Witchcraft

moonlight and the movement freed her. She picked up the skirts of her silk gown and began to run, attempting to dodge around the hooded threat that stood so obscenely in the beautiful garden. The creature in the robe shifted position, easily blocking her path. He held the advantage. There was no way she could get past him and back to the house. When he moved toward her again, Kimberly did the only thing she could do; she fled out of the garden toward the low rock wall. Risking a glance over her shoulder she saw the cowled figure pursuing. He seemed to be having some trouble managing the bulky skirts of his robe. Silver from the wicked blade of the dagger flashed in the darkness and memories of Ariel's card reading chilled Kimberly even more than she already was. As she ran Starke's jacket slipped from her shoulders. It landed on the rambling rock wall as Kimberly scrambled over the top. Her only hope was that the discreet alarms in the house had been triggered and that Starke would not be too deep into his whiskey to know it. Panicked, Kimberly fled for her life toward the only possible protection she could imagine, the winery building. If she could reach it far enough ahead of her pursuer perhaps she would be able to get inside and lock a door behind her. The turquoise sandals proved treacherous on the sandy path that led through the vineyards. Several times she stumbled and nearly fell, but sheer blind fear drove her on toward the looming building. The cowled figure seemed to be having more trouble running than she was in the heavy robes he wore, and that gave Kimberly hope. Perhaps the flowing garment would hinder his movements enough so that she could get inside the building before he did. Once inside there were phones she could use to call the main house. She had seen them several days earlier when Cavenaugh had taken her on a tour of the production facilities. Her breath was like fire in her lungs as she fled toward the rear entrance of the building. Behind her she could hear the crunch of pursuing footsteps. For some insane reason the menacing sound came almost as a relief. Surely only a real human being would make such a sound as he ran. At least she was not being pursued by a specter. Out here alone in the darkness it would've been easy to believe she was dealing with a supernatural threat. Gasping for breath, her heart thudding from fear and exertion, Kimberly slammed to a halt in front of the door at the rear of the building. She didn't even hesitate. She'd decided what she would do while she was still several yards away. Whipping off one of the turquoise sandals, Kimberly shattered the door's window. She had her hand inside, reaching to unlock it before the glass had even struck the floor. A lacerating pain sliced into her arm but she ignored it. The door opened and she was inside, slamming it shut behind her. In the hall all was in darkness.
    Kimberly was forced to slow to a walk. Behind her she heard the door open and close again. Then there was silence. The utter darkness must be as much a burden to her pursuer as it was to her. But Kimberly had one advantage. She knew where she was in the building. With any luck the man with the knife would be forced to wander aimlessly, trying to follow her by sound alone. Taking off her other sandal so that she could move as silently as possible, Kimberly groped her way carefully down the hall toward the huge, high-ceilinged room that held the fermentation tanks and the rows of casks used to age the wine.

CHAPTER SEVEN.
    The gentle hum of machinery and the unique, sharp smell of wine in the making greeted Kimberly as she pushed open the door of the huge room. Towering stainless-steel tanks and several rows of wooden vats loomed around her. They made her think of dinosaurs dozing in the muted darkness. At the far end of the room near a short staircase a dull light gleamed. Otherwise all was in shadow. For an instant Kimberly hesitated. The room that she thought might promise some shelter seemed suddenly to be filled with giant, alien machines that were half alive. No, she thought hysterically, it wasn't the tanks that were alive, it was the wine inside them. Hadn't Cavenaugh explained that to her on the tour? The process of fermentation and aging was a living process, a process of constant evolution and change. The vats and tanks around her were the wombs that nurtured the wine while it developed and matured. She listened for sounds behind her and heard nothing.