The Devil's Heart

EIGHTEEN

Miles and Wade stepped out onto the front porch, both of them wincing as the sickly sweet odor of death struck them again, assailing their sense of smell. They had just been around to the back, dragging the bodies of the Coven members from the backyard.

"I wonder why we can't smell it in the house?" Wade asked.

Miles smiled through the awful permeation. "I would guess this house is off limits, Wade. Protected."

The golem stared mutely ahead of him, unseen eyes never leaving the perimeter it was created to protect. It took no notice of the two men.

Somewhere in the distance, a thin yowl of pain could be heard, at first only a faint howl, then gradually building into a flesh-crawling shriek that wavered its way to the ears of the two men. The painful howling would then fade into a low moan, only to build again.

"Let's go back inside," Wade suggested. "I don't believe I care to leave the house again."

"Not until Saturday night," Miles said.

The editor glanced at his lifelong friend. "And where do we go at that time, pal?"

"Home, old friend."

* * *

Nydia was the first to notice the slight odor in the room. She lay watching Sam sleep, wanting to cry at his torn and bruised face. Then she noticed the faint odor. It was not unpleasant, not at all; it was … a male odor, she eluded. But not a sexual pungency. It was more a scent of supreme strength, of confidence. And she wondered how that could be, and how she could so easily identify the aroma of it? And she wondered, too, how or why the odor would fill her with an inner calmness, a peace she had not experienced in all her life?

And she knew with only the knowledge that a woman possesses that something else had occurred, but she decided she would keep that a secret for a while longer.

She lay very still, inhaling the strength of the man scent that lingered in the room. But, she frowned, it was more than that … it was, and she hesitated to use the word … almost holy, but yet, she decided, it was not pristine in its consecration: there was a touch of the warrior with it, a tinge of worldliness, as if whatever had left the scent was not only marking territory, but telling those within that region that it knew what they were experiencing … and what they would experience in the days to come.

And Nydia thought it very strange she would know all this.

And there was something else she detected: sadness, Just a very slight trace of that, but there nonetheless. Odd, she thought: I have never been so frightened in my life, but neither have I ever felt so secure in a … what? She struggled for a definition, a word, finally settling on faith.

Yes, she smiled. Faith.

Sam stirred by her side, and she had another thought as she moved close to him, putting one arm across his bare chest, just above the burn that signified the Everlasting Cross on his flesh.

"Sam?" she whispered, her mouth close to his ear.

"Umm?" he stirred, pulling out of sleep, opening his eyes to look at her through eyes of love.

"I have an idea."

"Now?" his eyes widened.

"Oh, Sam! Not that. I want us to get married."

It took a moment for that to register with him. He finally cocked his head on the pillow and blinked rapidly several times. "Say again."

"You heard me." She lifted herself up on one elbow and stared down at him, thick strands of long silken hair shading one side of her face.

"Nydia … I mean, how? Who would perform the ceremony? I really doubt we could leave this house … or at least the immediate grounds. We'd have to leave …"

She shushed him with a soft kiss. "They have JPs in your country that marry people; judges and the like. They aren't ministers, so what makes them any better than you?"

"Me! This is weird, Nydia. And certainly illegal."

"I'm not concerned with moral law, Sam. And I'm really not sure it would be acceptable in the eyes of God—probably not. I just want the words, from you and from me … from out of our hearts. So let's get cleaned up, get dressed, and go into the timber and get married. Now!"

Sam knew, with only the knowledge reasonably intelligent men possess concerning their limited understanding of women, that it would be best not to argue. Just get up and follow orders.

He is pleased,"' Roma spoke to Falcon over coffee in her quarters. "Our Master said he was most happy with the way matters are proceeding."

"Are you with child?"

"Yes. I can feel the demon growing."

"When will you birth?"

"On the sixth day of the sixth week, precisely on the sixth hour."

"How prophetic. The Mark of the Beast. 666. And your chances, my dear?"

"None. I will die for the Master; the demon will live forever. As Black was meant to be and do. But I failed there.

"I am … admittedly unknowledgeable on such matters; they occur so rarely. How is 'forever' possible?"

"A demon … have you never seen one, Falcon?"

He shook his head. "Not on earth."

"… They are of and for the Devil. Protected by him. Only a holy child, born in the same time frame, from the same father can kill the Master's son. And since you battered Nydia's cunt so well, the odds of that happening are infinitesimally minute."

"The same time frame?" Falcon looked confused.

"666. Day, week, month, or minute."

"But not necessarily at precisely the same moment as your birthing?"

"That is correct."

Falcon was thoughtful for a few seconds. "It is reasonable to assume Balon's boy-child of love coupled with Nydia last night?"

"1 would think so. But your seed is much more powerful, Falcon; older, with the strength of the Master. No … I think she is with a demon child."

Falcon was not so certain, but he hid his doubts. He changed the subject. "There was an … intruder in the house last evening. I am very much surprised you did not sense the presence."

"An intruder, Falcon?"

The warlock's only reply was to lift his eyes upward.

"You are certain?"

"As certain as I know Nydia's cunt was tight."

The mother took no umbrage to his statement. "Male or female?"

"Male. A warrior."

The witch and the warlock looked at each other, gazes all knowing, holding. "So he has slipped out again." It was not a question from Roma.

"It's been many years since that one took any direct action on earth," Falcon said. "Jeanne d'Arc."

"That we know of," Roma corrected him. "I don't like this; that one has bested our Master on more than one occasion."

"Don't let him hear you say that. You know how our Prince hates the warrior."

"There can be no mistakes this time, Falcon. I must get Nydia and leave this place. The demons must be birthed. We can't take a chance on staying."

Falcon's face showed his concern … and something else. Roma read the silent worry lines.

"What, Falcon?"

"My dear … I don't believe we can leave—any of us—until it is concluded. The Master might make an exception for you, taking into consideration your condition. But the rest of us …" He left it at that.

"What are you babbling about?"

He shook his handsome head. "Not babble, Roma. I spoke with the Dark One's emissary early this morning, just before dawn. She told me that Whitfield is cut off; no escape. All is lost except for the taking of Balon's whore. That is why our Master returned here."

"Then … he is here?"

"Nearby. Angry. Brooding."

"But I spoke with him last night!"

"He is not angry with us. He knows the warrior is here—or at least suspects it—and is furious that his enemy would allow such a breach of the rules."

Roma laughed. "Those so-called 'rules' are unimportant; for the most part a myth."

"But our Master believes his enemy should abide by those rules—since He professes to be so holy."

Roma quietly picked up on the reversal of roles between herself and Falcon. "You have suddenly become quite knowledgeable, darling."

"Your time is short, Roma, and growing shorter with each tick of the clock. He has elevated me to a more lofty position here on earth."

"Congratulations, Falcon. It was only a matter of time."

He nodded his acceptance and appreciation of her citation. "He is mulling over a suggestion of mine."

*Oh?"

"That we breach all rules of the game; kill the young warrior now, just after we call out the forces present invisibly at all black masses."

"How did he receive that suggestion?"

"Well, I think."

"It's dangerous, Falcon, and could easily get out of control. Have you ever seen the calling out of the forces?"

"Truthfully … no. But Black Wilder told me once, oh, back in Germany, three centuries ago, back when I was a young buck, racing willy-nilly about, that he witnessed it once. Said it was quite spectacular, in a bell, book, and candle way. He was quite young .when he saw it … about two hundred, I believe he said. In this life, that is. Said it came very close to frightening him."

"It is frightening, Falcon. And in my condition, I could not witness it; too dangerous." She was thoughtful for a moment. "While it is dangerous, calling out the spirits, you must have done some research on the subject."

Falcon smiled.

"I thought as much," she returned the devilish smile. "If God's warrior is here, that would infuriate the ancient warrior, and he would have to fight, for it is his nature to do that. Our forces might win—and I stress might—but if they lost, it would seriously deplete our od forces on this planet."

"I took that into consideration. We would call out only those within a certain, prescribed distance of this locale, and only every other one, thereby insuring us a reserve."

"Wise. When did our Master say he would reach his decision?"

"An hour before dawn, tomorrow. If our Master's reply is yes, a special mass will be called for tomorrow night—midnight."

"You will need two virgins and another young one for the altar, to cut out her heart."

"We have them. The children from the city. Black will have to take part, and that is the only stumbling block I can see."

She shook her head. "My son is weak; not to be trusted. But I think perhaps a visit from the Dark One might put some steel in his backbone."

Falcon arched an eyebrow expressively.

"I will speak to the Prince if his answer is yes to the calling out."

Falcon nodded and turned to leave. "Oh," he said, "I saw Nydia and God's young warrior leaving the house a moment before I came here. They were practically beaming with love. I found it disgusting."

For a moment, Roma was flung back in time, to Whitfield, Fork County, to a little creek, beside which lovers lay, performing a marriage ceremony without benefit of legal entanglements. She smiled, a bittersweet movement of her lips, the smile touched with evil.

"Why are you smiling?" Falcon asked.

"I was thinking about a marriage I witnessed back in '58."

"Whitfield?"

"Yes. I think Sam and Nydia are about to do the same."

"It must have touched you, Roma. For you to remember something so trivial all these years."

Her returning gaze was hard. "In a manner of speaking. I puked after they left."

"Here," Nydia said, looking at the familiar surroundings. "Where you made me a Christian."

"I didn't make you a Christian, Nydia," Sam replied. "You made yourself a Christian. I just dropped a few sprinkles of water on your head." His face changed after saying that, hardening.

"What's wrong, Sam?"

"I was thinking about holy water, and how quickly it killed that man last evening. Last evening," he said softly. "So much is happening so fast."

"We must have picked up several quarts of holy water in the city," Nydia reminded him.

"We'll probably need every drop before this is over." And he smiled mischievously, one hand dropping into his jacket pocket.

"Why are you smiling, Sam?"

He pulled out a tiny vial of water. "I think we can spare this, don't you?"

Sudden tears sprang into her eyes. "Oh, Sam, I love you."

"I love you, too." He gently kissed her mouth. "You got the Bible?" He did not notice the tiny marks on the side of her neck, right above the vein.

"Yes. Where do I open it?"

"I haven't the vaguest idea. Let's sit down and look at it "

They sat and read for a time, reading various verses of different books of the Bible. Then Sam turned to the beginning. Together, they read parts of Genesis, neither of them knowing that Sam Balon had done the same thing when he married young Sam's mother in that impromptu ceremony, witnessed only by God and a tiny singing bird.

"I like this," Nydia said, pointing to chapter two verses 23 and 25.

"Then that's what it will be," Sam said.

They read the passages aloud, and then solemnly anointed each other's head with a tiny bit of holy water. They kissed tenderly, gently, Nydia saying, "I guess we're married."

"In whose eyes is the question," the strong voice came to them both.

"Did you hear that?" Nydia asked.

"Yes." Sam looked around him, and when he spoke, it was directed at the mysterious voice. "What do you mean: in whose eyes?"

But the voice was silent.

"I sensed his presence in the room this morning. Strong and male and fearless. I was going to say something about it, but the marriage idea came right on top of it."

Sam smiled. "Interesting choice of words. The voice speaks in riddles, I'd better warn you of that."

"Not this time. The hooved one has made his decision. You, young warrior, are marked for death. A special mass has been called for tomorrow night. They will attempt to call out the forces of darkness. If they succeed, I will do battle with them. You will know at midnight tomorrow night if their calling has been successful. If so, you must take your … wife and leave the house immediately. Do not attempt to fight them alone, they are too wily for your young age. You both must run and hide in the timber. But, a word of warning: you cannot travel past the set boundaries. You will know them, for they are easily seen. Remember, young warrior, your sole purpose is to destroy this coven, and tablet, if possible."

"Tablet? What tablet?" Sam asked.

"The Devil's tablet. It is here. Hidden."

"And if I destroy it, what happens?"

"That is an unanswerable question, for it has never been destroyed."

"Wonderful," Sam said sarcastically. "How will I know this tablet?"

"It will know you, for the tablet is evil, and you represent good."

"May I ask what may appear to be a foolish question?"

"Ask."

"Why me? And who are you?"

"That is two questions. Which do you want answered?"

"The first one."

"Because you are who you are."

"Thank you so very much!"

"Sam!" Nydia touched his arm. "Don't be ugly to … him."

"You are … good," the voice rumbled in their heads. "Both of you. Not perfect, but no mortal is. And I have made my decision: I will help you."

They both felt the force withdraw. They sat on the log. by the little creek, staring in amazement at each other.

"Sam?" Nydia said, her voice low. "Is all this a dream? Are we both going to wake up back at school and laugh about this?"

"No. But I wish that were true."

"Sam?"

"Umm?"

"I'm getting cold."

"I brought two blankets and a ground sheet."

"I wonder whatever on earth for?" She grinned shyly, then playfully but gently tickled his ribs. Gently because she knew how bruised they were.

"You really don't know?" Sam grinned.

"Oh, honestly, I don't!"

He showed her, both of them a bit timid and embarrassed, wondering if the face behind the voice was watching.

He was. And was both amused and concerned for them.