometimes it was hard to tell right from wrong, but not this time. The faerie glamour that Blackburn had worked over the lives of those who had known him, overriding common sense and human decency, was wrong. It had not even ended with his death; it persisted even now, years after Blackburn was vanished and gone, continuing to work its subtle harm.
    She had to stop it.
    She had to stop Blackburn, by breaking the illusion that he’d cast, and what better way than by telling the truth—the whole, final, real truth about Thorne Blackburn.
    Truth cast a triumphant glance at the white box on the
seat beside her. So you left me a book, did you, Father? Well, I have a book in mind worth two of yours.
    Â 
    â€œYou’re going to do what ?” Dylan Palmer said incredulously.
    â€œI’m going to write a biography of Thorne Blackburn,” Truth repeated.
    It was ten thirty on Thursday morning. Truth sat on the edge of the desk in Dylan’s office, swinging one foot back and forth while watching his reaction to her announcement.
    â€œWhat are you going to call it: ‘Magus Dearest’ ? For heaven’s sake, Truth!” Dylan peered at her as if he were not quite sure whether or not she was joking. His wheat-colored hair fell in an unruly comma