The Hollow by Nora Roberts

book she scanned—the small Puritan settlement rocked by accusations of witch-craft, a tragic fire, a sudden storm. She wished she’d brought one of Ann Hawkins’s journals instead, but she didn’t feel comfortable taking them out of the house.
    She put the book away and tried the Internet. But that, too, was old news. She’d read and searched and read again, and there was no question both Quinn and Cybil were better at this end than she was. Her strength was in organizing, in connecting the dots in a logical manner. At the moment, there were simply no new dots to connect.
    Restless, she rose to walk to the front windows. She needed something to do, a defined task, something to keep her hands and her mind busy. She needed to do something. Now.
    She turned back with the intention of calling Quinn and begging for an assignment, no matter how menial.
    The woman stood in front of the desk, her hands folded at her waist. Her dress was a quiet gray, long skirt, long sleeves, high at the neck. She wore her sunny blond hair in a simple roll at the nape.
    â€œI know what it is to be impatient, to be restless,” she said. “I could never sit long without an occupation. He would tell me there was purpose in rest, but I found it so hard to wait.”
    Ghosts, Layla thought. Why should a ghost trip her heartbeat when only moments ago she’d been thinking of gods? “Are you Ann?”
    â€œYou know. You are still learning to trust yourself, and what was given to you. But you know.”
    â€œTell me what to do, tell us what to do to stop it. To destroy it.”
    â€œIt is beyond my power. It is even beyond his, my beloved’s. It is for you to discover, you who are part of it, you who are part of me and mine.”
    â€œIs it evil in me?” Oh, how the possibility of that burned in Layla’s belly. “Can you tell me that?”
    â€œIt is what you make of it. Do you know the beauty of now? Of holding it?” Both grief and joy radiated in Ann’s face, in her voice. “Moment to moment, it moves and it changes. So must you. If you can see into others, into heart and mind, if you can look and know what is real and what is false, can you not look into yourself for the answers?”
    â€œThis is now, but you’re only giving me more questions. Tell me where you went before the night of the fire at the Pagan Stone.”
    â€œTo live, as he asked of me. To give life that was precious. They were my faith, my hope, my truth, and it was love that conceived them. Now you are my hope. You must not lose yours. He never has.”
    â€œWho? Giles Dent? Fox,” Layla realized. “You mean Fox.”
    â€œHe believes in the justice of things, in the right of them.” She smiled now, with absolute love. “This is his great strength, and his vulnerability. Remember, it seeks weakness.”
    â€œWhat can I— Damn it!” Ann was gone, and the phone was ringing.
    She’d write it down, Layla thought as she hurried back to the desk. Every word, every detail. She damn well had something to do now.
    She reached for the phone. And picked up a hissing snake.
    The scream tore out of her as she flung the writhing black mass away. Stumbling back, more screams bubbling up in her throat, she watched it coil like a cobra with its long, slanted eyes latched on hers. Then it lowered its head and began to slither across the floor toward her. Prayers and pleas jostled in her head as she backed toward the door. Its eyes glowed red as it surged, lightning fast, to coil again between her and the exit.
    She heard her breath, coming too fast, in quick pants now that hitched and clogged in her throat. She wanted to turn and run, but the fear of turning her back on it was too great. It began to uncoil, inch by sinuous inch, began to wind toward her.
    Was it longer now? Oh God, dear God. Its skin glistened an oily black, and it undulated as it slunk its way across the