Darkness hit again like a silent peal of thunder, and Rose Rita felt the whole world vibrate and quiver from the impact. Where was the house? She couldn’t see it any longer. She reached out and felt the cool, reassuring touch of the car. She hadn’t gone blind – the double glow from Uncle Jonathan’s cane and Mrs. Zimmermann’s staff still shone. But the house had vanished. What had happened?

“Who calls my name?”

Rose Rita squeaked in alarm. From the night a figure emerged, an imperious young woman dressed in silky red robes, with her long dark hair streaming, fluttering around her, as though touched by rising hot air. She strode forward. Her face was terrible and beautiful, and her flesh glowed with an inner light, as if fires burned just beneath her skin. Her eyes should have been dark, but the pupils glared like white-hot embers.

Rose Rita felt as if she, as if everything in the world were shrinking to nothing before the fiery anger of the great and fearsome figure standing before them. She felt Uncle Jonathan catch her arm. If he had not held her up, she would have collapsed from awe and despair. How would they, how could they fight this unearthly being?