"Can you feel it!" she cried to the black clad followers of the temple.

      "Feel what?" grumbled a man, dressed as the devil, who was part of the crowd of curiosity seekers and tourists who had followed the Wiccans to our sacred ground.

      "Why the movement of the veil," said the crone as she lifted her staff above her head.

      "All I feel is cold and damp," said a dripping female angel who was with the devil. "Let's get out of here, Pete, before we both get sick."

      "I paid for this show and I'm staying to see it," said the devil, giving his angel a poke with his plastic trident.

      "You've not paid for this," said the crone, looking at the tourist with blazing eyes. "This is our sacred time and this a sacred ceremony. I'll ask you to show some respect or go away."

      "I've as much right as anyone else here, sister," said the devil as he began to make his way through the crowd to the high priestess. At the edge of the memorial he stopped and started to choke as the breath began to leave his body.

      "What are you doing, Mary?" I heard Bridget cry as I placed my lips upon those of the hapless Pete and began to draw the air out of his lungs. There was no way I could answer Bridget with my lips pressed firmly against those of the man.

      "Help him, please, somebody help him!" I heard a woman cry as my victim's unconscious body slipped from my arms and fell onto the cobblestones. I felt someone pass through me as I stepped back from Pete's dying body.

      "Someone call an ambulance!" I heard from the crowd as I grabbed Bridget's arm and set her upon the entrance of the memorial.

      "Hurry now, while it is still your time. Try to cross into the graveyard."

      "But that man!" said Bridget looking down at the figure of the dying tourist.

      "Never mind him, he was in our way, now he's not. Go on before it's too late."

      "All right then, but I don't see why it always has to be me,"grumbled Bridget as she placed one red heeled shoe on the words carved into the stone.

      All became deathly quiet as Mistress Bridget Bishop walked through the dead man. No wind or rain or human voice could follow where Bridget and I now went. Not even the lifting of the dead devil's body by the paramedics disturbed our moment when the veil was torn through. I screamed with delight as I watched Bridget leap from the stones that had blocked her way to the graveyard beyond.