The Taking

world.
        The radiant emerald pulse that stippled the blackish thallus had a jewel-bright gleam. In different circumstances, the tree might have appeared to be inlaid with a wealth of precious gems, glittering and magical.
        No aura of fairyland wonder surrounded the pine, however. Quite the opposite: In spite of its bejeweled aspect, and though the lichen infestation had only recently begun, the tree appeared cancer-ridden, mottled with malignancies.
        Virgil had not approached the pine, but had remained on the flagstone walkway, watchful and tense.
        Molly shared the dog's wariness. She didn't touch the lichen, fearing that it might transfer to her fingertip and prove able to colonize human skin as readily as it did tree bark.
        On the other side of the walkway stood a matching pine, and from a distance, even in this half-light, she could see the luminous lichen thriving on that specimen.
        Virgil led them up the porch steps to the front door.
        No candles, oil lamps, or other emergency lighting shone inside. The windows were dark except for dim reflections of the purple glow that suffused the lazily stirring mist.
        If they entered without knocking, they were inviting gunfire.
        On the other hand, if children inside were already in any kind of danger-from Michael Render or from something even less human-Molly and Neil might raise the level of jeopardy by announcing themselves.
        Their dilemma was resolved, in part, when the front-door lock clicked and disengaged.
        Reflexively, they stepped back and to the side, making less obvious targets of themselves.
        Virgil stood his ground.
        The door opened in a swift, inward sweep. Although only the influx of fog-filtered morning sunshine illuminated the small foyer, visibility was sufficient for Molly to discern that the space was deserted, as though they were being welcomed by a ghost.
        The hallway beyond the foyer remained as dark as a snake hole.
        To leave both of Neil's hands free for the shotgun, Molly produced her flashlight.
        Stout-hearted, Virgil boldly entered in advance of the light.
        From the porch, with the flash, Molly probed past the foyer. A narrow hall table, two vases atop it. A door at the far end. She saw no immediate threat.
        Although all of the dogs had exhibited extraordinary behavior this night, though Virgil in particular had astonished with the rose and with his apparent understanding of Molly's mission, entering a stranger's house, uninvited and unannounced, required nerve and full trust in the animal's reliability. For a moment, she couldn't summon either, and Neil hesitated, too.
        In response to their reluctance, Virgil turned his head and regarded them with a golden gaze. To Molly, this seemed not to be the usual eye-shine of animals in the dark, but a phenomenon unique to this night, not simple light refraction, not bioluminescence, but something of a wondrous character: nimbuses pooled in sockets, signifying sanctification.
        Almost as if enchanted, spell-struck and spell-caught, by the dog's golden stare, Molly shed her reservations. Her mouth was dry with doubt, but she worked up spit, and spat. She stepped across the threshold, entered the house.
        Neil followed her, and when they both stood in the foyer, the front door closed behind them with a softness more disturbing than a slam. No draft had pulled it shut.
        Fear abided with Molly, and fed on itself, and grew, but she did not turn back to wrench open the door. She knew that it wanted her to flee- whatever it might be. If she retreated, she would choose the moment of retreat and would not allow it to be chosen for her.
        Virgil sniffed at closed doors and open archways to the left and right of the central hall.
        The dog had no suspicion of the foyer closet. Molly opened that door anyway, and Neil probed the hanging coats with the barrel of the shotgun.
        Although Virgil showed no interest in the study, where the drapes were drawn and the blackness was absolute, Molly scanned that chamber with the flashlight. Shadows stretched and flexed, but they were merely the shadows of furniture, granted movement by the moving beam.
        At the living-room archway, the shepherd made a thin sound of canine anxiety.
        Amethystine light, from the dusky morning, pressed against the mullioned windows, revealing