The Devil's Touch

BOOK TWO

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before.

—Poe

ONE

"You lookin' a sight better," Joe said to his wife. "How you feelin'?"

"I feel better than I have in months, Joe," she replied with a smile.

Something about his wife had changed. Joe recalled the words he'd heard back at the chiefs house: "Trust no one. Be suspicious of everyone. But don't be overt with your suspicions. Let them think everything is all right. We're outnumbered."

But Nellie? Joe couldn't believe she would be a part of such horror.

Joe tried to pretend that nothing about her had changed. But it was no good. She had changed. When he'd left the house, she had been pale and listless, her hair containing no body or life. Now, just a few hours later, Nellie appeared to be a new person. Eyes shining with health, color to her face. And what was that smell? Smelled like … Jesus! It was the odor of sulphur.

Joe sighed. Was any of this true? Was the Devil in Logandale? Aw, shit… he didn't know what to think or believe.

Nellie smiled at him and walked toward him, holding out her arms.

The phone rang.

Joe jerked it up, suddenly very much relieved for the interruption. "Yeah?"

Mille LaMeade down at the station. "Joe? Jim Peters didn't show for his shift. Who you want me to call in?"

Joe lifted his eyes, once more looking at his wife. Something was all out of whack here. He could feel it. Her eyes were so … strange. Is it my imagination? Am I letting my suspicions get all out of hand? Yeah … maybe. He didn't know.

"Joe? You there?" Mille asked.

"What! Oh, yeah. Ah—Mille, better let me come on down and check on that—problem. Sounds like we might have trouble. I'll be there in a second, O.K.?"

Joe turned and was startled to see Nellie standing right next to him. He had not heard her walk across the room. She licked her lips and he could see her tongue was no longer that sickly color he had grown accustomed to. And he knew—he knew—this was not the same woman he had loved and married. Knew she had somehow changed into … hell, he didn't know what she was, had become. It was … it looked like she was healthy. She was too healthy. No way, Joe thought, no way she could have been healed.

But maybe the Good Lord had healed her. Joe's thoughts went winging back more than forty years, back to that little country church in Kentucky, back to the words and actions of that visiting preacher who practiced the laying on of hands. Joe had damn sure seen a miracle that night; watched that old crippled woman throw away her crutches and walk, by God. Could that be it? Did God intervene here in some mysterious way, His wonders to perform?

Maybe. Maybe so. "We got to talk some, Nellie," Joe said. "We got to sit down and really talk some things out. We'll do that when I get back, O.K.?"

"Do you really have to go, Joe? It's so late, and—well, I kind of had plans for us, you know?"

Joe could not believe his ears. Did she really want to have sex? Nellie? She had not craved sex for more than a year. Maybe longer than that. No. No, this was definitely not the work of the Almighty.

Something shifted in Nellie's eyes as she looked at her husband. There is no love there, Joe thought, meeting her eyes. That's pure hate. But why? That was the question that vexed the police officer. Vex, he thought. Rhymes with hex. He again went winging back in time, back to the mountains of his youth, to the superstitions of the older mountain people, sayings and feelings he could still recite and experience chapter and verse. Joe felt cold fear wash over him. He grew uncomfortable under her hot gaze.

"Gotta go," Joe muttered. He felt a tingle in the small of his back as he walked out the door. He was sweating in the damp coolness of night. He was relieved as he got in his car. Glad to be out of that house. He looked back at the house. Nellie was framed in the light pouring from the picture window. He could see her face, dark with hate. Her eyes seemed to burn through the night. Joe pulled away. He did not think he ever wanted to go back there. He corrected that. He was never going back inside that house. Not if he could help it.

He pulled into the police parking area and went inside. Logandale's lone female police officer was sitting behind the desk. She looked up as he entered.

"Something funny going on in this town, Joe," Mille said. "And I mean I can feel it right down to my toes."

"Tell me," Joe muttered. He cleared his throat. "Mille, what's wrong with Jim?"

Mille stood up and Joe appraised her. It was not the first time he had viewed her charms. Mille LaMeade had the dark complexion and snapping dark eyes that came with many of the people of French-Canadian ancestry. A small woman, almost petite, but oh Lord, was she stacked up proper.

"Well, first it was his wife on the phone," Mille said. "But there was a lot of music and laughing going on in the background. A party going on. I could hear Jim's voice. He was telling dirty jokes and cussing. Still his wife called him in sick."

"Cussing? But Jim don't cuss. He don't smoke, he don't drink, he don't do nothin'. Jim Peters is about the dullest potato I've ever met."

"You should have heard it tonight."

"Come on. Ride with me. We'll just take us a little run out to his house. See what's goin' on."

Joe let Mille lead the way to the patrol car. Nice ass on her, too, he thought.

He looked up in surprise as the Flaubert girl drove past the station. Late for her to be out.

"It is time for the greeting dance," Norman Giddon announced. He walked into the center of the circle, holding out his arms. The circle of men and women fell silent. "It is time for us to welcome our new guests, show them all the pleasures the Prince can offer. Let it begin."

In the darkness of a shrouded corner of the mansion, a drum began beating slowly, pounding out its throbbing message. A flute joined in, the notes playing solemnly. The inner circle, made up of black-robed women, began moving counterclockwise; the outer circle, consisting of black-robed men, began moving in a clockwise direction.

"Come," May spoke to Patsy, taking her hand. "Let's join in. It's time for our initiation."

Patsy did not protest, mentally or physically. The wine had been cold and sweet and very strong, and it contained a very powerful aphrodisiac. The potion was working within the young people as they formed the third circle, holding hands. Sonny Bunche, a senior at Logandale High, held onto Patsy's hand. He grinned at her, the message contained within the grin very plain. Patsy looked around for Jon but could not locate him. The aphrodisiac pounded within her body. She looked up at Sonny.

"Later," she said to the young man.

"I heard that, baby," Sonny replied.

The circles moved in their dance.

Movement by the altar caught Patsy's eyes. She looked up and saw Jon standing naked beside the black-draped altar, his manhood hanging heavy and limp. But Patsy knew only too well the first sight was deceiving. Jon's eyes appeared glazed. She dropped her eyes and concentrated on the dance, moving with the circles. It seemed the more physical exertion she engaged in the more sexually charged she became. Soon she was caught up in the heat and passion of the dance, humming along with the others.

Outside, the Beasts howled and danced and pranced, flinging their hairy arms upward and strutting about, their cloven hooves making no imprint in the soft damp earth. They spat at the heavens and hissed their contempt at their Master's enemy.

As midnight came straight up, Norman Giddon, upon receiving the signal from the coven leader, held up a hand for silence. The drum and flute ceased. Only the panting from the men and women in the circles could be heard.

"Let the young people come forward. Make way for our Master's new servants, so they may be received into his kingdom and enjoy all the fruits of his worship."

The circles opened, the young people marched forward, Patsy among them. Sometime during the dancing, her blouse had opened and she had discarded it. She could not remember doing so. But it didn't matter. Some of the others had torn off and thrown away most of their clothing, to stand almost naked in the circle of Satan worshippers.

The coven leader, Frank Gilbert, began his series of questions, the young people responding with the correct answers.

"Renounce all ye have been taught before this night. All Christian teachings and virtues. Do ye do so?"

"Aye!" the young people shouted in one voice. "All praise the Dark One."

Patsy did not understand how she knew what to say; she only accepted and did as her mind instructed.

Gilbert waved his hand and smoke erupted from behind the altar. "Puellas and Puers, do ye swear your hearts to the Prince of Darkness?"

"Aye!" came the shout.

Gilbert waved his hand and a woman walked to the altar, kneeling in front of Jon. She stroked him and orally brought him to hardness. The boy crawled between the legs of the naked woman and positioned himself. Sweat bathed the woman. Putting her hand on his stiffness, she guided him.

"We invoke the powers of the old gods!" Gilbert called, his voice firm. "We call upon them to give their blessings to this gathering."

The odor of burning sulphur permeated the room.

The adults began to hum and sway back and forth.

Gilbert shouted, "So mote it be!"

Jon shoved, taking the woman with one stroke. She cried out in a strange language and wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him firm within her.

"Show your contempt for the Christian God!" Gilbert screamed the words.

The boys and girls, men and women, began cursing the Lord God Almighty, heaping verbal filth upon His head in a hideous outpouring of blasphemy. Bibles were produced, the pages torn from them and burned and spat upon. The gathering coven urinated on pictures and paintings of Christ. The odor of sulphur became a thin haze that lingered over the worshippers of the Prince of Darkness. Filth rolled from the tongues of those who were now entering the gates of Satan's domain, rejecting the teachings of God Almighty for the fleshy earthy pleasures of Satan.

And thus it would always be so. For these coven members, there would be and could be no turning back, for God Almighty is a vengeful God. He will tolerate no other Gods before Him. And the punishment is death.

The floor of the huge room became a tangle of naked men and women, boys and girls, men with men, women with women, as they consummated the pact between themselves and the Prince of Darkness. Patsy felt her clothing pulled from her. Hands on her body, squeezing and entering. She was pushed to the floor. Her legs spread, she felt hot hardness entering her. She was sore but groaned her pleasure. She opened her eyes and looked into the grinning face of her father.

"All praise the Dark One," her father panted, as he violated his daughter.

"All praise the Dark One," Patsy dammed herself. She pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him.

Outside, the wind blew hot and stinking.

Sam was too keyed up to sleep, but he did not find it odd that Nydia went on to bed after drinking her customary glass of juice. Janet sat in the den, watching Saturday Night Live on TV. Sam sat with her; Janet on the couch, Sam in his easy chair.

Janet looked over at Sam and smiled shyly. He returned the smile, asking, "What are you grinning about, Janet?"

"Promise you won't get mad?"

"I promise," he said with a quiet laugh. Sam was experiencing a mild sort of euphoria. He could not understand the heady feelings, since he knew only too well what lay ahead of him, but he was grateful for the emotions; anything to take his mind off what faced him at dawn.

He did not realize he was facing it now.

"Well—you and Nydia usually stay out later than you did tonight. And I—uh—usually watch the—ah— that other channel."

Sam grinned. He knew what channel she was talking about. So she had discovered the porn channel and the decoder that brought it in. "Well, I could say that I objected, Janet, but I really don't. I would have watched the thing at my house when I was your age, if we'd had it. Besides, I imagine you already know most of what goes on there, right?"

"Well, yeah," she admitted. "But it's tough being caught between a girl and a woman. You know, all kinds of feelings and no one to ask questions and no one to explain a lot of things. It's tough."

"Don't your parents talk to you about—things?"

"Oh, no! My mom and dad get so uptight about those types of conversations. They get tongue-tied and end up confusing me more than ever."

And despite himself, Sam found his tongue saying, "What is it you want to know, Janet?"

"Well," she said softly and shyly, "you know—I mean—I was raped back at Falcon House, but that isn't something I like to think about. I mean, really, I've pretty well managed to put all that out of my mind. Talking with the doctors afterward really helped me. And that was—the rape, anything but fun. I mean, Jesus!" Sam did not notice her slight grimace of disgust at the mention of His name. "How can you enjoy being forced to do something?"

"I understand. Go on."

"Those people on that channel," she said, pointing to the TV set. "They look like they really like it when they—you know, do it. They look like it's fun. And it looks like fun to me."

Sam knew how he should—as an adult—respond to that. He knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he could not find the words to put the topic to rest. He shook his head to clear away the cobwebs that had gathered, clouding his ability to reason. He startled himself when the words rolled from his mouth.

"Ask me anything you like, Janet. I'll try to explain it as best I can." And show you if you want it that way, the thought jumped into his mind. And this time his mind offered no objection.

The teenager left her place on the couch and sat in front of Sam, on the ottoman. She sat very close to him. Sam felt her presence very strongly. She was wearing some sort of strange-smelling perfume, and he found it appealing. She began asking questions—very personal questions, questions that he would have normally found very embarrassing. But on this night, he answered them frankly.

When had she opened her blouse? Sam wondered, as he fought to keep his eyes from her full young breasts. Jesus! She wasn't wearing a bra. And her nipples were aroused ... and arousing him.

What the hell is the matter with me? Sam questioned. Something is very wrong here.

But the thought slipped away from him as quickly as it came.

He looked at the small table by his chair. A bourbon and water was there. He didn't remember fixing it, or asking Janet to fix it. Oh, well, he thought, must be the tension of the day coming out. He picked up the drink and sipped it. Exactly right.

He did not know it was his fourth drink.

You would like to watch the porn channel together, the words came to him. "Why don't we watch the porn channel together?" he suggested. "Might be fun."

"All right!" Janet said.. "I'd like that. We'll keep the volume down low so we won't wake up Nydia or Little Sam."

"They won't wake up," Sam said. "Nydia could sleep through a hurricane and Little Sam takes after her in that respect."

Sam could not remember Janet's getting in the chair with him, but there she was. And Sam did not object even a little. And when did her blouse get unbuttoned all the way down and pulled out of her jeans?

Who knows and who cares? he thought. Sam fondled her breasts, feeling the nipples harden under his fingers. She sighed and arched her back, pushing her breasts up to his mouth. Sam obliged the body request.

The scenes on the Four XXXX channel, as Sam and Nydia called it, were vivid, with nothing left out. Sam felt himself gaining a slight erection. It was odd, for he and Nydia never took this channel seriously, watching it more for laughs than for stimulation.

"I'd like to do that," Janet murmured, stirring in his arms. "I'd really like to do that with you."

The screen showed a woman masturbating a man.

Sam did not reply, nor did he object when Janet's fingers touched his crotch, lingering there. She ran her fingers down the length of his growing erection.

And then she was gripping him in her small hand, stroking him while her breath came hot on his cheek. Janet kissed him—anything but a sisterly kiss. Her tongue was in his mouth and she was masturbating him to rock hardness.

A moment of lucidity reached him, and he wavered. Then a cloud covered his mental functionings. Janet was naked in his arms and straddling him. He tried to push her away, but the attempt was weak and he felt himself penetrating into the hot tightness of the girl.

Afterward, the scenes would be blurred in recall. But one would be vivid. He pushed the girl from him at the moment of ejaculation, his semen spilling on the chair and floor.

"This is wrong!" Sam said.

"Oh, Sam!" Janet said, quickly dressing as Sam was pulling up his trousers and buckling his belt. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Forget it," Sam said. "It won't happen again."

Wanna bet? she thought. She thought she might have trapped some of the life-giving seed of Balon within her. She was almost certain of it.

The phone rang. The abrupt shrillness seemed to jar Sam out of what remained of his drug-induced state.

"Sam? Joe Bennett here. Sorry to trouble you this late, but I think we got a problem with the Logandale P.D. A big problem."

Nydia literally stumbled into the den. Her eyes looked dazed and her walk was uncertain.

"Nydia!" Janet cried, running to her. She helped the woman to a chair. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know," she replied haltingly. "I—think it was a nightmare. I awakened—frightened."

Nydia had not yet noticed what was on the TV. Janet turned the set off and said, "Let me get you some milk."

"That would be nice, Janet." She looked at Sam. "More trouble, honey?"

"Maybe." He turned back to the phone, lifting it to his ear. "Sorry, Joe. Had a problem here at home. Would you say that again?"

"I'm with Mille LaMeade. She called me at my house 'bout an hour or so ago. Maybe an hour and a half. Said Jim Peters had called in sick. I come down and we went over to Jim's house. Big party goin' on. Everybody drunk and raisin' hell, swappin' wives and girlfriends and such stuff as you only read about in books. Jim told me right to my face to kiss his ass. He was through with the P.D. and me and Chief Draper and the rest of the goody-two-shoes motherfuckers in this town. And Carl Medley and Bob Carson was with him. And that right there is all the Logandale P.D."

"Have you told Monty?"

"Yeah. But he don't know what to do. Hell, Sam, Monty called the mayor and the mayor told him not to worry none about it; said there wasn't nothin' gonna happen here 'cause nobody was comin' in here to do nothin'. Now ain't that the goddamnedest thing you ever heard a grown man say?"

"It's strange, all right."

"Strange! Strange is a woman with three tits and no snatch. That's strange. This here is—hell, I don't know what this is."

"Where will you be, Joe?"

"On patrol, I reckon. Just me and Mille left."

"Is she acting all right?"

"Oh, yeah. Mille's O.K. She was a tough little cookie when she was growin' up. Done things make a sailor blush. But when she straightened up her act, she done it proper. Devil come up to Mille, she'd bust him on the snoot and spit in his eye."

Sam grinned. "Sounds like my kind of lady. O.K., Joe. Let me get a few hours sleep and I'll see you first thing in the morning. Probably at the cafe. Then we'll meet with Monty and talk this out."

"Right. There's some other matters I want to tell ya'll about, but they'll keep 'til first light, since I ain't goin' back home. See you in a few hours."

Joe hung up.

Sam did not connect the ain't goin' back home with anything ominious. He thought Joe only meant he would be on patrol all night, nothing more. He went to Nydia's side.

"Feeling better, honey?"

"I think so. Yes." She sipped at the milk Janet had so thoughtfully brought her. She looked at Janet. "You go to bed, young lady."

"Yes, ma'am," Janet said with a smile. She left the den and went into the room she used when she slept over. "Fucking bitch," she said, when the door had closed behind her.

Janet looked toward the north. "I tried, Master. I truly tried."

Outside, the wind blew hotly, as if in a forgiving and understanding way. It changed, speaking darkly to the girl. "You succeeded, my pretty. You did well."

Janet nodded her head and smiled. Sam's seed was in her body.

Another demon was growing.

TWO

Guilt lay heavy on Sam's mind when he awakened before dawn to leave the sleeping side of his wife. He simply could not believe he had done those things with Janet. He was all man, yes, and he would be lying if he said he had never entertained the thought of other women—but that was as far as it had ever gone. And Sam was adult enough to realize and accept that Nydia—just as any woman—had her daydreams and fantasies. But like Sam, that was as far as it had gone.

He looked in on Janet. Still sleeping, and sleeping peacefully. Sam again shook his head at what he had done. He would have to tell Nydia. But God, he wasn't looking forward to that.

He fixed a cup of coffee and took it with him, after making certain the house was securely locked. He looked at the orchard where he had shot the Beast. It lay peaceful in the pre-dawn stillness. The stars were beginning to fade and faint light was tinting the eastern horizon as Sam got in his pickup truck and backed out of the drive. He pointed the nose of the truck toward town, toward Clint's Cafe.

He saw Joe and Mille sitting alone at a table. Upon entering, he thought Joe looked a little strained. Sam attributed that to weariness until he had ordered breakfast and coffee and sat down at the table with the two remaining Logandale police officers, not counting the chief.

"Take a look over there," Joe said, cutting his eyes.

Sam looked. A cross hung upside down on the wall behind the counter. It was beginning. And he felt Sunday would be no safer for believers than any other day—not as far as this coven was concerned. "You've told Mille?"

"Yeah. Figured that was the best thing. She didn't much believe me 'til after we seen what was happenin' out to the Giddon place. Strange doin's out there, Sam."

The image of his making love to Janet once more filled his mind. He also felt shame wash over him. He took a deep sigh and fought the images away. He dreaded the moment of facing Nydia and telling her. But he knew he must. He came back to the present. "Strange doings? Such as what, Joe?"

"We parked down the road from the mansion, up on a bluff overlooking the road. Must have been two, maybe three hundred folks, of all ages, come out of that place and drive toward town. Lots of kids, high school and college. Near 'bouts all the professors and staff from out to Nelson College was there. And a lot of parents was there—and so was their kids."

"There is no such thing as incest in the language of the Devil," Sam explained. "As a matter of fact, it's encouraged. Brings the family closer together, so to speak," he added dryly.

"My father, my brother, and my youngest sister came out of that house," Mille said. "My little sister is only fourteen. All this is adding up to me now," she said, putting dark eyes on Sam's face. "I've been noticing some—well, odd things happening around town. Like the number of people who have stopped attending church. At first I didn't pay any attention to it; it was such a gradual thing. Then I began picking up on it when it began at my church. We're down to about—oh, maybe a fourth of our members attending any given mass."

Odd, Sam thought, as the waitress, wearing a uniform that looked as though it hadn't been washed in a month, put his breakfast in front of him. I wonder why Father Le Moyne didn't say anything about that?

When the waitress departed, taking her stinking body and filthy clothing with her, but leaving a stench behind, Sam said, "Did you try to talk to Father Le Moyne about it?"

"Yes. He was aware of it, and it concerned him. You see, Sam, this is it for Father Le Moyne. He'll never have another church. He's had some—personal problems."

"That's interesting," Sam said. "What kind of problems?" He looked down at his breakfast and it turned his stomach. The plate was filthy, had not been washed in God knows how long, and the food was floating in stinking grease. He pushed the plate from him.

"Sickenin', ain't it?" Joe said.

"At least that," Sam muttered.

"No one knows for sure about Father Le Moyne," Mille said. "Some say it was a woman. That he fell in love, had an affair. Some say he was burned out performing an exorcism. I don't know. I do know he's had problems with the bottle."

Sam recalled the way the priest had knocked back the booze at his quarters.

Mille said, "I remember my mother telling me—years ago—that Father Le Moyne had butted heads with the Devil one too many times and finally the Devil beat him. I don't know any of the particulars, Sam. I just know that Father Le Moyne's been here for a long, long time, and it's accepted knowledge that he'll never leave."

The cafe was rapidly filling up, the patrons, to a person, both male and female, giving the trio hard looks, ugly looks. The cafe began to stink of unwashed bodies.

Laughter came rolling to them from a group of men and women seated at a far corner. The words followed. "Sure would like to have me some of the little French snatch," a man said. "Then ol' Ralph would turn her over and stick it up her ass."

Hard dirty laughter followed. Joe flushed and started to rise from his chair. Sam put out a hand, stopping the man.

"Let's get out of here, people. But first I want to confirm a suspicion." He caught the counterman's eyes. "This breakfast is terrible!" Sam shouted. "And the plate is filthy. You really expect me to pay for this slop?"

"No!" the man returned the shout from behind the counter. "It's on the house, you son-of-a-bitch! And you can all get your asses out of my place. Don't come back—none of you. We don't need your kind in here."

"Your kind," Joe muttered. "That what you was waitin' on, Sam?"

"That's it," Sam said.

The trio walked outside, very conscious of all eyes in the place on their backs. They all breathed a bit easier when they were outside in the clean, fresh coolness of morning air. Dawn was breaking, spreading its golden light.

"Gonna be a gorgeous day," Joe said. He added, "All things taken into consideration, that is."

* * *

Janet was very quiet that morning, and Nydia did not understand the silence, for the teenager was usually bubbling over with love of life. So Nydia thought. She asked the girl what was the matter.

Janet looked at her for a moment, and then burst into tears. Nydia went to her, putting her arms around the girl.

"Nydia," she said, "I was so afraid last night. 1 didn't know what to do. 1 still don't. Please, Nydia, if I tell you, will you promise not to tell Sam? 1 mean, you have to swear to me you won't tell. Cross your heart and promise you won't tell him I told you."

Nydia dried the girl's eyes with a napkin. She smiled at her. "I promise, Janet. I won't tell Sam. Whatever it is, I won't tell him."

Janet nodded her head. "Well, after you went to bed last night, Sam started drinking. The glass is still on the table by his chair. I fixed him—I don't know, several drinks. I don't know how many he fixed himself. A lot. I was watching Saturday Night Live on TV and he changed it to that—that awful channel."

"Awful channel?"

"You know, the one—that shows everything. All the naked people doing—it."

"Sam did that? With you in the room!" Nydia was filled with outrage.

"Then he asked me if I ever thought about doing things like that. Nydia, I swear to you I'm a good girl. I swear it! Ever since that happened to me—you know, at Falcon House up in Canada, having sex has been the furthest thing from my mind." Janet willed tears to roll from her eyes and they came in silver torrents, spilling down her cheeks.

Nydia's thoughts toward Sam darkened, clouds of anger and revenge colored her mind. "I believe you, Janet," she said, putting her arms around the girl, holding her.

"I didn't know what to do when he pulled me in the chair with him, Nydia. It scared mc. Then we lay like that for several minutes, watching those naked people have sex—and other stuff. It was really grossing me out."

Nydia's eyes were dark pools of smoldering anger. "Go on, Janet. I want to hear it all."

"I told him that you'd wake up and there would be trouble, and I'd get the blame for it. He said don't worry, 'cause he had put something in your juice to make you sleep, and you could sleep through a hurricane, anyway, and so could Little Sam—he got that from you."

"Yes, that's true. Sam is fond of saying that. Noise hardly ever disturbs my sleep. And I did sleep unnaturally hard for a time last night. It must have been the drug that knocked me out so and caused those dreams."

"Sam said he'd been wanting to—this is embarrassing. Nydia. Wanting to make it with me for a long time. He said if I said anything about it, he'd call me a liar and you'd believe him over me."

"Go on, Janet. But I probably can guess the rest."

"I don't know if you noticed last night, when you came in the den, but my shirt was unbuttoned some. I mean, I had real quick like buttoned it up."

Once again, the dark force entered Nydia's thoughts. She visualized and replayed the events of earlier that morning. It was as the girl said. She could see her buttoning her shirt. Could see her going to the TV and turning off the set. And Sam had been … what? Confused. Yes. That and red-faced, as well. And his clothing was rumpled.

Goddamn him!

"Go on, Janet," Nydia bit at the words.

"Well, he—this is really embarrassing for me. Sam unbuttoned my blouse and unzipped my jeans. He-began feeling me. Nydia, I swear I didn't know what to do. I wanted to yell, but I didn't. I just couldn't. He had said he put something in your juice. What was the point of yelling? I just—I just let him have his way. He undressed me and slipped off his pants. He was real big and hard. He took my hand and put it on his—you know. Told me to jack him off; said I'd like it, he was sure.

"Nydia, I was so scared I didn't know what to do. He—got me wet. I couldn't help it! He was breathing real funny and saying really weird things. Scared me. Then he just picked me up—he's real strong, you know—and sat me down on him. He hurt me when he—well, how can I say it? Put it in. That's a gross way of saying it, isn't it? I don't know what would have happened if the phone hadn't rung. Then you came into the room and I was never so glad to see anyone in all my life. When the phone rang, Sam practically threw me off him and started jerking on his clothes.

"Nydia, I think Sam was drunk; that's what made him go kinda wild. It won't happen again. I can promise you that."

"It certainly won't!" Nydia said. She put a hand on Janet's shoulder. "Janet, I don't blame you. Don't think that for a minute."

"Thank you, Nydia. I can't tell you how much that means to me."

"Let's talk about this incident, Janet. Sam might have made you pregnant."

"Oh, no, ma'am. No—he jerked away before it ever came to that. He got mad about that, too."

"Serves him right," Nydia said tightly. "Are you sure, Janet? Be very sure, now."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sure."

"Well, Monday I'll call my doctor in Blaine. I'll personally take you to see him. Just to be on the safe side."

"All right," Janet said sweetly. Monday, you bitch, she thought, none of you will be allowed to leave. You will all remain here—forever.

"Nydia—this has nothing to do with Sam, but I've been trying to think of a way to tell you for a few weeks."

Nydia forced a smile. "Now what, Janet?"

"Do you know Jon Le Moyne?"

"No. Is he any relation to Father Le Moyne?"

"Nephew. Anyway, the talk around school is that you and Jon have been seeing each other. Having an affair. Jon is supposed to be—well—real big—down there, if you know what I mean."

That bit of gossip put the icing on the cake, shoved in the candles, lit them, and blew them out. Nydia turned and savagely slammed a pot into the sink. The handle broke off.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" she said. "I've never even heard of Jon Le Moyne."

Janet had to turn her head to prevent Nydia from seeing her smile of satisfaction. Everything was working out well. The name of Jon Le Moyne had been planted in Nydia's brain, and planted there by anger. She would not forget it.

It had been arranged that Sam would remember very little about the lovemaking; but just enough to fill him with guilt. All he could do was beg his wife's forgiveness.

And it would soon be arranged—only a matter of a few hours—for Nydia to meet Jon Le Moyne. While Sam would be conveniently away … with another woman. It would work. The Master was proud of Janet's plan.

Yes, Janet thought, today would be the day. Nydia would be harboring ill feelings toward Sam—and the Master would see they became blacker as the minutes ticked past. And it was being arranged for Sam to meet another woman. Everything looked good. The oldest rule of warfare: Divide and conquer.

Janet now looked at Nydia through different eyes. She took in the woman's lushness. For a moment, the girl allowed herself the luxury of erotic thoughts: images of her making love to Nydia. But she quickly brushed those aside, for the Master would not approve of that at this time. Perhaps when matters were all taken care of. But not now.

"You want to take me home now, Miss Nydia?" Janet asked shyly.

Nydia turned around, her eyes red from holding back tears. "Sure, Janet. Let me get my coat."

Several times Monty had put his hand on the phone in the den, and several times he had pulled his hand away. If he called for help—would anybody believe him? He was sure something very odd was going down in Logandale. But worshipping the Devil? Now that day had dawned, he had doubts. But what about the ungodly appearing creature Balon had shot in the orchard? The strange way a lot of people were behaving? Nearly his entire force quitting without notice? Bodies disappearing? People and animals tortured to death in strange and bizarre ways? Again he put his hand on the phone. Again he pulled it away.

He'd give it another day, max, before doing anything that might prompt the men in white coats to come drag him away, kicking and screaming to the funny farm.

"Honey," his wife spoke from the hall.

He looked at her and smiled. He never tired of looking at her. She was that beautiful. And had been on her way toward becoming a very successful fashion model when she elected to marry him. Monty could never understand why she made that move. But was ever so grateful that she did.

He noticed the frown on her face. "Something wrong, honey?"

She tapped her foot when she was angry. And she was tapping her foot now. "Very definitely wrong, Monty. We're being watched."

"By whom?"

"Two men in a car, parked out front. I don't know how long they've been there. Take a look."

He walked to the drapes and narrowly parted them. There they sat. Dan Evans and Phil Curtis. Two local ne'er-do-wells that were constantly in and out of all sorts of mischief and minor brushes with the law. Monty had arrested them both a dozen times over the years. But…

Then it came to him: The most successful lawyer in the county always was there to represent them, and he was the most successful lawyer in the county because he worked almost exclusively for…

Norman Giddon.

Coming together. And it was not a pretty package.

Monty turned from the window and started down the hall to the front door. His wife's voice stopped him. He looked over his shoulder at her.

"Don't go out there, Monty. Don't. For my sake. I'm getting frightened, Monty. Let's pack it up and in and get out of here. Just get the hell out!"

He could not believe what she was saying. "Honey, I'm the chief of police here. The law. The man. I've—I took an oath to uphold the law. I can't just cut and run. I won't cut and run."

"I felt it last night, Monty," she blurted. "1 know it's real, now."

"Felt what, Viv?"

"Evil."

"Now just hang on, baby. Just—"

"Don't go out there!"

He took his hand off the doorknob. "All right," he told her. "If it will make you feel better, I won't go outside. But we're going to have to face this—thing— whatever in the hell it is, sooner or later."

"Let it be later. Hell with it."

Something thumped on the back porch. A subhuman shriek came to the man and woman. Viv paled and backed against the wall for support. Monty found his pistol and walked down the hall, into the kitchen, and paused at the back door. He jacked back the hammer of his .357 and jerked open the door. He almost puked up his breakfast.

"No," Joe said. "I'm so keyed up I wouldn't be able to sleep none. Let's go on over to the chiefs house and hash this thing out. We got to do something. This standin' around without a plan is gettin' to me."

Sam glanced at Mille. "You must be exhausted, Mille."

"I'm tired, but like Joe, I want to find out just what is going on around here." She shook her head, then brushed back a lock of dark hair. "Too much is coming at me all at once. All this business about the Devil and cults and covens—I—I'm just confused and don't know what to think or believe. I don't know whether to be scared or think this entire thing is one great big joke. Then I think about Marie Fowler and those horrible things that were done to her. Judith disappears. Joe tells me he and Chief Draper lost radio contact with Will when he went down in that hole after Judith. The rope is untied—by somebody—and Joe and Monty believe Will is dead. Then he reappears and Ginny tells me he was acting strange."

"Ginny?" Sam asked. "Who is Ginny and what's this about Will acting strange?"

"Ginny Potter. She's a friend of mine; we share an apartment. Yeah. She saw Will late yesterday afternoon. He was walking kind of—well, funny. Ginny said he lurched, kind of. He was pale, and something was the matter with the way he talked. Ginny said his tongue was—all swollen and real red."

Sam knew what the problem was. The walking dead.

Joe shrugged. "I don't know what's goin' on neither. Look, let's go on over to the chiefs house. I got something to tell you all."

Will and Judy slept under a blanket in the woods where Will had attacked her. The blanket was not to protect them from the cool air but to keep the sunlight from touching them. They had found they could not tolerate the light.

Marie and Dan and Jerry slept in the loft of a barn. Like Will and Judy, they waited for the night.

Logandale lay quiet under the Sunday sun.

Waiting for night.

"Oh, my God!" Viv hissed the words as she stood in the kitchen looking over her husband's shoulder.

A dog lay on the back porch. The animal had been skinned and strange markings cut into its skin. It had been completely disemboweled, the intestines and organs scattered all over the floor of the porch.

Monty heard his wife making choking sounds. He turned in time to see her race toward the half bath just off the kitchen. The sounds of her sickness came to him. Monty fought back his own nausea and used the tablecloth from the nook to cover the animal and the intestines, after he had kicked those into a pile. He stepped back into the kitchen and closed the door.

"You going to be all right?" he called through the closed bathroom door.

"Just fucking dandy," came her acid reply.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Monty grinned. When Viv got mad, she got stubborn, and she became very profane. Monty felt that Viv wouldn't leave now if someone held a gun to her head.

He heard cars pull into the drive and he walked to the door. Looking out, he saw the two men who had been watching the house were gone. Sam Balon, Joe, and Mille were walking up the sidewalk. He waved them in and briefly told them what had just happened.

"I'll take care of the dog," Joe said. He left the den.

Monty asked Mille, "Who's minding the store?"

"No one. I locked the place up."

"Why not?" Monty said, directing the question at no one in particular.

Viv entered the den. Her face was pale but there was a new set to her chin that silently told Monty she was going to see this thing through. He smiled at her.

"I'll make some coffee," she said. "I think we could all use some." She looked at Sam. "Have you had breakfast—any of you?"

"No, ma'am."

"I'll make some breakfast, too."

Joe walked back into the den. "Son-of-a-bitch do that to a dog oughta be horsewhipped. I wrapped the poor animal in a garbage bag and stuck that in another garbage bag. Put it in the trunk of the patrol car. I'll get rid of it later. Monty—I think—whatever it is we're facing has got to my wife," he blurted.

The others stood quietly, frozen in place, looking at Joe. Viv came out of the kitchen to stand in the archway, listening, a spatula in her hand.

Joe told them about Nellie.

"You can't know for sure, Joe," Viv said. "You just can't be."

"No, ma'am," he replied. "I can't. But all I got to go on is my feelin's. And I know damn well something ain't right in that house. Don't nobody recover that quickly. And the house was stinkin' like sulphur Put it all together for me, folks. Add it all up and tell me what you think."

Sam looked at Mille. The young woman looked tired, her face drawn with fatigue. But she was tough; Sam sensed that. She would stand firm. He cut his eyes to Viv. She, too, appeared to be filled with a new resolve. Joe would stand tough; no backup in him. And Sam felt sure Monty wouldn't back up for anything or anybody.

Monty blew out a long breath. "I think we better start drawing up some battle plans."

"Against what, Chief?" Mille asked. "And with what? None of us have been physically threatened. What crimes have been committed? Is it against the law to worship Satan? Not to my knowledge. Me and Joe saw a bunch of people leaving the Giddon place last night, but that sure isn't against the law. While we were patrolling last night, we talked about this thing. I still don't quite believe everything that you all have said, but even if it's all true, what can we do until someone actually breaks a law. The answer is, obviously, nothing."

"Come on, everybody," Viv called from the kitchen. "Let's have some breakfast."

As they all trouped to the kitchen, the phone rang. Monty jerked it up. He listened for several moments. His face first grew red with anger, and then pale with shock. He said, "Very well, if that is your final word."

Monty slowly replaced the receiver. He seemed to have aged considerably.

Viv came to his side. "Monty? What is it? Why are you so pale?"

"That was Mayor Kowolski," Monty said slowly. "The board met last night. Called a special meeting. I have been relieved of duty—"

"Oh, Monty," his wife said.

"Drop the other shoe, Monty," Joe said. "I got a feelin' there's more."

"Yes," Monty said. "And it's coming together, all the pieces fitting, finally." He cleared his throat. "Well, Bert Sakall has been named interim chief until a permanent replacement is named. You've been fired, Mille. You, too, Joe. The board is giving us all a month's pay. But the clincher was this: He told me to inform both of you that the best thing we could do was get the hell out of this community and don't come back."

Mille LaMeade summed up the feelings of all present when she stuck out her chin and said, "Well—fuck the board!"

THREE

Father Daniel Le Moyne stood in the center aisle of his church. He experienced a dozen distinct and different emotions in the span of a few seconds. None of them pleasant. He looked at the silent, empty church. He clenched his hands into fists of rage, momentarily enjoying the emotion before mentally driving it from him and calming himself.

Not one person had come to mass. No one.

Now the priest knew what he must face. Again. And he was not looking forward to the task.

He cocked his head. Was that a car driving up, stopping? Yes. The priest listened for a moment. The front door of the church opened. Noah Crisp stood silhouetted in the brilliant sunlight that poured from the heavens.

"This time you've got to face him and beat him," Noah said, his voice slightly hoarse. "I know he's here, and so do you. We've both known for a long time. I know what people think about us, Daniel. I know people think I'm a borderline basket case. Maybe I am. But I have met him, seen him face to face, and lived to tell of it. That is something few people have ever managed to do. But so much for that. Tell me, how badly outnumbered are we?"

Father Le Moyne shook his graying head. "Probably five or six hundred to one."

"That many. Well—we will still have no choice."

"None."

"We should have done this years ago, Daniel. Even if it meant—and it would have—taking the law into our own hands."

"I didn't have the courage. I don't know if I have the courage to do it now."

Noah walked down the aisle to face the priest. "We both sinned, Daniel. But sins can be forgiven. What happened is past, and it has not and will not occur again." He looked around him at the empty church. "No one came to mass?"

"Not one person."

"So it's really, finally begun?"

"It appears that way."

"Let's drive around town. See if the same is or has occurred at other churches."

Father Le Moyne noticed, for the first time, the pistol stuck in Noah's belt. "I had heard you had forsaken your gentle beliefs for those of a more savage nature, Noah."

"I've changed a lot over the past four or five years, Daniel. And yes, it's been that long since we've talked."

"Almost five years," the priest muttered. "Where has the time gone?"

"To the Devil," the writer said flatly. "Quite literally."

Le Moyne had to smile at that.

"Get yourself armed with holy water, Daniel," Noah urged him.

But the priest shook his head. "Not yet. It isn't time for that."

The writer looked dubious … and somewhat ludicrous, dressed in cowboy boots, jeans, a painter's smock, and beret cocked jauntily on his head. But the gun in his waistband was real, and his determination was strong. "Are you certain, Daniel?"

"As certain as I can be." He put a hand on his friend's arm. "Noah, I don't know if I have the faith to go through with this thing. I don't know if I have the strength. I don't know if God has any faith in me. Not in years. I—"

Noah slapped the priest. Backhanded the man of God across the face, rocking his head.

"Don't you ever say anything like that again, Daniel. Not at this juncture of our lives, and the lives of a small band of Christians out there. If I have to, Daniel, I'll use my fists to pound the faith back in you; or to bring it to the surface, as the case may be. Probably is. Do you understand all that, old friend?"

Through watery eyes caused by the abrupt and totally unexpected pop across the face, Father Le Moyne looked through a mist at the man. Physically, Le Moyne could have broken the writer in half. The priest was a big shambling bear of a man. But he was a gentle, loving type of man who abhorred any type of violence.

"You do have a way of getting your point across, Noah," Father Le Moyne said.

"I felt it quite necessary. And we'll speak no more of your supposedly 'lost faith.' Come on. We have a lot of work to do. His work, Father Le Moyne. We've got to salvage as many lost souls as possible. If it isn't too late."

"Yes. For us, as well," the priest reminded the man.

"We don't matter, Daniel. Not any longer. Not in the overall scheme of things. We were adults and fully aware of what we were doing." He shook his head. "No matter. There are young people out there," he said waving his hand, "who are lost, stumbling about in the evil darkness created by the Master of Night. We have to try to help them. One way or the other," he added, a grimness to his tone.

Father Le Moyne smiled. "You always did have a way with the English language, Noah."

"I used to, Daniel. I really did. I could have been a great writer. Well," he said grimacing, "perhaps not great, but a selling author, let us say. All that changed in the few hours before midnight, long ago. But I can still make a contribution to this world—we can, Daniel, you and I. So let's stop dillydallying about and get on with it."

"One moment," the priest said, holding up a hand. He went to his living quarters and returned carrying a cross. It looked to be about ten inches long and perhaps seven or eight inches across. "Cardinal Greiner blessed this cross, many years ago. I think this might be a better weapon—at this time—than anything else."

Noah smiled. "You're probably right, Daniel. But I'll keep my .357 for a backup. After you, Father."

While Daniel Le Moyne and Noah Crisp rode through the small town, each of them experiencing a sinking feeling at the sight of empty churches, Nydia was working herself into a monumental black rage—helped by darker forces, who chuckled with mirth at what was going on.

How dare Sam pull something like that! How could he do it?

She picked up a metal ashtray and hurled it across the room. The ashtray bounced off the wall and hit the floor with a clatter.

"Shit!" she yelled.

Little Sam began crying in his room. His outburst of fright at the sudden noise momentarily calmed Nydia. She went into the bedroom and picked him up, talking to him, soothing him.

"Why is it grown men—responsible men—go ape over a young girl? I wish I knew. I just do not understand it."

"Ape?" Little Sam said. "Go to zoo?"

"That's where he belongs," Nydia said. "Behind bars for a time. Maybe that would calm him down. The son-of-a—" She caught herself just in time. For Little Sam was very bright and very quick to pick up on words.

She calmed Little Sam and had him laughing by the time she put him on the floor of the den. She sat on the couch and quietly allowed her mood to worsen, not aware of the forces from the nether world influencing her mental machinations, and doing so with dark humor.

So Sam parted the teenage legs of Janet, she darkly mused. I wonder how many women he's screwed since we've been married? One? Ten? More than that? And how many lies has he told me? How many times has he said he was going to the college for research and actually been fucking someone else?

"Bastard!" she whispered.

Yes, the thought came to her. At least ten women. Haven't I seen him flirt more than once, when he thought I wasn't looking? Yes. Yes, I have.

Voices began playing in her head as her mind and abilities to reason became clouded.

"And what about that Flaubert girl? You don't suppose—"

Yes, Nydia thought. Yes. She would be a prime candidate.

"And why do you suppose Sam insisted, when you two were talking about buying a satellite dish, upon having that filthy channel?"

I'm beginning to understand now.

"He's had other women here, hasn't he? Come on, admit it. Those nights you went out with the girls— sometimes several nights a week—did Sam ever object?"

No.

"Don't you find that rather odd?"

I do now.

"And many times, when you were tired and wanted to go to bed, didn't he sit up and watch that fuck film channel?"

Yes.

"It's all adding up, isn't it?"

Reluctantly, she agreed. Yes, it was.

"Would a Christian watch such a channel?"

No. Not the way Sam does.

"Then perhaps—"

The silent voice faded, leaving the rest of it to Nydia's fertile imagination.

Nydia alternately felt like crying, screaming, jumping up and down, and, the thought came screaming into her brain: making it with another man.

Sure, why not? Sam has been sleeping around, so why the hell not? What was that old saying?

"What's good for the goose is good for the gander," the dark voice whispered obscenely.

She would just, by God, give that some thought; some serious thought.

She gave no thought to what was taking place around her, in the small town of Logandale. All that had been blocked by the dark forces. And they urged her on.

She wrote Sam a short note, telling him that she was going for a drive and might not be back for some time. Little Sam would be at Janet's.

"Let him stew about that for awhile," she muttered. "He's probably out screwing somebody right this minute."

She dressed Little Sam, put a change into a small bag, and locked up the house. Her eyes were flashing angry sparks as she pulled out of the drive and headed into town.

"So Jon Le Moyne and I are having an affair, are we?" she muttered. "Well, we'll just see about that."

And the demons and witches and warlocks and creatures who worship the Dark Prince howled with laughter.

Father Le Moyne pulled over to the curb and looked at the pastor of the Methodist church. The man was sitting on the steps of his church, a confused and dejected look on his face.

"Come on," the priest said to Noah. "Let's find out what's wrong."

"You know what's wrong."

"Let's be certain." They walked over to the man, Father Le Moyne asking, "What's wrong, Byron?"

Byron Price, the minister, looked at the two men. "I—am troubled, Daniel. And I feel a little bit lost. Confused. What is happening? My entire congregation seems to be boycotting me."

"Well, Byron, don't feel like a lost sheep. Richard Hasseling over at First Baptist just told us the same thing, in almost the same words."

Methodist eyes met Catholic eyes. "And how about you, Daniel?"

"The same thing. No one came to mass. Not one person."

"What's happening, Daniel?"

Father Le Moyne hedged that for a moment. "John Morton at the Episcopal church told us," he indicated Noah, "not more than ten minutes ago, that he spoke by phone with several of his older members—elderly. They told him they had been bullied into not attending church this morning. Some of them had actually been physically shoved around, and worse."

A slamming door caused all eyes to turn to the house beside the church. An attractive woman was leaving the home, walking toward a car parked by the curb.

"My wife," the minister said glumly. "She's leaving me. Taking up with a seventeen-year-old boy. The Johnson boy. Seems she's been having an affair with him for several months. Maybe longer than that. Just came right out last night and told me all about it. Said—this is shameful and embarrassing—she said he had staying power in the sack."

"I beg your pardon?" Father Le Moyne said.

"He can fuck for a long time," Noah told him bluntly.

"Great scott, Noah!" Le Moyne looked at his friend. "How crude."

Byron Price put his face in his hands and openly wept. Father Le Moyne and Noah could do nothing for the man except feel pity for him. Byron was a good and decent man, who worked hard at his faith. He deserved better than this. But both men knew what had caused the breakup.

Mrs. Price rode by the three men in front of the church. She said something to the young man and they both laughed. The Johnson boy looked at the trio of men and extended his middle finger to them.

Noah reached for the pistol in his belt. Father Le Moyne's hand stopped him.

"Not that, Noah! Not yet. They've got to make some overt move first. They have to put us into some life-threatening situation. Only then can we use force. You should know that far better than I."

Byron raised a tear-stained face to the priest. "Daniel, what in the world are you talking about? You're confusing me even more."

"Go to your parsonage, Byron," Father Le Moyne told him. "Pack several changes of clothing. Get your personal things together. Come with us. And Byron—if you have a gun—get it."

"All right," Monty said. "I think it's coming out into the open now. They're trying to get us to leave town voluntarily. I think when they see we're not going to run, they'll attempt to run us out; scare us out. What I don't understand is why they decided to move so quickly with this. It all seems so abrupt."

"They haven't moved quickly," Sam said, and all eyes swung toward him. "I would bet this is an old coven. Perhaps one of the oldest. Don't ask me how I know that, I just sense it. I—no outsider really knows much about any given coven—the inner workings. But while it appears they move quickly, they actually have spent years getting set. And I'll bet Satan is here—personally."

Sam reiterated some of his experiences in and around Falcon House, in Canada.

The mighty voice had spoken to Sam several times, the words thundering in the young man's head. Just seconds after Sam and Nydia performed the marriage ceremony, by themselves, on themselves, the voice came to both of them.

Nydia had said, "I guess we're married, Sam."

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

Nydia was frightened. Sam calmed her. "What do you mean—whoever you are—'in whose eyes'?"

But the voice was silent.

Nydia said, "I sensed his presence in our room this morning. Or I should say some one's presence."

"The voice speaks in riddles," Sam warned her. "So be prepared for a puzzle."

"Not this time, young people," the mighty voice boomed. "The hooved one has made his decision. You, young warrior, are marked for death. A special black 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 if their calling has been successful. If so, you must take your—wife and leave the house at once. Do not attempt to fight them alone. 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 the tablet, if possible."

"What tablet?" Sam asked.

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

"And if I destroy it, what happens?"

"I cannot answer that, 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 might sound to you 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. You've really cleared it all up."

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

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

The voice faded away, leaving the young couple sitting in silence in the timber of Canada.

"I talked with the voice several more times after that," Sam said. The small gathering in Monty's house could but stare in silence.

Finally Monty asked, "Who—what was the voice, Sam?"

"God's warrior, Michael."

Joe closed his eyes and gripped the arms of the chair tightly.

"You really talked with Michael?" Mille asked, her eyes wide.

Mille crossed herself. So did Monty, his wife looking at him strangely. Joe bowed his head. Whether he was praying or wondering if this was all a bad dream was up for grabs.

Take refuge! the words leaped into Sam's brain. Band together for safety! And be careful, for all is not as it appears!

"What's wrong, Sam?" Monty asked. "Your face seemed—strange." That damn word again, Monty thought. Well, it fits the situation.

"I think I just got a message from—far away," Sam told him, speaking to the entire group. "The same way I used to get them up at Falcon House."

"From the same—fellow?" Joe asked.

"I don't know. It could well be from my dad."

Viv was chewing on her lower lip and wringing her hands together.

"You got voices in your head?" Joe asked. "And they may be comin' from your dead father? Lordy, Lordy."

Sam smiled. "Yeah. I thought I was a candidate for the funny farm when I first heard them, up in Canada, three years ago. But I quickly learned to listen."

"What did the voice say to you, Sam?" Monty asked. His wife looked at him as if he was a fool.

"To band together. To be careful. All was not as it seems."

"I'll go along with that," Joe said. "Groupin' together might not be a bad idea. But first I'd kinda like to know what we're goin' up against 'fore I bunker myself in."

"That's me," Monty said. He looked at Mille. "Ginny been acting all right to you, Mille?"

"I can't see any difference. She never went to church anyway, so that wouldn't be any indicator of change in her."

"Sound her out, Mille," Sam told her. "If you think she's still—one of us." He stumbled on that. "You two stay close together until we can all meet and talk this out. By that time we should have firmed things up and know when and how to take a stand."

Viv slumped back on the couch and shook her head. "This is all a bad dream—a nightmare. It has to be. It can't be real. I'm going to wake up pretty soon and everything is going to be all right. Oh, God! Please let it be."

Monty went to her and took her in his arms. "It isn't a dream, babe. And you are awake. But we're going to make it. We're going to fight this thing and we're going to win it." He looked at Sam. "Aren't we, Sam?"

It was at that moment Sam realized they were all looking to him for leadership. Ex-Chief of Police Draper, Joe, Mille, Viv, all of them. And he knew, too, he did not want that job. Not again. He didn't know if he was up to it.

But you are, the voice boomed in his head. You must. You have no choice in the matter.

Sam met the gazes of the men and women gathered in the den. He sighed heavily, thinking: Here we go again, folks. Quit it, Sam, he berated himself. This is not the time for jokes. "Yes," the young man said. "If we stick together and don't lose our heads, we'll make it." Most of us, he thought, but did not put that into words. "But I won't lie to you. To any of you. It isn't going to be easy. The Devil and his followers will use every evil trick in their black book to get you all to join them. They will tempt you and entice with everything you can possibly think of. They will make it sound so appealing it will take all of your inner strength to combat it." He paused and said, "And—maybe some of you won't make it. It's that tough and tempting. I know, and so does Nydia. We went through it, and so did my dad. Nydia's stepfather raped her." He did not tell the group that Little Sam could well be a demon child. "Nydia's mother seduced me, and my seed produced, within her, a demon child. I do not know what sex or where the child is, but I strongly suspect the child—and it may not be a child—it may be a full grown adult, in some form, is close by. The Devil's child is playing a vital part in all this." And I wonder if the tablet is near?

Yes!

I have to face that, too? Again? Sam projected the question.

Yes! came the silent reply. Sam could not identify the voice. He didn't think it was his father, but he couldn't be sure.

The young man looked into the eyes of the group. He read utter disbelief on the faces of the men and women. He knew it was too much for them to accept at one sitting. But he felt he did not have a choice in the matter. And there was so much he wasn't telling them.

"I know," Sam said. "I know. It's difficult for you to believe. But it is all very true and real, please believe me.

Monty stared at his shoes for a moment. He lifted his eyes. "Let's take this a day at a time, Sam. Let us—adjust, swallow all this. I don't doubt you—not for a minute—please. But Jesus God—this is storybook stuff; you see this at the movies, on TV. It—just doesn't, can't happen in real life."

"But it is happening," Sam told them. He stood up. "I'm going to prowl around town some, see what's happening. I'll check back with you all later."

"Be careful," Monty warned him.

Sam's smile was grim. "Don't you worry about that. I know what I'm up against. What we're up against. But you people have yet to discover the true horror of what is lying in wait for you."

"You could have talked all day and not said that," Joe mumbled.

There was no humor in Sam's reply. "Words alone cannot describe what is facing us all. You are days—perhaps only hours—away from getting a firsthand glimpse of all the horrors of hell."

"Lordy, Lordy," Joe said.

With a very stunned and badly shaken minister in the back seat of the automobile, Father Le Moyne and Noah pulled away from the minister's residence. "I'm sorry, gentlemen," Byron said from the back seat. "Even though I grew up on the streets of Buffalo, running wild as a buck, I have never fired a gun in my life."

"I took up skeet shooting about five years ago," Noah said. "I found it helped me to relax. Prior to that, I was a liberal's liberal: gun control, Save the Punks, abolish the death penalty—the entire nine yards. Then I did some serious soul-searching and found that most of my philosophy was unworkable in reality. I began plinking with a handgun. I found it great fun and just as relaxing as skeet shooting. If I ever again take part in any civil disobedience, it will probably be outside a prison somewhere, yelling for the warden to go ahead and execute the bastard!"

Behind the wheel, Father Le Moyne fought to conceal his smile. "Noah, you've turned into a real tiger."

"I'm doing my best, Daniel. But it's rather difficult to inflict a serious bite with dentures." The writer laughed. He patted the butt of his .357. "One of these will almost always get a person's attention, though." He pointed to a crowd of men and women gathering on a street corner. "Look over there!"

"Shall we stop?" Le Moyne asked.

"Just drive by slowly," Noah said, not taking his eyes from the crowd. "Damn pack of rabble and trash."

The priest slowed the car. The writer and the men of God looked at the crowd. The mixed group returned the looks, glaring sullenly at the men in the car. One of the women arrogantly gave the trio the middle finger.

"Mrs. Baxter," Noah muttered. "Bitch used to teach Sunday School at the Lutheran church. I bet she taught them some trash, all right."

Someone in the crowd said something, the sound of the following laughter reaching the men in the car as they slowly drove past.

"I wonder what was said?" Father Le Moyne quietly asked.

"I doubt that you really want to know, Daniel," Noah told him. "For I imagine it was pure filth."

"Devil worship?" Byron spoke from the back seat. "Covens and witchcraft and the black arts? In Logan-dale. I just can't accept it, gentlemen. I just can't. Someone is playing tricks with you all. This simply cannot be occurring in this town."

Noah glanced back at the man. His eyes were glazed and the minister looked as though he might come unglued at any moment. Noah cut his eyes to Father Le Moyne, then back to Byron.

"Byron?" the priest said. "This has been a very trying and traumatic day for you. Why don't you rest for a few moments? Just put your head back, close your eyes, and rest. It will do you good."

"Don't you dare patronize me, Daniel!" the Methodist snapped back. "I am not a child."

"I know you're not a child, Byron. And I did not mean to patronize you. I apologize for my tone. It's just that you do not know what you are—what we are—facing in this town today."

"What happened between my wife and I has nothing to do with black magic. And this Sunday was merely a fluke of some sort," the minister stated flatly, his tone revealing his unyielding attitude on the matter. "I do not believe in the black arts. While there very well may be a gathering—a coven, if you will, in this town, of misguided men and women, I refuse to accept the premise of the Devil's actually being in Logandale. The mere thought is ludicrous."

Noah cut his eyes to the priest. The writer arched an eyebrow and sighed. "I hope you are an open-minded person, Byron. For you are about to be rudely slapped across the face by reality."

"Nonsense!"

"Byron," Father Le Moyne spoke softly. "Are you disputing the written word that in Luke the Devil claims authority over all the world?"

"Not at all, Daniel. But if I am to take that literally, then I would have to accept the premise of the individual's laying on of hands to heal, as well. Luke 4:40, 1 believe."

The priest smiled. "Are you saying that Jesus did not heal those with divers diseases?"

'That is not what I meant, Daniel," the Methodist defended his position. "And you know it."

"I know, Byron. Byron, we could talk of Satan's seeking man's destruction—in Peter. We could discuss Satan's tempting man to disobedience—Genesis. We—"

"Yes, Daniel," the minister cut him off. "I know all that. That Satan blinds the unbelievers. That he incites men to evil. That he appears as the Angel of Light. That he delights in misusing the scriptures. I am very much aware of all that. The Good Lord knows you and I have spent many a night debating all that—and more. But I do not believe in demonic possession, black magic, exorcism, witches, warlocks, things that go bump in the night, Bigfoot, the Loch Ness monster—none of that. I am telling you both, before you race about town, making utter fools of yourselves, that today was only a fluke, and nothing more."

"Like John, Byron, I feel you are about to witness something that will awe you."

"Nonsense!"

FOUR

Worried about Little Sam and Nydia, plagued by a guilty conscience, and wanting to tell Nydia what had happened the previous night, Sam returned home. He found the note.

"Gone for a drive!" Sam said, his voice echoing around the empty house. He couldn't believe it. Of all the people in Logandale, Nydia should have known how much danger they were facing. And she calmly goes out for a drive. He shook his head in disgust and mounting anger.

The dark forces began working at him, silently, invisible, insidiously.

His anger mounted. "All right," he said hotly. "If that's the way she wants to play the game, then two can play as well as one."

Sam stood for a moment in the den, looking at the chair where Janet had straddled him, taking his hardness into her hot young depths. He vividly recalled the scene: her firm breasts, jutting nipples, and soft skin. He replayed in his mind her tongue probing his lips and mouth. He recalled her hands on him.

He shook his head, attempting to clear them of those scenes. He found he could not.

"Well, it won't happen again," he muttered. "I made a mistake, and I'm going to catch hell for it." He laughed ruefully. "More truth in that than 1 might think."

Then the dark forces entered his mind. Their good friend at Nelson, Xaviere Flaubert. Sam had picked up vibes from her more than once. He felt she was ready for a brief fling … with him. Hell, why not? She was tall and well-built, with soft, long brown hair, lovely gray eyes. And the new girl in town, Desiree Lemieux. Both young women were gorgeous, beautiful. For a moment, Sam allowed himself the pleasure of mental eroticism, wondering how they would look naked.

He experienced such a heady feeling of lust he had to clench his big hands into fists and shake himself like a dog to clear his mind.

The forces slipped away and Sam was left with no conscious memory of what he had been thinking. But it was firmly implanted in his subconscious. And it would return … with a vengeance.

He went to his gun cabinet and took out his .41 mag, checking to see if it was fully loaded. It was. He slipped a handful of cartridges into his jacket pocket and left the house, carefully locking the front door. He looked in the glove box of his pickup. The .38 Chiefs Special was in leather, fully loaded. Sam, like his father whom he had never known, paid very little attention to current gun laws. Like so many law-abiding Americans, Sam believed he had a right to own one gun, or one hundred guns, if that is what he wished. And it was no business of the government, or of anyone else, how many guns he owned. Like his father, Sam was a conservative in much of his thinking.

Sam drove aimlessly through the small town, not liking the feeling that slowly crept over him as he drove. The Dark One was here, very close. Sam had no doubts about that. The feeling was too strong. And it was the same feeling he had experienced up in Canada, at Falcon House.

As he drove the nearly deserted streets, he noticed someone had thrown something through a window of the First Baptist Church, shattering the stained glass.

"It's begun," Sam muttered. "They have started. The campaign of terror will intensify." And with a sinking feeling, he knew the helpless elderly would be the first to suffer.

The very young and the very old, Sam mused. Always the ones caught in the middle.

A teenager—Sam guessed him to be about fifteen—shot looks of hate at Sam as he drove slowly past the boy. A hard feeling of dejavu struck Sam, hitting him with such force he pulled off the road at the first intersection and parked by the curb. He put his forehead on the steering wheel as his mind catapulted back in time.

Sam viewed three men in an old pickup truck. He knew the town he was seeing. Whitfield. And there was Wade Thomas and a man he didn't know in the cab of the truck. Sam's father was behind the wheel.

Sam felt his spiritual embodiment pulled closer and closer to the slowly moving pickup. God, but my dad was a big one, Sam thought. Look at the arms and shoulders on him.

Time gripped the young man in firm hands and held him in silent invisible space. He could hear his father and the other men talking, and could, somehow, know what they were thinking. He was there, flung back in time.

In front of the drive-in, the county road was blocked by milling teenagers and their cars and trucks. The three men in the pickup truck watched as a young man openly and carelessly caressed the buttocks of a teenage girl. The young man cupped both cheeks of her denim-clad buttocks. The girl giggled obscenely, rubbing against his crotch.

"The preacher's daughter," Wade said. "Margaret Farben."

"Yes," Sam replied. He cut his eyes. "Look at that."

A teenage boy had a teenage girl backed up against a car, her Levi-clad legs spread wide, the boy between them, hunching, crotch to crotch.

"I believe," Sam said dryly, "if memory serves me correctly, we used to call that dry-fucking."

"Sam!" Wade was shocked. He knew his preacher was a maverick—everybody knew that. But not this much a maverick.

"Pardon my bluntness," the minister said. "But what would you call it?"

Wade shook his head. A light, airy sensation had overtaken him at the sight of all this sexual display. He experienced a slight erection. He could not clear his head.

"Sam!" Wade shouted.

"Steady, Wade," the minister cautioned him. "Fight it. All this is being staged for us. It's set up by Satan. Fight it."

"Let's try to get through them without trouble," Chester said.

Then that would be Chester Stokes, young Sam thought through time and mist. My father's good friend. Dad had finally been forced to kill Mr. Stokes after the man had become one of the undead. (The Devil's Kiss)

But how do I know all this? And why is this happening to me? And what is the point—the message here?

Sam drifted, his mind's eyes absorbing the scenes of years past.

The young people would not let the men through.

Their profanity was shocking. They shouted things at the men Wade would not have believed had he not been present.

Chester merely shook his head in disgust.

"Mother-fucker!" a boy shouted at the men.

A girl, perhaps fifteen, at most, leaned against the truck. She winked at Sam. She smelled bad. "Want some pussy, preacher?" She opened her shirt, exposing braless breasts to him.

Sam averted his eyes, looking straight ahead. Suddenly, as if on some silent cue, the crowd of young people parted. The road was empty, the kids returning to the drive-in. A car, bearing out-of-state plates drove slowly down the road.

"They know," the minister muttered. "I don't know how they do, but somehow all of them knew that car wasn't local."

"Sam! Let's stop the car and tell the people what's happening."

"No," Sam told Wade. "Do you want more innocent people to die?"

"No," the newspaper owner whispered.

"Then just calm down. I want to see what the kids do after this car passes."

When the vehicle passed and was out of sight, the young people once more blocked the road.

"Silent signals," Sam said. "From the Devil."

"If we let him," Chester said, "the Devil, 1 mean, or those working with him, they have the power to cloud our minds, right?"

"That's it," Sam replied.

Young Sam was returned to the present with shocking force. He looked around him. This was not Whitfield. It was Logandale.

Sam was bathed in sweat. His hands trembled. He willed them to cease their trembling.

"Dad," he whispered. "Are you here with me? Now? What are you trying to tell me? Show me? I know it's you, Dad. Tell me!"

But only silence greeted his questions.

He dropped the truck into gear and pulled away from the curb. He was a very confused young man. Then his mind became once more clouded as forces took control. When he finally shook the clouds away, he was on the outskirts of town, near the Giddon House and Fox Estate. He slowed and gazed at the ominous-appearing stone structure known as the Giddon House. The stone fence surrounding the place was at least ten feet high, with spikes and barbed wire on top of the fence. The gates were massive, looking to be made of thick steel.

Sam then experienced the hardest thrust of evil he had felt in three years. And it came from the Giddon House.

Sam drove on past the ending of the stone fence. He stopped when he saw Desiree Lemieux standing in the driveway of Fox Estate.

She waved at him and Sam backed up, rolling down the window on the passenger side.

"Desiree," he said with a smile. "Waiting for a bus?"

She looked confused for a moment, then laughed as she caught the joke. "No. After that horrible night last night, this day is so beautiful 1 wanted to go for a walk. 1 had just left the house. Where are you going? I'm sorry," she quickly added. "I did not mean to pry into your private affairs."

I'd like to have an affair with you, Sam thought. And it did not appear odd to him to be thinking in that manner.

Soft gray eyes touched Sam.

On the upper level of the mansion, Jimmy Perkins peeked through heavy drapes, watching the mistress of the house talk to Sam Balon. He was not afraid of her telling the young man of his presence. Everything had been arranged, set in motion by the Master.

"No apologies necessary, Desiree," Sam said. "I was just going for a drive. Would you like to come along?"

Those gray eyes once again touched him. Very intimately, Sam felt. He had heard all about these French women. He wondered if all or part of it was true.

"Won't your wife object? I can see you're wearing a wedding band."

Forces battled inside his head. The darker force soon became victorious. "No," Sam heard himself say. "Nydia won't mind." Hell, why should she? She's out doing … something. Then the gossip came to him. Maybe she's doing it with somebody. The gossip. Where had he heard it? He couldn't recall. But it was something about his wife and that young Le Moyne boy. Sam could not know that Janet had planted the thought in his mind while he was making love to the teenager. Sam had heard all the stories about young Le Moyne and his being so well-endowed that about half the women in Logandale were panting after him. But Jon, or so the story went, was supposed to be so religious.

Hell, Sam thought, if he's any better endowed than I am, he's doing very well for himself.

So religious, the ugly thoughts once more entered the mind of the young man. Maybe he covers up the Bible when he fucks.

Sam hid a chuckle at the obscene thought. The sensing of evil from the Giddon House had left him. He did not know the reason for that was because he was so close to the evil, the good in him was outweighed when the darker forces were worked so intensely.

"In that case," Desiree said, "I would like to take a ride with you." She got in the truck and Sam pulled back onto the road. She said, "I haven't made any friends here in Logandale yet. It's—rather lonesome." She looked at the big .41 mag on the front seat, between them. She said nothing about it. But her eyes lingered long on the weapon.

"You won't be lonesome very long," Sam assured her. He smiled "Not after the men around here get a look at you, bet on it."

Desiree returned the smile. "You're very kind. I thank you for the compliment, Sam. But I don't date very much."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I find that men all have the same thing on their mind. I am not opposed to a man/woman relationship, but I would rather be the one doing the choosing. Do you find that odd, Sam?"

"No, not at all. I can understand that." He cut his eyes at her, thinking: So choose me and let's get it on, honey.

He shook his head, not understanding his thoughts lately.

Sam did not see Nydia pulling up to an intersection. He did not see her look of shock at seeing her husband with another woman. He was through the intersection before he pulled his eyes back to the road.

Nydia watched them drive past, heading out into the country. Black rage filled her, compounded—although Nydia, like Sam, did not realize the powers of the Dark One were responsible for it. Nydia was so angry she was trembling. She did not know who the young woman was, catching only a quick glimpse of her. But from Sam's description of Desiree Lemieux, and since they were coming from the direction of Fox Estate, Nydia was sure it was Desiree.

"You bastard!" Nydia cursed her husband. She gripped the steering wheel so hard her fingers ached. She forced herself into calmness. "All right," she muttered through clenched teeth. "That's just dandy. If that's the way he wants to behave, that's just fine with me."

"That's right," that whispering voice entered her mind. "He screws the teenager last night, the Frenchwoman today. And you sit about and mope. It doesn't have to be that way. You know where to go. He is waiting for you. Young, virile, handsome. Think what a coup it would be for you to teach a handsome young man all about sex; all the marvels of a man and a woman."

Nydia sat frozen at the intersection.

"Go on," the voice whispered. "Go on."

The voice faded from her mind. She returned to reality. She remembered nothing of the whispering voice. But her subconscious did. She turned toward town. Toward the street where Jon Le Moyne lived. She followed dark silent directions as her anger grew.

Janet sat in her room, looking at Little Sam playing on the floor. He looked up at her, an unfamiliar light in his eyes.

Janet stared at him. Something was odd about the boy. Something she did not understand. He suddenly looked mean, almost vicious.

As quickly as the strange look appeared on the boy's face, it was gone. The child returned to its play.

"Odd," Janet murmured. "Very odd. Could it be that he is one of us?"

But no messages came to her. Nothing whispered in her head. No winds blew, containing any sign from her Master. Nothing.

She continued watching the little boy at play. She was restless, desiring some action. She wanted a man. Last night had only whetted her appetite. But she had her orders from the Master. And she knew she must obey. She was pacified with the knowledge that soon— very soon, hours, perhaps—she could be satisfied sexually by all the men she desired. Including, hopefully, Sam Balon … again.

As he drove, Sam wondered how Desiree could be so unconcerned. How she could not somehow sense … something strange going on in the town. And then all that was swept from his mind. He could not remember what he had been thinking of.

Then he remembered it was a Sunday and he asked, "Are you a Catholic, Desiree?"

"I am nothing," she replied. "Agnostic, if anything. My—parents," she seemed to stumble over that word, "do not attend church, so therefore I was not brought up in one."

"My father was a minister."

"So you attend church regularly."

"I'm afraid not, Desiree. I know I should, but I fell out of the habit."

"And you and Nydia have been married—"

"For three years." He didn't tell her they had performed the wedding ceremony themselves. "A very good marriage, I think."

She put a soft hand on his forearm. Her perfume drifted to him. "I would like for us to be friends, Sam. Close friends. I think you are the type of person a woman could talk with. And I'd like very much to meet Nydia."

"I believe you two would get along just great." About like a cobra and a mongoose, taking in her present mood. "I'll ask her to come over and chat with you. Maybe then we could all get together and chat."

Reality returned in a hot rush. What in the hell am I thinking of? Sam again shook his head, but he could not clear his head.

"That would be very nice," she replied. Was that a note of insincerity in her voice? Sam's head seemed a bit clearer now, as they drove further into the countryside.

"Where is Nydia this morning?" Desiree asked.

"I don't know," Sam replied honestly. "She left me a note saying she was going for a drive. She does that occasionally," he lied.

Why am I defending her with lies? he thought. Guilty conscience, maybe?

Then he could not remember why he had a guilty conscience.

"Umm," was Desiree's reply to that.

Sam's eyes picked up movement on the side of the road just up ahead. He slowed down. They were on the highway that linked with the county road to the ski lodge.

It had been two men, Sam was certain of that. But when he got to the point where he had watched them jump into the woods, they were no where in sight.

A highway marker sat in the middle of the road, blocking it from shoulder to shoulder. "Road Closed" the sign read. Sam pulled over and stopped.

"Why is this road closed?" Desiree asked.

"1 don't know. I thought I saw some men up here just a second ago, but they're gone." He got out of the truck and walked up to the sign. Desiree followed him. The road was sealed tight. No way for any type of vehicle to enter or leave on this section of highway.

Sam's mind cleared enough for logic to prevail. This is a county road, he thought. Until the lodge opens when the snow comes, there wouldn't be much traffic on this road, so its closing wouldn't inconvenience a great many people. But it was a way out that had been blocked. But in his present mental state, it was difficult for him to bring to mind the full scope of the situation and why it was important for this road to remain open.

He turned and bumped into Desiree. She stumbled and grabbed at his arm for support. For a long, soft moment she was pressing against him, both of them obviously enjoying the encounter, and wishing to retain it for as long as possible.

Sam looked down into pale gray eyes set in a heart-shaped face. Very smooth, unblemished skin, very soft-looking lips. It was a moment that was inevitable, considering the moment and the mood.

Their lips met in a kiss that both wanted.

For a young lady that avoided men because they all had only one thing on their mind, she responded with a passion that took Sam by surprise.

She could feel his maleness pressing against her, and Sam could feel the heat from her pressing against him. He moved against her and she responded, moving her hips, grinding them hard against him. His hand slipped down to her buttocks, caressing the softness.

Her tongue probed his mouth and her hands softly crawled over him, gripping the hard muscles of his arms and shoulders.

"Well, now," a voice from the road ditch broke them breathlessly apart. "Ain't this cute?"

Sam jerked away from Desiree and was conscious of her hot breath on his face. She was breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling from the heat of the moment past. Three men stood between the timber and the road. One standing in the ditch, two just behind him, on the downward slope facing the road. Sam knew their faces but not their names. He did recognize the types, however. Every community has them: borderline thugs; almost outlaws; always standing on the ragged edge of lawlessness, ready to do anything evil and ugly and nasty.

"Getting your hands full of young stuff, huh, Balon?" one of them asked with a lewd grin.

"Get in the truck," Sam whispered to Desiree. "Go on, do it."

She slipped away and walked quickly to the truck, a strange look in her eyes. Sam said nothing to the men until Desiree was safely inside the cab. Only then did he turn to the trio of men.

Sam was approaching his twenty-fifth birthday, a senior at Nelson College. But from age seventeen to twenty-one, Sam had been a member of the U.S. Army's elite Rangers. The Rangers, founded in 1756, is one of, if not the oldest unit in the history of America. And not much is made public about them. Especially a tiny, very select group within them, made up of men from all services. Sam had been part of that unit.

Sam, even before the combat at Falcon House, was not a stranger to blood and killing. He had been assigned three kills during his tenure with a small force of men—and a few women—known as Dog Teams, unknown even to the most active military personnel, and had completed each mission. He was a skilled member of the martial arts community, and could kick as high as a ballet dancer—but with a much more lethal effect.

Right now, Sam was wondering how the man knew his name. And more importantly, why. "You figure that's any of your business, pus-gut?" Sam asked, some clarity returning to him, the adrenalin overriding the murkiness in his brain.

The spokesman for the trio, a man who looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, flushed at Sam's challenging and insulting question. He was a burly man, with thick arms, padded with muscles, heavy shoulders, and a barrel chest. He also had a beer belly hanging over his belt buckle. He said, "You just about a smart-ass, ain't you, punk?"

Autumn colors were beginning to paint the land. The timber behind the men shone in spots like burnished copper. Birches dotted the timber, and the needles of the tamaracks were drooping downward. Small junipers, red cedars, maple and beech were in abundance. Stalks of goldenrod stood in the open spaces. It was the beginning of a beautiful season near the park.

"I've been known to speak my mind," Sam replied. There was no backup in the young man. He had proved himself, to himself, too many times to be in the least bit timid.

The man balled his hands into fists.

"Not yet, Mack," the man to his right said. "Not yet. "It isn't time."

The burly man relaxed. He grinned at Sam. His teeth were yellow, with several missing, leaving black gaps in his mouth. "O.K., boy," he said. "You can go pat your young pussy some more. You're off the hook—for awhile."

The trio wheeled about and quickly disappeared into the timber. They moved swiftly and silently among the brush, and Sam knew they were all expert woodsmen. He tucked that thought back into his mind for storage.

Sam walked back to his truck, backed up and turned around, heading back to town.

"What in the world was that all about?" Desiree asked. "Those men frightened me."

Sam glanced at her. She did indeed appear to be frightened. Her face was pale.

"I don't know, Desiree," he replied, the clouds once more gathering in his mind, slowing reason. "Local roughnecks, I guess. Looking for a laugh at someone else's expense. You find them all over the country. Down in our Southern states, law-abiding people call them trash. I'm not so certain that isn't an apt description of them."

She slowly nodded her head in agreement. "What did they mean: 'You're off the hook—for awhile?' What's going on in this town, Sam?"

Sam fought to clear his head, and succeeded for a moment. He could not for the life of him recall how he came to be with Desiree. He remembered kissing her, holding her, but could not understand why he did those things. He could remember nothing about Janet. He shook his head.

"Are you all right, Sam?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "I wish I knew."

"Turn here," the dark voice whispered in Nydia's brain. "It's all right. You are doing the correct thing, and you know it."

"Yes," she muttered.

She turned down the street where Jon Le Moyne lived. Something … odd seemed to be in possession of her mental and physical functions. Or at least that part of her she inherited from her mother. Any doubts as to the wrongfulness of what she was doing were blown away, leaving her mind under the lightless throes of the evil that clung invisibly about her.

She slowed when she saw Jon sitting on the front steps of his house. She pulled over to the curb and cut the engine. It was very quiet in this part of town. She could see no one. But they were watching her from the shaded windows of homes. She looked at Jon. He was a very handsome young man.

As if by magic—which it was, of the darker type—Nydia viewed the clear picture of Sam and Desiree leaping into her mind, and the old rage became fresh, stronger than ever before.

"Go to him," the voice whispered.

Still Nydia hesitated, the good within her battling the evil.

Jon sat on the porch, looking at the woman he had erotically shared so many nights and dreams with. Soon he would be touching her skin, gently cupping the breasts he had passionately kissed in his fevered imagination. He would be feeling her hands on him. The coven leader had told him last night Nydia would be coming to him. Jon had not thought that possible, but did not question the Leader.

Now she was here.

Nydia's hands gripped the steering wheel as more powerful, darker forces entered her mind, the forces bringing with them the actual scenes of Sam and Desiree standing by the road, embracing, kissing, touching, grinding against each other. She watched as Sam's hand slipped down the young woman's waist to caress her buttocks.

"You bastard!" she hissed.

And Evil defeated Good once more.

The vision faded. Nydia got out of the car and walked up toward the boy. He stood up and opened the screen door to the porch. She hesitated for only a few seconds, then stepped inside the door. The door closed behind her.

"No!" the voice spoke like thunder. "We interfered once before. This time they must combat the Dark One by themselves."

The ageless warrior of warriors looked at his God.

"They are mortals fighting forces they cannot understand or reckon with."

"They understand!" the voice roared, echoing throughout the firmament. "They have only to open the pages of their Bible and read it! It is all there for them to learn."

"They don't have the time."

"How much time does it take to read, 'Thou shalt have no other gods before me!'"

The warrior gripped his sword. He turned to leave.

"I forbid your leaving the firmament."

A smile played across the mighty warrior's lips. His beard moved as he spoke. "What would You have done with me, then? Banishment?"

"You would not be the first," the warrior was reminded. "But banishment was your choice of punishment, not mine."

"You will consider the problem?"

"Don't I always?"

"Sometimes for eons." The warrior's reply was dry as the pits of hell are hot.

"Michael, old warrior friend, not everything can be solved by the sword."

"Would You prefer the jawbone of an ass?"

The returning sigh was as thunder rolling across the heavens. "Sometimes I wonder why I continue to tolerate such impudence."

"Because absolute power corrupts!" the warrior said with a laugh that roared and rumbled like a hurricane.

He could not suppress the chuckle. "Leave me for a time; I will consider your request.'

"I knew You would."

And the heavens were silent.

FIVE

Sam cleared his head for a time—something cleared it—and drove past his house, intending to take Desiree in to meet Nydia. But his wife's car was still gone. For a reason the young man could not fathom, that irritated him, rubbed his ability to reason down to raw nerve ends. He ground his teeth together and silently swore. He was conscious of Desiree looking at him, a curious look in her eyes.

The young woman proved her astuteness when she said, "Sam, if you and your wife are having troubles of some sort, being with me is the last thing you need at this time."

Sam went on the defensive—with a little unknown help. "What I do, Desiree, is my business. Besides, there are—certain things you don't know; no way you could know about them. Perhaps this is the time to—" He went blank. He could not remember what he was about to say. He blinked, then met her gaze. "What was I just saying?"

She returned the blink and added a smile. "It was nothing, Sam. Don't worry about it."

"O.K. Let's drive a bit more."

"I am with you, Sam."

They began circling the town, the anger steadily growing in Sam. She just dumped the boy and took off, he thought. She knew where I was going; I told her that last night after going to bed. But she chooses not to tell me a goddamn thing. Hell with her.

"Perhaps she is with her lover," a voice whispered in Sam's brain.

Yeah, Sam thought. Maybe.

"Perhaps she is searching for the ultimate orgasm. Didn't she once tell you that she liked a teeny bit of pain mixed in with her pleasures?"

Did Nydia say that? Sam pondered. Yeah, I guess she did. But he couldn't remember when.

"Jon Le Moyne would certainly give her just a teeny bit of pain with the pleasure."

The voice faded.

There was that name again. It was coming up with too much frequency not to have some truth behind it.

He looked to his right at an intersection and stomped on the brakes so hard the rear tires sang against the pavement.

"Sam!" Desiree protested. "What is it? What's wrong?" She fell back against the seat.

Sam expelled a long breath. He looked at Desiree. "I guess the stories are true after all. That just about confirms it in my mind. That's my wife's car parked right over there, on the left side of the street."

"All right. So she's visiting a friend. What is so wrong about that?"

"That friend is a high school student. A junior, I think." How did I know that? "A boy. But a young boy so well-equipped in the manhood department a lot of * women in this community would give anything to bed him down—so the stories go. I've heard stories, rumors, gossip, about my wife and Jon Le Moyne. Lot of stories." But he could not recall the source of a single story. That thought quickly left him. It was replaced just as quickly by hot anger and a feeling for revenge. His time with Janet was something that had been, for the time, blocked from him.

"Well," Desiree said. "I see. She must be quite brazen to park her car in front of her lover's house in broad daylight. My people are a bit more discreet than that. Perhaps she doesn't care if you find them out, oui?"

Sam opened his mouth to tell her that perhaps Nydia was under the control of the Devil, but that was wiped from his mind before it could transmit to his tongue.

Sam said, "Well if she doesn't care, then I damn sure don't. Can you blame me for that?"

"A quelque chose malheur est bon," Desiree said with a smile and a mischievous sparkle in her gray eyes.

"I used to speak fair French, but not anymore. What did you say?"

"That it was an ill wind that blows no good. For somebody," she added in English.

"Yes," Sam replied, returning the smile. A thought came to him. By God, he'd show Nydia. "Fox Estate must be beautiful. I've heard a lot about it. Would you show it to me?"

Enchanté, Sam."

They had gathered at Monty and Viv Draper's home. Noah Crisp, Father Le Moyne, Byron Price, Joe Bennett, Mille LaMeade, and her friend, Ginny. They were joined by the minister of the Baptist church, Richard Hasseling, and John Morton of the Episcopal church. John Morton's wife was at home, and Hasseling was a young bachelor.

Monty listened to the phone ring on the other end of the line for the tenth time. For the tenth time he hung up. "I don't know where they are," he said. "This is not like Sam." He paused. "Now, why did I say that? I scarcely know him."

Hasseling waved a hand impatiently. "No matter, Chief Draper. What does matter at this time is the frame of mind you people appear to be in. I'm worried about you all. The Devil is in Logandale? Satan is responsible for the lack of church attendance today? Really, people!" He fought unsuccessfully to hide his smile and to keep his contempt out of his tone. "Come on, all of you. This is just a very elaborate joke on your part that fell flat."

The Episcopal's opinion of what he had just heard was not much better than the Baptist's. "I'll admit, Daniel, I'm concerned about what happened today, or perhaps I should say what didn't happen on this day. But I am not yet ready to say the Devil is alive and well and living in Logandale."

"It's all nonsense and we are wasting our time here," the Methodist said. "I cannot believe I have sat here and actually listened to all this."

"You all had best take this seriously," Noah informed the ministers. "For I assure you all, this is not a joke. Please believe me."

The pastor of the Fundamentalist church, the Pentecost church, the Assembly of God church, and several others were all seen by Father Le Moyne and Noah. One had slammed the door in their faces, another had been quite rude, and the others had openly laughed at the men.

The Episcopalian vacillated for a moment. "All right, Daniel. I'll stay and hear this out," he finally said. "I have to admit my children are—have been—behaving a bit strangely."

That word again, Monty thought. It keeps popping up every hour or so.

"If you people are so certain Satan is in Logandale," Hasseling said, this time making no attempt to hide his smile, "and there is a coven active in this town, this community, why don't you call the state police and let them handle it?" The young minister leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. His smile was more than a bit on the smug side.

The self-satisfied smile was infuriating to Noah. The writer resisted an urge to get up, walk over to the preacher, and slap the piss out of him.

Here we go again, Mille thought, as she looked at Monty. She could tell he was getting angry.

"Because they wouldn't believe us," Monty said. "We have no proof."

"And you never will have any proof," Hasseling said. "Because there isn't any proof. All this is a figment of your overactive imaginations." He laughed aloud.

Noah leaned forward and shocked everybody in the room by saying, "Preacher, when those coven members out there," he said and jerked his thumb, "successfully take over this town—and they will, if we don't band together and fight them, and bend you over a table and shove a ten inch cock up your ass, maybe then you'll believe us."

"Whooo!" Mille said with a laugh. "That'd be a sight to see."

"Noah!" Father Le Moyne said.

Viv had to fight to hide a smile.

"Lordy!" Joe said.

Hasseling's face grew red and he was about to respond when something came shattering through the picture window of the den. The heavy object bounced on the floor, leaving a wet red smear as it slid to a halt at Richard Hasseling's feet. Richard took one look at the horrible thing and vomited up his breakfast.

There would be no turning back for her now. She was under the full power of the Dark One. Standing this close to evil, Nydia could but obey the messages her brain was receiving from the forces that gleefully guided her actions.

She could function, she could ask questions, but she had no control over her actions. "Where are your parents, Jon?"

"Syracuse," the young man said. He reached out and ran his hand down the side of her face, caressing the softness of her throat. He hesitantly fondled a breast. When she did not draw away from his touch, he pressed both hands to her breasts. "They were coming back today, but I just got a call from the state police telling me they were killed in a car accident early this morning."

Part of her mind registered shock at the matter-of-fact manner he related and was responding to the death of his parents. But that small part of her mind was being overridden by the evil transmitted to her. "Your father is the priest's brother? Father Le Moyne?"

"Yeah," the young man said. He unbuttoned her blouse and licked his lips at the sight of her bra. He touched the soft flesh of her.

"Have you notified Father Le Moyne?"

"Naw. Who gives a shit? The bodies will be here late this afternoon anyways. Then he'll get a chance to see them tonight." Jon giggled. "And I mean really see them. You know what I mean?"

That small part of her mind that still functioned under her control recoiled at what she knew he was saying. His parents were now a part of the living dead. The undead. And the boy thought it funny. Again, that part of her mind was overridden by the dark forces. She stood passively as he slipped her blouse from her shoulders and dropped the garment to the floor. She felt coolness on bare skin. His hands caressed her, found the clasp to her bra, and that followed her blouse to the floor. Her breasts swung free.

Jon touched one nipple with a trembling fingertip. The nipple swelled. "Take off the rest of your clothes, Nydia," he told her.

She undressed and stood naked before him.

Jon ran his hands over her body, inspecting, exploring. The dark voices instructed her to respond, and she did, becoming as aroused as the boy.

He jerked his clothing from him, buttons flying and bouncing around the room. He stood naked before her, and she could not take her eyes from his hardness.

"We're going to have fun today, Nydia," he told her. "We're going to fuck away the afternoon. Just the two of us, doing things we've both dreamed of."

"All right," she heard herself say.

"Get down on your knees in front of me. You know what to do."

She knelt down on the carpet and lifted her eyes to meet his.

"Lick it," he told her.

An invisible barrier was being erected around Logandale. Extending for ten miles in any direction, the line could not be seen by the naked eye or felt by any human not confined within its barriers. But it was as real as Heaven and Hell.

The nonbelievers in Logandale, those not committed to the practices of the black arts, were trapped. There were only two ways out: accept the Dark One as a master—or die.

Out-of-town motorists driving through the barrier could not detect the line of evil. But they would not stop within the ten miles the system spanned, encircling the designated area of control. Logandale and Nelson College were slowly being cut off from the outside world. Good would soon be replaced by Evil. If all went as the Prince of Darkness planned; if his orders were carried out by his followers as he dictated; if God or his warrior did not intervene … then for the first time in the history of the United States, one entire community would be under the powers of the Prince of Hell. The Lord of Flies. Master of Darkness and Evil.

If all went as planned.

It looked good to the leader of the coven and his council. The daughter of the Prince was here, and the Princess would soon make her move against Sam Balon. Very soon, young Mr. Balon would no longer be any threat. Very soon.

The object that had shattered its way into the den of the Draper house, and into the lives of the people gathered there had, in its living form, been a poodle. It now resembled, at best, something out of a horror movie. The little animal had been skinned and its belly sliced open. When it was hurled through the window, its intestines and other organs were sprayed all over the room. Joe found the heart and liver in his lap. He yelled and threw the bloody objects off him.

Byron Price looked down at the floor. A gray pile of intestines lay by his feet.

John Morton stared in undisguised revulsion at the red smear of blood on the floor.

Viv and Mille both held back screams, checking the outrage in their throats.

Monty Draper cussed.

Father Le Moyne crossed himself while Noah fought back sickness that gathered hotly in his stomach, threatening to boil from his mouth.

Ginny sat in numbed shock.

And Richard Hasseling puked on his shoes.

"It's begun," Father Le Moyne said. "We failed to heed the warnings. Now it's begun. And it may be too late for any of us."

"No!" Hasseling screamed, jumping from his chair. "It's a filthy game of some sort."

"It's filthy, all right," Noah told him. "But as I tried to tell you before, this is no game. Now maybe you'll pull your head out of your ass and wise up."

"Don't you dare speak to me in that manner!" the minister shouted at the writer.

Noah adjusted his beret. "Oh—stuff it, you prissy prig."

"Gentlemen," Monty said wearily. "We don't need to fight among ourselves. We—"

Mille began screaming, pointing to the hallway. A foul odor filled the den.

Something about Fox Estate reminded Sam of Falcon House. Perhaps it was its hugeness. He didn't know. But something about it …

Then all thoughts of Falcon House were wiped from his mind. Sam was frozen in time as Nydia entered his mind. His wife was standing nude in a bedroom, a young man facing her. He was naked, his erection jutting out from his lean body. Sam watched Nydia take the erection in her hands and caress it. The young man fondled her breasts. One hand left her breasts and lingered between her legs.

The scene faded from Sam's mind, leaving wild, hot anger in its place. He clenched his hands into fists and wanted to strike out at something.

"Not strike to cause physical pain," a voice entered his head. "But there is a way to seek revenge for her unfaithfulness."

Sam listened as the voice gave him instructions. He smiled his satisfaction.

"Yes," Sam murmured. "That's what I'll do."

He was left with no conscious memory of the voice or the instructions.

Sam turned at Desiree's footsteps behind him. She was carrying a silver service, a pot of coffee on the tray. She smiled at him and said, "Let's sit over by the window. The view is so nice from there."

A lot better than what I just viewed, Sam thought. He did not question how he was able to bring to his mind's eye the infidelity. Something nagged at him, but he was unable to pinpoint the cause.

"1 apologize for what happened back there on the side of the road," Desiree said. "Something—something came over me. I don't know how to explain it. I've never experienced anything like it before."

"You don't have to apologize to me, Desiree. Truly, I enjoyed it."

"Truly," she said shyly, "so did I."

They drank their coffee and nibbled on small cookies in silence. They studiously avoided any eye contact until it became obvious to both of them they had best either play the hands they were dealt, or fold.

"Why are we behaving like this?" Desiree asked. "Something is the matter with me."

Sam struggled for full use of his senses. She watched the young man's face dot with sweat. She looked at him curiously. Sam gripped the small table's edges with his big hands.

"Desiree!" he blurted. "Can't you feel this—"

Sam could not finish the sentence. He could not remember what he was about to say. He knew only that he wanted the woman seated across from him.

Desiree smiled and put a small soft hand over his big hand. "1 know what I felt back on the road's edge, when you kissed me. I know that 1 have been drawn—somehow, to you from the first day I saw you, at Nelson. And those feelings have grown stronger by the hour. I want you, Sam."

She rose from her chair and came to him, drawing his head to her breasts.

Sam gave up. He was weary of fighting something he could not understand; weary of combating his failing memory and forces that were beyond his present level of comprehension. He gratefully placed his head against the softness.

With her standing, and Sam seated, he let his hands drift from her waist to her buttocks. She sighed longingly as his hands gripped her buttocks. He rose to his feet and pulled her to him, kissing her open lips, feeling her tongue meet and explore his own.

Sam did not see Jimmy Perkins watching them from the outside, peering through the window. The ageless spawn of the Devil grinned grotesquely. It was all going as planned. The Master would be so pleased.

Jimmy hoped the young couple would perform the sex act where he would be able to watch them. Jimmy enjoyed watching people fuck. But that was not to be.

Desiree and Sam left the sitting room and disappeared into the depths of the huge mansion.

"Shit!" Jimmy said. He was disappointed, but not too much so. For the Master had promised him he could have his choice of any of the young local girls very soon. Jimmy could wait that long.

In an upstairs bedroom, clothing became tangled on the carpet and male flesh touched female flesh. Breathing became tense and hot and excited. Sam tongued the nipples of Desiree until they ached from passion. He slid his mouth lower, tracing patterns on her bare belly. His tongue explored the soul of the woman as she moaned under his mouth.

She breathed love words as she gripped his erection, heavy and hot under her fingers. She cried out in pain as he entered her. Blood dotted the sheets as he penetrated the maidenhead.

Passion overrode pain and she began meeting him lunge for stroke.

The day promised much for all concerned in Logandale. On both sides of the line separating the firmament from the nether world.

None were to be disappointed.

All whirled at the sounds of Mille's screaming. All were shocked into silence and momentarily frozen in place at the sight facing them from the hall.

It was a man, but a stranger to them all. The man was pale, whiter than any living human being any had ever seen. His clothing reeked of a foulness none were familiar with, and when he opened his mouth, his breath was that of a newly opened grave.

He shuffled up the hall toward the archway, his mouth open, his tongue a horrible sickly red color, his teeth fanged, his eyes wild with a fury no human could comprehend. No one except Noah Crisp and Father Daniel Le Moyne.

The priest lunged to his feet, the large cross in his right hand. He rudely shoved Monty and Mille aside and stood in the dimly lit hallway. He held the cross up to Max Oberlin.

"Spawn of Hell!" he shouted at Max. "See this!" He thrust the cross at the undead.

Max screamed as if in intense physical pain, the breath from him fouling the close hallway, the stench drifting into the den. He shielded his eyes with his hands, deflecting the silver light from the cross of Christ.

Father Le Moyne rushed the undead, slamming into him, knocking the man backward. Max grabbed at the wall to keep from falling to the floor in the narrow hallway. The priest kicked at the living dead, hitting him on the leg. Max howled, not in pain but in confusion. Max stumbled from the hall and staggered into the kitchen, knocking chairs from the breakfast table in all directions. He lurched onto the back porch and tore the porch door from its hinges in his haste to escape the priest's rage and the hideous sight of that awful cross.

Father Le Moyne pursued him, shouting at the undead, raining down God's words on the creature. Monty grabbed the priest by the seat of the pants before he could get off the porch and hauled him back into the kitchen.

"Stay inside!" Monty yelled at the man.

Father Le Moyne calmed himself and nodded his head in agreement. "Yes. Yes, you're quite right, Chief. There is no telling what might be lurking outside in wait." He seemed confused for a moment. "But it's daylight; the sun is shining. I never knew those—things roamed about under God's sunlight."

Before Monty could reply, Richard Hasseling charged into the kitchen. "Do you have any idea what you're saying, Daniel? Have you any idea what you're implying?" He was screaming the questions. His face was pale and his hands were trembling. "That poor man was ill. Perhaps mentally deranged. But he wasn't a—a vampire! Good Lord, man—have you taken leave of your senses? Get a grip on yourself, Daniel. You people are carrying this joke just a bit too far!"

Catholic had taken just about all of Baptist he could safely tolerate. Le Moyne looked at Hasseling and said disgustedly, "Oh—stick it in your ear, Richard!"

SIX

Max ran from the house in fright and confusion. He did not care where he ran, just get away. The sight of the Cross had filled him with dread. And the bright sun was hurting his eyes. He did not know what he was, where he was, and what had caused this change in him. He knew only that he must have blood to survive. The blood of an animal would not do. He must have fresh human blood. And have it quickly. He had awakened in the rear of an emergency unit, disoriented and weak. He could not remember his name, what he did for a living, or even where he lived. All he knew for sure was that he was caught between two worlds. And this was all there would ever be for him. How he knew that was now beyond his now rather limited sphere of comprehension; but he knew.

He ran down the small alley and ducked into the rear of a house. He slipped onto the back porch and looked inside. A man and a woman were in the kitchen, having a snack of pie and coffee.

"Gimmie another piece of this pie, Ann," the man said. "Stuffs almost good as pussy."

Ann laughed, cut him another piece of pie, and left the kitchen.

Ann was on the pudgy side, but still attractive. The man was grossly overweight. Heart attack candidate, Max thought, then wondered why he would think that.

The man's back was to Max. Max looked around and spotted a small axe leaning against the wall. He picked it up. He slipped into the kitchen, raised the hatchet over his head, and sank the bit into the man's head. The man died without making a sound. His face dropped with a plop into his second helping of pie. Apple. His brains splattered all over the table. Max knelt down and lapped at the blood from the man's shattered head. He spit out a bit of pie—that was distasteful to him—and continued lapping at the flow of blood.

He heard the woman returning and stepped quickly behind a door. Ann stepped into the kitchen, viewed the scene before her, wet her pants, then fainted without making a sound.

When she came to her senses, having been out for no more than a couple of minutes, she was naked on the kitchen floor, Max hunching between her wide spread legs, thrusting himself into her. Her neck was sore, and she thought she must have hurt it when she fell. She tried to fight the man raping her, but found his strength too much. She tried to scratch him, and that got her a brutal fist to the jaw. She dropped into darkness, not understanding why the man was saying, "It will be all right in a few minutes. You'll see. Then you will understand."

She fell into unconsciousness at the sound of him sucking at her neck.

When she returned to consciousness, she was very weak, scarcely able to move. Her arms and legs were cold, as if they had been drained of blood. She looked at the half naked man standing over her. She tried to call to him, to ask him for help. But the words would not form on her tongue; her tongue felt swollen and thick.

Max laughed at her, a wild, insane light in his eyes. He picked up the small axe. She watched in horror as he laughed and brought the axe down on her chest. She could feel very little pain as he hacked at her. She closed her eyes.

Max hacked at the naked woman, chopping off one arm at the elbow and then whacking off one foot at the ankle. He mangled her chest and face. Max threw down the axe and pulled on his trousers. He found a pair of sunglasses and put them on. He felt much better as he left the house. He kept to the shadows, doing his best to stay out of direct sunlight.

After a few minutes, Ann stirred on the kitchen floor and crawled to her hands and knees. Two knees, one hand.

There was blood splattered all over the kitchen. But it was her husband's blood, not hers.

She pulled herself up and caught the edge of the stove for support and heaved herself up, holding onto the stove for balance. Half her face was missing, but most of her teeth were still in her face. Four of her teeth had changed in shape and size. She lurched around the kitchen, finding a hammer and some clothesline cord. She tied the hammer handle around her severed ankle. Ann lurched and banged and clumped about the house, knocking over tables and lamps. She thudded into a bedroom, found her housecoat, and covered her mangled nakedness. She looked out into the street and found the bright sunlight hurt her eyes.

She was weak and very thirsty, but decided she had best wait until night before leaving the house. She thudded and banged her way back to the kitchen and stood for a moment, looking at her dead husband. She felt no emotions. She craved blood. But she did not want to lap at his cold blood. She grinned hideously.

She wanted hot living blood.

Nydia looked at the exhausted sleeping boy sprawled naked on the bed. She silently slipped from his side. She dressed quietly and left the house. She knew she had done something very wrong, but despite the feeling, she could not completely shake off the lingering effects of the Dark One's grip.

Then she felt guilt wash over her in waves. She mentally fought the forces of evil, winning a small battle. Then the pleasures she had experienced with Jon overrode the small victory. She pulled away from the curb, aware of the many faces looking at her. A face seemed to fill each window of every house along the block. The eyes were of the darkest evil. Nydia shuddered as she felt the corruption touching her.

She won another battle as she fought off the staring eyes.

She wondered why she had come to Jon's house. It wasn't his skill as a lover. Other than a monster cock the boy knew nothing of lovemaking.

Something important was taking place in Logandale; something important was happening. But she couldn't recall what it was. She had to struggle to remember it was Sunday. And where was Little Sam. She couldn't remember. Oh, yes—at Janet's. She would go there and get him.

She shook her head. What was the matter with her?

Sam gently slipped from the bed. Desiree lay sprawled in sexually induced sleep.

Sam wanted to say something to her but didn't know what to say. What could he say? Thanks for a fantastic fuck?

A virgin. Desiree had been a virgin. Now that passion was sated that fact could astonish him. She had been a virgin.

He stood over her, looking at her nakedness. A beautiful woman. No doubt about that. And her resemblance to Xaviere was uncanny. Sam shook his head and dressed. He pulled a sheet over the sleeping woman and left the room, quietly closing the door. He felt a bit uneasy about leaving her alone in the great house … but something nagged at him; told him to get away. He had something to do. But what? He couldn't remember. He slipped quietly down the curving stairway, out the front door, and into the sunlight.

There, guilt and shame struck his conscience with a hammer-blow.

Twice I have been unfaithful to my wife. I made love to another woman and this time I did so willingly.

"But your wife was enjoying the fruits of the young man, Jon Le Moyne," the dark whisper came to him. "She took him in her mouth and loved him in that manner."

Resolve filled Sam. He banged his fist on the fender of his truck. Full realization came to him, filling him with anger. He whirled around. "I don't care!" he shouted. "Damn you! Now I know what's been happening to me. Now I know what Dad was trying to tell me. How tricky you can be. How you can cloud minds and make wrong seem right. But it won't happen again, you scummy bastard. Now I can fight you. Now I know how. It won't happen again! Do you hear me, bastard?"

Something struck Sam in the chest, knocking him backward. He slammed against the concrete drive, the wind knocked from him. He struggled to his feet. He was slapped back to the driveway. He could hear laughter but could see no one.

"You tricked me," Sam pushed the words from his mouth. "Desiree is one of yours."

"You are all mine!" the hot wind sighed. "Mine to do with as I see fit. To play with. I am going to enjoy this, young man. Fight me if you wish. But soon you will lose. I will see you nailed to a cross; hear you screaming for mercy. I will see your wife used; every orifice filled. And I will make you watch it all."

"You mother-fucker!" Sam yelled at the voice.

The laughter once more reached him. "There will be no interference this time, Balon. None. You few are on your own."

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Sam shouted. He got to his hands and knees and felt something like a giant foot kick him in the seat of his jeans, sending him sprawling.

The hot wind laughed in Sam's face, the foulness of the wind sickening. "Puny Christian. How dare you curse me!" The wind laughed arrogantly. "My people will use you as they see fit, Balon. Then they will destroy you—after you have begged my mercy and renounced your God. Let's make this a game, Balon. 1 will return your wits; to all of you. All participants. You are free to fight me. So fight me, pukey Christian."

Sam found he could not move. He was pinned in a helpless squat on the concrete. Hot stinking rain began to fall on him, the liquid foul-smelling. Sam squatted in helpless rage.

He was being pissed on.

Nydia's senses returned to her in a hot rush of clarity. She pulled off the road and parked on the curb. Tears ran from her eyes, the silver streams rolling down her cheeks. Now she knew what had happened: She had been tricked. Her encounter with Jon Le Moyne had been arranged by the Dark One. She had been set up and had fallen into the trap like a child reaching for candy.

And it became clear to her now that Sam's behavior had been influenced by the dark forces in Logandale. And with that knowledge came the realization that Desiree Lemieux was not a child of the Dark One. The young woman had been duped along with the rest of them. But, like Sam, Nydia knew Sam's demon child was near. But who was it?

"Oh, what a sight you made today," the dark evil whisper reached Nydia. A hot wind sighed around the car. "Squatting naked on the floor and orally loving my young convert." The wind laughed obscenely. "So now you see how easy it is, my turncoat half-daughter. You see how weak and silly your faith is? Of course, you do. You see how simple it is for me? Bah! It is no contest this way. I release you to fight me in any manner you find acceptable. You may now go join your silly friends. But you will remember your time spent with young Le Moyne. You will remember the sensation of him plunging into your depths. You will remember all the emotions he invoked within you, and who knows, they may pull you back to him—very unexpectedly." The wind laughed hotly and smugly as it faded.

Nydia felt unclean as she pulled out into the road. She longed for a hot bath. Anything to help alleviate this feeling of filth covering her mind and body.

She drove to Janet's and parked on the street, by the curb. Again, she was conscious of evil eyes watching her. Nydia walked slowly up the walkway. Janet met her on the porch. Something had changed in the girl's eyes. But what was it? Nydia was too tired and emotionally drained to understand. But full comprehension was only seconds away. She held out her arms and Little Sam came to her.

Janet said, "Tell me, Nydia: Did you have a nice drive around town?"

Nydia looked into young/old eyes. Eyes of evil. Hooded as a cobra. The evil mocked the woman. Full understanding came to Nydia. The young girl had deceived them all; all this time. Beginning back at Falcon House. Three years ago.

Janet was one of them.

Nydia stood firm as new faith filled her. "Yes, Janet. I would be lying if I said that for a time I didn't enjoy this afternoon."

"I'm certain it was very—ah—fulfilling," the teenager said with a smirk.

Nydia wanted to reach up and slap the girl. She controlled that urge and said calmly, "I don't believe we'll be needing your services any longer, Janet."

"Oh, my!" the teenager feigned great disappointment and alarm. "I must have done something to displease you, Miss Nydia."

Within the house, Janet's parents began laughing, the laughter ugly.

Deep color touched Nydia's face. She lost her temper. "You lying, deceitful, goddamned sorry little bitch!" she hissed at the girl.

Janet's eyes grew dark with uncontrolled evil. The wickedness lanced out at Nydia, touching her. The woman wanted to run but found strength within her to face the depravity leaping at her.

Janet licked her lips, running her tongue over her teeth. "This is not the end, Nydia. This is but the beginning. We will have other encounters, you and I. Some will be pleasant, others not so pleasant. I do not question my Master's actions. What is done is done. My Master and your Master have been playing this game for longer than time itself. I will admit that I do not know all the rules. But this time my Master feels the victory will be ours. Else he would not have changed the game plan. Personally, I would have kept you and Sam under our control, stumbling about in confusion, making fools of yourselves, and providing us some amusement. But I am not as smart as the Master. I do not know all or see all. So I do not know why my Master returned your clarity." She shrugged. "I am sure my Master's way is the best way. Goodbye, Nydia. Take your—child home and care for him." She laughed. "And be prepared for many surprises." She turned and walked back into the house.

Nydia stood for a moment, looking at the closed door. She could feel the evil emanating from the house, along with the odor of unwashed bodies. She walked slowly back to her car. She and Sam had a lot of talking to do; a lot of understanding to reach. A lot of planning ahead of them.

She hoped they would be strong enough to face what lay before them. She thought they would. She felt their love for each other would help greatly.

Sam was waiting on the porch of their house. She got out of the car and stood for a moment with Little Sam in her arms. She stood silently looking at the tall, muscular young man on the porch, returning the silent look. She initiated the first move toward understanding.

She walked toward him.

"We were tricked," Sam said. "Satan had both of us in his grasp. It isn't any excuse for what we did; we should have called on our faith to sustain us. But," he said with a shrug, "we can't undo what was done. We can put it behind us and look ahead."

"You know about Janet?"

"Yes. I just put it all together. It came in such a rush it was staggering."

"For me, too. Sam, I don't believe Desiree Lemieux is one of them."

"I think that way, too. But the child of the Dark One—my child, is near. I can sense the presence."

"But who could it be?"

"I don't know. It may be another of Satan's tricks. But I don't think so."

"No. I don't either." She smiled. "Sam, I hate to tell you this. But you stink."

"Tell me. The devil pissed on me. I'll tell you all about it later."

"Gross!"

"Piss and gross," Little Sam said.

The young couple began laughing. Nydia climbed the steps to the porch and kissed her husband.

"We're going to make it, Sam. I—won't say it's going to be easy. 1 think we are both going to be tempted over and over again. Probably rougher than we've experienced so far. But I know I love you and you love me, and we both love God. If we can keep that in our minds and hearts at all times, we can make it through this."

"Yes," Sam agreed. "And we're going to have to work at it. You want to take a bath first? I'll watch Little Sam."

"Sam—as badly as I crave a long hot soak, please be my guest. And go before the wind changes. Please!"

Laughing in the face of Satan, the young couple and their son entered the house. They had renewed their faith, their love for each other, and for God. They felt they could now face the upcoming horror with all that in their favor.

The door closed behind them.

In the orchard beside the stone house, a Beast stuck its ugly head out of the ground. The Beast was confused. It sensed something it did not like. The house beside the old orchard now contained two people whose love of its Master's enemy overrode their fear. The Beast was uncomfortable with that. He would tell the others about the people, and they would try to avoid contact.

"You see," the thunder rolled across the firmament, "faith is still strong among some."

"Umm," the warrior replied. He was not yet convinced his help was not needed.

"I think," the thunder rumbled, "the Arrogant One has just made the mistake that will defeat him. If the small group can endure what is in store for them."

"In Logandale," the warrior amended that.

"To be sure. But of course there will be many, many more like Logandale."

"Of course," the warrior replied, his statement containing more than a touch of sarcasm.

The Giver of Life and Light and Hope chuckled. "You're just annoyed because you missed a fight, Michael."

"As the Devil Child said, 'This is not the end, but the beginning.'"

"That is quite true. This confrontation will not be of the magnitude of the conflict at Falcon House, I am thinking. This one will pit pure Good against black Evil. Of course, I could be wrong."

"Pity I don't have a stone and a hammer handy," the warrior said. "I'd like to save that last bit forever."

The look the warrior received caused a monsoon on Earth. It did not bother the warrior.

"Are You saying I might yet be called upon?" the warrior asked.

The sigh blew across the heavens. "Will you ever learn patience, Michael?"

"How many times have You asked me that?"

"1 could tell you precisely, but it would only serve to depress me."

The warrior chuckled and took his place beside the Giver of Life. The warrior wished things would pick up in Logandale. He enjoyed a good fight.

When Sam and Nydia arrived at the Draper home, Little Sam was with them, for they could not trust anyone with him. They found a discouraged Father Le Moyne sitting with Noah and Monty and Viv Draper. Mille joined the group. Ginny had gone into mild shock and was in bed.

As briefly as possible, Sam told them what had happened that day, to him. Nydia picked up when Sam quit. She left nothing out, but was as eloquent about the telling as she could be.

Father Le Moyne crossed himself and muttered a small prayer when she told the priest about his brother and sister-in-law.

"You're certain Jon said my brother and his wife were fatally injured?"

"Yes, Father," Nydia replied. "And he said you would see them both tonight."

"But of course I'll see them tonight."

"I don't think that was the type of visit Jon had in mind," Nydia said softly.

The priest looked confused for a moment. Then full understanding bloomed in his mind. He rose, his face masked with rage. "That is unthinkable. Outrageous! I simply will not permit it." He was gripping the large cross so tightly his knuckles were white from the strain.

"You won't have anything to say about it, Father," Sam spoke. "Besides, I would imagine the unthinkable has already occurred. And I doubt they were killed in any car accident. My guess would be they didn't get more than five miles outside of Logandale."

"But—the state police called Jon," Father Le Moyne said. "How—" He trailed it off into silence.

Sam picked up the phone in the den. He punched the number of a friend in New York City. "I am sorry for the inconvenience," a woman's voice said. "But telephone service is temporarily disrupted in the Logandale area. Repair crews are working to restore service as quickly as possible. We apologize for this temporary inconvenience."

"Guess that 'bout settles it," Joe said. "We're cut off tight."

Mille put her face in her hands and fought back tears. Viv went to her and put her arms around the young woman.

"We've told you what happened to us," Nydia said. "What happened here today?"

"Why—everything went just marvellously well!" Noah said, his tone full of undisguised disgust and sarcasm. "Some creature from the bowels of hell came lurching down that hall," he said pointing, "and Daniel proved his courage by confronting the—thing. He was then verbally assaulted by that young fool, Hasseling. I finally ordered Hasseling from the house—and then realized it wasn't my house!" Sam had to smile at that. "Hasseling and Byron Price then left together— ostensibly to rally support for their mistaken belief that all of us," he said indicating the entire group, including Sam and Nydia, "are candidates for the nut house because of our knowledge that Satan is present here in Logandale. We'll probably never see the two young fools again. And I, personally, would consider that a great blessing."

"That is not very Christian of you Noah," Father Le Moyne gently admonished his friend. "They are of different ideological beliefs. They were taught from childhood to believe in Satan, but at the same contradictory time, to scoff and disbelieve in demonic possession and related fields. Their behavior is really not their fault in the main."

"Very charitable and commendable of you, Daniel.'1 Noah stood his ground. "But 1 fail to see how any so-called intelligent human could deny the existence of Satan on earth. It is simply beyond my comprehension. Richard Hasseling and Byron Price can, as far as I am concerned, go jump into the river."

"Where is Father Morton?" Sam asked, wisely changing the subject.

"He went to his home. He, at least," Noah said, not backing away from his opinion of Hasseling and Price, "has the good sense to see beyond the end of his nose. He went to get his wife, Barbara, and their children."

"Dear little Janet," Father Le Moyne muttered. "Such a sweet child. So gentle with children. It's—difficult for me to believe it about her. Jon—well, I knew something was troubling him. I tried more than once to talk with him. He would turn his back to me; refuse to speak of it. I should have known. I should have known."

"Should have known?" Viv said. "How could you have known? I still can't believe all this is happening. How can you say you should have known?"

Sam and Nydia both caught the look that passed between Father Le Moyne and Noah. The priest smiled. "I—have been on speaking terms with the Dark One on—shall we say, more than one occasion, Vivian. And Noah knows him just as well—perhaps even more intimately than I." The priest turned his eyes to Sam. "But young Mr. Balon and Nydia know Satan far better than any of us. I, for one, am prepared to follow Sam's orders. I might not agree with all of them. But I think if we are to survive this—ordeal, we had best elect a person to give the orders."

"I'll go along with that," Joe said. "Me and Mille talked about that a few hours. After Sam told us what happened up in Canada. Now—" He sighed. "I ain't sayin' I believe all that Sam said—'bout all them creatures and monsters bein' called out and such—but in my present state of mind, I'm just 'bout ready to believe anything. I do have one question, though. Sam, how come we can't just pack it up and clear out of here?"

"Oh, I think you people can," Sam told the group. "I don't think anyone would stop you. Not now. Satan has changed the rules of the game. But I don't think any of you would remember a thing once you got past the city limits sign. But Nydia and I wouldn't be allowed to leave. We play too important a role in the scheme of Satan's plans." He looked at Father Le Moyne. "Do you agree with that, Father?"

The priest nodded his head in agreement. "For most of us it comes down to a matter of choice. Yes. For now, I think for a very short time, most would be allowed to leave. But that time is, I believe, growing short."

"I got to get to my little sister, Jeanne," Mille said. "I'm afraid of what might be happening to her at home."

"What do you mean?" Monty asked. "At home?"

"Jeanne was at the Giddon place the other night— My God! Was it just last night?" She shook her head. "Anyway, ever since Momma died, Dad had—well, he's been looking at Jeanne in—that way, you know? I'm almost certain he's gotten to her, sexually. This was probably his plan all along. But maybe it isn't too late - for her. If I can reach her and talk to her, maybe I can save her. If I have to, I'll use my fists and beat the hell out of her."

Viv looked horrified. "You mean your father has been having sexual relations with his own daughter? That's disgusting!"

"Goes on a lot more than you might think, honey," Monty told her. "And not just between father and daughter. Mother and son, as well. Sometimes mother with daughter, father with son. One report given us at the NYPD stated that only a very small percentage of incest cases are ever reported to the authorities."

"People who do that ought to be horse-whipped," Joe said. He sighed heavily, as if suddenly plunged deep into thought. "I guess I got to do it, and it ain't gonna get done 'less I do her, so I might as well get rollin' on it." He stood up.

"Where are you going, Joe?" Mille asked.

"I got to go see if Nellie is really one of—them other people. Maybe it ain't too late for her."

"I think," Monty said, "we should decide something right now. And it's a whale of a big decision. Are we staying or leaving?"

"I'm stayin'," Joe said flatly. "There ain't no son-of-a-bitch runnin' this ol' Kentucky boy out of his home. I'm stayin' and I'm fightin'." He glanced at Mille.

"I'm staying," the young woman announced. "This is my home town and I've got family here to look after. I can shoot a pistol as good as any man and I'll use a gun if I have to. Count me in."

"I wonder about Ginny?" Monty asked.

"Ginny is in no shape to make any kind of decision," Mille replied. "But she told me just a few minutes ago, she was no coward. That she wanted to help in any way she could. So I guess that means she's staying."

"Well, you can certainly count on my standing firm," Noah told the group. "I learned the hard way about attempting to kill Old Nick, but his followers—most of them—are mortal, and can therefore be killed. And that is something that should have been done around here several years ago. I am staying."

"I don't like all this talk about killing," Monty said, the lawman rising up in him. He looked at Noah. "Even though I can understand your feelings on the matter. And it might come to that."

"It will," Sam said, a coldness to his voice. "And you can bet on that."

"Maybe," Monty said. He glanced at his wife.

She met his gaze. "I believe the man said, 'For better or for worse,' did he not?"

"I can assure all of you," Father Le Moyne spoke quietly. "Conditions will become a lot worse."

"Figured one of you would have to say that," Joe announced glumly.

SEVEN

Father Le Moyne accompanied Joe and Mille. They would first visit Joe's wife, and then check on Mille's sister. Monty issued all the people Logandale P.D. handy-talkies, enabling them to keep in constant communication. The walkie-talkies had a range of about five miles; strong enough for the limited area they were confined within.

Viv went in to check on Ginny. She was sleeping deeply, the sleep very much like a coma. Mille had said the young woman spooked easily, and the events of that afternoon had taxed her to the limits.

Late afternoon shadows were dotting the land, creating an aura that under different circumstances would have been labeled a lovely late fall afternoon. Now it only served to heighten the dread of coming night for the small band of men and women who still believed in God Almighty and His words concerning right and wrong.

"Just for kicks," Monty said, "I'd like to see just how far 1 could drive outside of town."

"Don't," Noah warned him. "You might not be allowed to reenter. And we need all the Christians we can muster for this battle."

His wife settled the short debate. "You stay here with me, Monty. We agreed to stay together and that's the way it's going to be."

"Yes, honey," Monty said.

Dusk began to subtly but swiftly place her dark arms around the town. The murky embrace was welcomed by those who looked to Satan for leadership. It was received with much less joy by those outside the circles of the coven.

"What can we expect?" Viv asked Nydia. The women were sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee and chatting. And waiting.

"Expect anything your mind could conjure in its darkest moments," Nydia replied. She then spoke quietly, telling the woman of her experiences in Falcon House; of her being raped by her stepfather in the casket, while Sam, believing her dead, was being seduced by Roma, Nydia's mother. She left nothing out.

Viv shuddered, as if experiencing the chilly touch of death and throwing it away from her. "1 used to enjoy reading horror stories. The scarier the better; especially on a stormy night. I never dreamt I would be actually living through the real thing." She toyed with her coffee mug. "That is, if any of us live through it."

Nydia rose and refilled their cups. "It isn't too late for you and Monty and most of the others to leave," she reminded the older woman. "It's Father Le Moyne, Noah, Sam, Little Sam, and me they want. We could hot leave."

"Don't think I haven't thought of it," Viv admitted. "A lot. But something within me said No! And I've had time to think about that. It's a test of faith, isn't it, Nydia?"

"Yes. It all comes down to that. But it's so much more, too."

Viv thought about that for a moment. "Yes. It is. I can see that, now. But is one little town in Upstate New York so important?"

"Not really. As Sam tried to explain, this is a game. A game that has been going on for—well, forever, I suppose. I don't think being a Christian is nearly as easily accomplished as a great many people believe. I don't believe—and neither does Sam—that a person can sin all their life, then at the moment of death, be relieved of all those sins. I think a person must work terribly hard, all their life, to be a true Christian. And I think—I know—there will be a great many people very disappointed on Judgment Day."

Viv smiled. "I'm sure that would provoke a very spirited debate between you and Father Le Moyne."

Nydia returned the smile. "I'm sure of that. I wonder how Joe is doing?"

"Sounds like quite a party going on in there, Joe," Mille said, after listening for a moment.

The music from the house was very loud, booming out into the gathering night. The rock and roll music was rattling the windows as it blasted out of the speakers, pushing to the limits and beyond the capabilities of the woofers and tweeters.

"Nellie never liked rock and roll music," Joe said. "As a matter of fact, she hated it. And I guess that tells everybody something. Make whatever you like about it."

"I heard that, Joe," Mille said. "Couple of years ago, I wouldn't have agreed with it. Now I do. And not just because of what is happening to us now. Joe? You got your pistol with you?"

"1 got my pants on, ain't I?" he responded. "You?"

"Yes, Joe," Mille said with a smile. "I have my pants on.

"Cute, Mille," Joe said, as Father Le Moyne struggled to hide his smile. "That's real cute."

"I also have my pistol, too," Mille needled him. She looked at Father Le Moyne. "You going to wait here or come with us, Father?"

"I wouldn't miss it for anything in this world," the priest replied.

"Or the next?" Mille teased him gently. Father Le Moyne was her very favorite person in the whole world. Joe, although he didn't know it—yet—was number two on her list of special people. Father Le Moyne had known Mille since the day she entered the world.

"I won't commit myself to that," Le Moyne responded with a gentle smile.

"I wish ya'll'd quit talkin' 'bout stuff like that," Joe said. "I think it's spooky enough without all that stuff."

Halfway up the sidewalk, the front door opened and Nellie stood framed in the rectangular light. She wore only a thin nightgown. The light from behind her gave glaring evidence that she wore nothing under the gown.

"Hello, Joe-baby," she said, her voice just audible over the blaring noise.

"Nellie," Joe said.

The woman took a long swig from the half pint of whiskey in her hand. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked contemptuously at the priest. "You come here to save my lost soul, Zorro?"

Father Le Moyne surprised them all with his lack-of-patience reply. "I don't know whether your soul is even worth saving, Nellie."

She laughed at the priest. "Fuck you."

"Nellie—" Joe stepped forward.

"Butt out, horse-face," his wife told him. "This is between Captain Midnight and me." She swung her eyes to the priest. She lifted her gown and exposed herself to the trio. "How about some pussy, Padre?"

"Thank you, but no," the priest muttered.

"Oh, that's right," Nellie said, dropping her gown. "You people are married to that wimp, Jesus. Ain't that the way it is?"

"Something like that," Father Le Moyne said acidly. "What did the Dark One promise you, Nellie?"

"He didn't just promise, he delivered. And that is one hell of a lot more than your God can do, Le Moyne. All you people have is vague promises and nothing material. So why don't you people just carry your asses on away from here and leave me alone?"

"He arrested your cancer," the priest pegged it accurately.

"You got that right, buddy. And for the first time in longer than I can remember, Nellie-gal is having herself a natural good time."

"It isn't too late, Nellie," Joe said. "I think Father Le Moyne can—well, fix it, if only you'd let him. Won't you please try?"

"Oh, fuck you, Joe! You have to be kidding." Her voice was filled with contempt. "Go back to all that suffering? No way, Jose." She grinned, and the trio could feel the evil touching them. "You folks wanna come in and join the party? It's about to get real good. Sylvia Sakall just bet Hoss Patrick she could deep-throat him, and Hoss has a cock on him looks like a big sausage. Ought to be interesting, don't you think? How about it?" She looked at Mille. "The talk I used to hear around town was that you liked to fuck, Mille. You spread it around pretty good, 'way the stories go. Why don't you come in and join us? Paul Reeves just made the comment he'd like to bend you over and shove it up your ass. How does that sound to you, Mille?"

Joe put his hand on the butt of his pistol. Mille put her hand on Joe's arm. "No, Joe," she spoke softly. Only Joe and the priest could hear her words. "Not yet.

They haven't made any hostile moves toward us."

"Listen to her, Joe," the priest urged. "It will come to that. But not yet."

"I think I'll pass, Nellie," Mille said.

"We'll get you," the older woman promised. "I want to see it when you get passed around. I want to hear you squall."

"You're all insane!" Mille hissed at the woman.

Nellie threw back her head and laughed.

"I'll see you around, Nellie," Joe promised. "Bet on it."

Nellie once more laughed. "I'm sure you will, sweetie," she told him. "But Hoss is gonna see a whole lot more of me first. What he's got ought to feel good sliding in and out. You wonna watch us, baby?"

Joe lost his temper. "You goddamned slut! You black-hearted whore. You—"

Nellie stepped back into the house and slammed the front door. Mille pulled Joe toward the car. "Come on, Joe. It's all over here. She's lost. Cursing her isn't going to help."

"It'd help me," Joe muttered, getting behind the wheel of the car. "I just can't believe the change in that woman. But she's lost. I can sense it."

Driving away, Father Le Moyne spoke from the back seat. "Joe, I have to ask you this. Are you a Christian?"

"Yes, sir. I was washed in the blood back when I was just a little shaver. I been goin' to the Methodist church near 'bouts all my life."

"Do you believe in God the Father Almighty and the Lord Jesus Christ?"

"Yes, sir. I sure do."

"I don't have to ask Mille. Mille was a—little wild when she was in high school. But she outgrew that and tecame a fine woman."

"A little wild, Father?" Mille blurted.

Father Le Moyne smiled in the darkness of the back seat. "I like to give people the benefit of the doubt, Mille."

"Father?" Mille said, her voice no more than a whisper. "I'm scared."

So, too, am I, child, the priest thought. He said instead, "Trust in the Lord, child. And He will provide protection. Keep your faith strong."

"If you don't mind, Father," Joe said. "And don't think I'm being sacrilegious, but do you think He would object if I included my .357 in on the deal as well?"

Father Le Moyne laughed. The laugh felt good to him. "No, Joe. No. I don't think He would object one little bit." The priest sobered. He wondered when his brother would visit him; and how he would handle that visit.

There is only one way to handle it, the priest thought. And he wondered if he would, or could, find the strength to make that awful move against his brother and sister-in-law.

The priest knew he had to somehow find the strength.

Or become one of the undead.

"Feel like taking a ride, Noah?" Sam asked the writer. He checked his .41 mag as he asked the question.

Monty's head jerked up. "Where are you two going? And why?"

"I want to see what's going on around town, and I want to get Desiree; bring her out here." He looked at Nydia. "If you don't have any objections, that is."

"I don't have any objections, Sam," she said. "I was thinking the same thing just then. You must have picked up on my thoughts."

"You two can read each other's thoughts?" Viv asked.

"A lot of the time," Nydia said with a smile. "Really makes a marriage interesting."

"Spare me that," Monty muttered.

Nydia said to Sam, "If she's not one of them, Sam, then by all means, she should be provided safety with our group."

"Jon Le Moyne?" Sam asked her.

Nydia shook her head. "You can try, Sam, if you want to take the time. But I personally think it's far too late for Jon."

Noah stood up. "Let me say something at this juncture, people." The group looked at him. "I know you all must think I look and sometimes behave ridiculously. But let me tell you all: I hold belts in both karate and judo, and I am a crack shot with rifle, pistol, and shotgun. Do not think for one instant I cannot or will not stand firm."

Sam stood up, towering over the smaller man. "I don't think that at all, Noah," he said. "You can watch my back for me anytime."

Noah said, "Let's go have a look around town, Sam."

They drove first to Jon's house, parking in front of the home. A party was in progress. Loud music and wild young laughter spilled from the home. The music was almost unbearable. Noah glanced at Sam and shook his head in disgust. "He gets word that his parents are killed and the punk has a party. I think we are wasting our time by visiting young Mr. Le Moyne, Sam."

"Yeah, I agree with you. But I said I'd try. So let's give it a go. You game?"

"Lead on, D'Artagnan."

The two men walked up the sidewalk to the house. Sam was thinking: The man may be small, and he might look odd, to our way of thinking in terms of dress, but he's sure got some brass on his ass.

Before the men got halfway up the sidewalk, the front door opened and young people spilled out, forming a half circle around the two men.

"If trouble starts," Noah said, "I'll take the punks to Jon's right, you take those to the left."

"Done," Sam said, not taking his eyes off Jon Le Moyne. The young man's eyes were both defiant and sullen. "Your uncle is very worried about you, Jon."

"Fuck my uncle!" Jon spat the words. "No," he said with an ugly smile. "I'll leave that to Noah. Tell me something, Noah. With you and my good uncle, who was the fuckee and who was the fuckor?"

"You have an exceedingly filthy mouth, young man," Noah admonished the young man. "Whatever happened between Father Le Moyne and myself—and it was not what you are implying—is ancient history. And it is certainly none of your concern, you shitty little twit!"

Noah's words were greeted by hoots and shouts of dirty laughter. One young man, no more than fifteen years old, unzipped his jeans and pulled out his penis. "Here, little man," he called to Noah. "You like to suck cocks so much, come over here and suck on this."

"They have it all twisted out of shape," Noah said, his words reaching only Sam's ears. "No one ever understands, or tries to understand."

"Your friends do, Noah," Sam told him. "And that is all that matters. Screw all the others."

"Look on the porch!" Noah whispered.

Sam lifted his eyes. A dark shape flitted back and forth on the glass-enclosed porch. It was not human, but yet somehow more than animal. Even cloaked in darkness, the shape appeared hideously deformed. Evil emanated from it.

"What in the name of God is that horrible-looking thing?" Sam blurted hoarsely.

Jon wheeled around, as did most of the young people at the front of the semicircle facing the two men. Jon looked back at Sam. "What's what? I don't see anything."

"It's the Dark One," Noah's whisper was just as hoarsely uttered as Sam's question. "For our eyes only. Few can witness him in his true shape, for to do so means almost certain death. I was one of the very few who ever saw him and lived to speak of it."

"He's taunting us?"

"Yes. Do not look directly at him," Noah warned him. "If you meet his eyes you will be harmed."

"Thanks for telling me," Sam muttered. He raised his voice. "One last time, Jon. And this is your last chance. Come with us."

The young man grinned and scratched his crotch. "Your wife had real good pussy, Balon. And she said she never had a cock like mine before. She liked it so much she licked on it like it was an ice cream cone. I was going to give it to her up the ass. But that can wait for a later date. We have the time."

Sam held his temper in check. "Jon, pleasures of the flesh are not worth losing your soul over. Think about it. For if you don't come with us now, there will not be another chance for you."

"Eternal life has been promised to us all," Jon said. "And it has been promised that we shall see you grovel and beg for mercy from our Master. I look forward to that, Balon." Jon began laughing.

Sam cut the laughing short by stepping forward and slugging the young man, knocking him sprawling on his butt. Just as the young man's friends closed in, Sam jerked the .41 mag from his belt and shoved the muzzle in a young man's face. The cocking of the big pistol was loud in the sudden silence.

Noah pulled his .357 and jacked back the hammer. He looked as if he would enjoy using it.

The young man with the pistol barrel under his chin paled, but did not back up.

"I'll blow you straight to hell, boy," Sam said, in a low menacing voice.

"So there'll be another time, Balon," Jon said, as he moaned on the ground. His mouth was bloody from Sam's fist. "No rush. We have all the time we need."

"Start backing up," Sam told Noah. "Slow and easy does it."

The men backed up, slowly edging toward Sam's pickup. Noah stood guard until Sam was in the Chevy and had the motor running. The young people had followed the pair, always keeping at a safe distance.

Claude Sullivan said, "I think we'll give you to the Beasts, Noah." He laughed. "That ought to be fun, watching them have your ass."

Noah smiled, and for a moment, Sam thought the man was going to shoot the boy. Noah said, "Here's something to remember me by, punks." He lowered the muzzle of his pistol slightly and pulled the trigger, emptying the weapon at the feet of the young Satan worshippers. The booming of the .357 was enormous in the quiet night. The slugs sent the young people scattering in all directions, yelling and running. Noah laughed and got in the truck. Sam dropped the truck in gear and roared off.

"That was fun!" Noah said, as he reloaded the .357.

Sam smiled. Any doubts he might have had concerning Noah had disappeared. The man would stand firm. "I think you got your point across, Noah."

"I considered shooting that Sullivan punk in the belly. But I think it would be best if they initiated the first violent move."

"That will come soon enough, Noah," Sam said. "And when it does it will come suddenly."

"I believe it."

They came to the Fox Estate. Both men could feel the evil emanating from the grounds of the Giddon House. Noah commented on it.

"It's all right there," Sam said. And for a moment his mind went back to Falcon House and the siege. (The Devil's Heart)

"You think you—or one of us—will have to enter the Giddon House?" Noah asked.

"No doubt in my mind, Noah. And I am not looking forward to it."

He pulled into the curving driveway of the Fox Estate and abruptly stopped. He looked at Noah. "Noah? Something just popped into my mind. Tell me, if you can, who founded Nelson College?"

"Why—Norman Giddon's great-grandfather. He—" Noah paused, deep in thought. "Yes. That's it, isn't it? The college is a training ground for Satan's converts." He slapped the palm of his hand on his forehead. "My God! Why didn't I see that before!"

"You were probably blocked from it. No telling how many covens have been established around the nation by graduates of Nelson. Satan's turned his movement into a big business."

Before Noah could reply, hard screaming cut the night. Both men searched the surrounding gloom. "There!" Noah pointed to Sam's left.

It was Desiree. She was naked. Sam spun the pickup and kicked on his high beams. The lights flashed on the young woman's nakedness. She had been beaten, the cruel marks of the whip crisscrossed her skin. Small silver chains dangled from the nipples of her breasts.

"Oh, my Lord!" Noah cried. "What has been done to that poor girl?"

"Desiree!" Sam shouted, opening the door. "Over here. It's Sam!"

The panicked and frightened young woman turned and almost slipped on the damp grass. She raced toward the sound of a friendly voice. "Behind me!" she managed to gasp out the warning.

A dozen or more men and boys were chasing Desiree, some of them clad only in their underwear. They had been taking turns raping and beating the young woman. Some of them were armed.

Desiree fell exhausted into Sam's arms and he picked her up and literally tossed her into the cab of the truck. He spun around. Using a two-handed grip on the .41 mag, Sam lined up a near naked man and gently squeezed the trigger. The pistol roared in the night, fire lancing from the muzzle. The man stopped abruptly and was slung backward, the big hollow-point slug ripping into his belly and tearing out his back, taking a fist-sized chunk of meat as it exited.

Noah's .357 roared twice. Two men dropped to the grass, one of them gut shot, the other howling in pain, part of his hip torn away.

"In the truck!" Sam yelled. He jumped behind the wheel. He gunned the engine just as Noah slammed the door, the back tires biting into the concrete drive.

The truck fishtailed as Sam slid onto the road in front of the mansion and headed for the Draper home. Noah removed his jacket and placed it around Desiree's shoulders. He felt slightly sick to his stomach as his eyes picked up the whip marks, the silver chains dangling from her nipples, and the studded dog collar around her slender neck.

"Filthy perverted sons of bitches!" Noah said. He worked at the clasp of the collar and removed it, tossing the studded leather out the window.

Desiree almost screamed in relief as she removed the silver alligator clips from her swollen nipples. Small silver chains dangled from the clips.

"They used these to force me into submission," she sobbed. "They were going to pierce my nipples and insert permanent rings. They forced me to my knees and took me like a dog!" she wailed. "Then two of them raped me at once. Oh, God!" she cried. "What kind of place is this? Sam—those things we did this afternoon. We did do them, didn't we? It's—all kind of a blur in my mind. When I woke up, I thought it had been a dream. Then Perkins brought those men and—"

"Perkins?" Sam asked. "Did you say Perkins? Jimmy Perkins?"

"Yes. Jimmy Perkins. He's a caretaker, a grounds-keeper at the estate." She glanced at him. "Why do you ask? Do you know that—horrible man?"

"Yeah, I know him," Sam said, conscious of Noah's eyes on him. "Tall lean fellow. Walks with a shuffle."

"Yes, that's him. He's—a terrible person." Desiree shivered from fright and shock and the cold against her bare skin. "He's a terrible man."

"He isn't a man," Sam said. "He's one of the undead." Very briefly, he told them what he knew of Jimmy Perkins.

"Good Lord!" Noah said. "You first encountered this—creature up in Canada?"

"Yes. But my father fought him back in Nebraska, in 1958. That's when Perkins died, and was reborn with the Devil's help."

"It's just too much for me to believe," Desiree said, tears streaming down her face. She put her face in her hands and wept. She lifted her face and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief provided her by Noah. She murmured a prayer in French and crossed herself.

Sam glanced at her, a puzzled look in his eyes. "I thought you were an agnostic."

"So did I," she replied. "1 don't know why I did that. I wasn't conscious of even knowing any prayers. 1 don't know where the sign of the cross came from."

"I do," Noah told her gently. "You're one of us now, Desiree. So welcome aboard the Good Ship Lollipop."

Sam laughed at Noah. "The more the merrier," he said. "Desiree, tell me, what do your parents do for a living?"

"Why—they own many businesses around the world. Some of them in France. For years, my father was a vice president for the Roma Companies. Something happened to the owner about—three years ago, 1 think. That's when my father branched out on his own."

"Uh-huh," Sam said. "Now it's all beginning to come together; the pieces are fitting. Tell me, do your parents ever wear any type of medallion?"

"Why—now that you mention it, yes, they do. It's—kind of a strange-looking medallion. Very intricate in design. They tried, many times, ever since 1 was a little girl, to make me wear one like theirs. But every time I tried, I got sick. I mean, really physically ill. Or this terrible rash would cover my body. Finally, just a few weeks ago, as a matter of fact, they told me I was leaving France, and going to school in America. At Nelson College. They said that would prove their findings—one way or the other. I never did understand what they were talking about. Do you know?"

"Yes," Sam answered. "I sure do. You and Nydia will get along fine, I'm thinking. You both have a great deal in common."

"1 am so ashamed for what happened today, Sam," Desiree said. "I don't—I don't know if I can even face your wife."

"As long as you do not renounce the Lord God, my dear," Noah told her, "for our God is a forgiving God. If He can forgive us our human sins, surely the least we can do for Him is to practice forgiveness among ourselves."

The young woman looked at him and smiled. She kept her opinions—if any—about his manner of dress to herself. "Thank you, Mr.—"

"Crisp. But please call me Noah. Sam, you have puzzled me somewhat. What was that line of questioning about medallions? And you, my dear, what was all that about your getting sick? Would you be so kind as to clear that up for me?"

"Nydia's mother's name was Roma. The witch. She owned the companies where Desiree's father was VP. Roma tried to force Nydia to wear the Devil's medallion, but like Desiree, Nydia's—something in her body—or mind—refused to accept the medallion. They made her very sick. My belief is that God saw good in Nydia, and in Desiree, and intervened in His usual quiet manner. That's what that was all about."

He wondered if he should tell them about the tablet. He decided against it. He had a hunch that would be left up to him—solely.

"I see," Noah said. "I—" He bit the words off before they rolled from his tongue. He was about to ask if Sam knew anything about the tablet, then thought better of it. The young man had enough weight on his shoulders without adding any more.

"You were about to say something, Noah?" Sam asked.

"It slipped my mind, Sam," he lied. "Must not have been very important."

They pulled into the Draper's driveway. Noah said, "Sam, would you be a dear boy and run into the house; ask Viv for a robe of some sort for Desiree. That jacket is positively indecent. I'll sit with her while you do that."

While Viv was getting Desiree a robe, Sam told those in the den what had happened. "And she is wondering if you can forgive her, Nydia."

"There is nothing to forgive, Sam," Nydia said. "None of us had any control over ourselves." She rose as Viv entered the den. "Here." Nydia held out her hand. "Let me take the robe to her."

Before Nydia could open the door, the sounds of Desiree's screaming and Noah's big .357 barking came to those in the house.

The house was plunged into darkness and Viv began shrieking in terror. "Get it off me!" she wailed. "Get it off me!"

EIGHT

"Yes," Mille told her sister. "Yes, you are most certainly coming with us. And if I have to drag your butt out of this house, I will. Now, get moving, girl!"

"Fuck you!" the teenager screamed. "You can't make me do a goddamn thing."

Mille slapped her, rocking the girl's head back and forth with the backhanded pops. Blood dotted the girl's mouth. Pete LaMeade stepped forward, his hands balled into fists. Joe stuck a pistol in the man's face.

"Just hold it right there, Pete," he told the man. "'Cause I'll damn sure blow your head off."

"This is kidnapping!" the father yelled. "And I ain't gonna stand still for it."

"No, it ain't kidnapping, Pete," Joe corrected the man. "And yeah, you're gonna stand still for it. What did you plan on doin'? Callin' a cop?"

Pete shot dark arrows of hate at Joe. But he made no further attempt to interfere. "We'll get you," he warned Joe. "Bet on it, Bennett."

Mille jerked the sobbing girl to her feet and shoved her toward the front door. "Before this night is over, little sister, you'll either be free of your possession—or you'll be dead. I guarantee you, Jeanne. One way or the other."

"You goddamn bitch!" the teenager cursed Mille. "You got all the pecker you wanted, then you turned righteous on us. If you had all the cocks sticking out of you that you've had stuck in you, you'd look like a fucking porcupine."

"Shut your filthy mouth," Mille warned her.

"Lousy two-bit whore!" Jeanne popped off.

Mille balled her right hand into a fist and the girl shut her mouth.

"A crowd gathering out in the front yard," Father Le Moyne told them. "And they're armed and ugly."

Joe grabbed Pete LaMeade by the arm and jerked him to the front door. He stuck his .357 in the small of the man's back and jacked back the hammer. "We're goin' through that crowd, LaMeade. Now you tell them godless bastards to clear us a path—a wide one—or I swear before God Almighty, I'll kill you, Pete."

LaMeade believed the smaller man. Sweat formed on his face. "All right, Joe. I'll do it. But we'll meet again. Bet on that."

"I can't hardly wait, partner," Joe told him. "But for right now—move it!"

The crowd of people, teenagers to middle-aged men and women, parted at Pete's orders. But they did so reluctantly, with open hate shining in their eyes, and with filth rolling from their tongues.

"Farther back!" Joe told them, shouting at them. "I mean make a wide path and do it now! Between Mille and me, I can guarantee you ten of you will die if we have to start poppin' caps."

The crowd gave them room. In the safety of the car, driving away from the scene of ugliness, they relaxed just a bit.

Jeanne LaMeade asked Mille, "What are you gonna do with me?"

"Drive the demons from you," Mille told her. "Or kill you. Those are your only options, sister. And I'd think about that if I were you."

In the front seat, beside Joe, Father Daniel Le Moyne rubbed suddenly sweaty hands together. He silently prayed for God to give him strength. "Joe," he said, "take me to the church. 1 have to get some things."

Joe wondered if he was going to have to be a part of this spooky business of driving out demons. He sure hoped not.

"Yes, sir," Joe said.

Monty rushed to his wife's side, colliding with her in the darkness of the den. He smashed his fist into the white evil-looking face of a man who was trying to drag Viv from the house. Again and again he hit the man, smashing his nose. Blood squirted. Monty felt the man's teeth break off under his hard blows. The man finally fell to the floor, stunned, bleeding and hurt. Monty drew back his right foot and kicked the man on the side of the head.

Sam jerked his pistol from his waistband and ran out the front door in time to see Noah fighting several men, his .357 empty and useless on the sidewalk. Desiree was crouched in the cab of the pickup.

Whatever the trio of men expected from the small man, it was not the fury and skill now being shown by Noah. The man was fighting like an enraged tiger. And holding his own against the three bigger men.

Sam shoved his .41 mag back behind his belt and waded into the melee, fists swinging. The fight was over in seconds, the men moaning and bleeding on the sidewalk. Sam knew none of them.

"Two over there I shot," Noah panted, resettling his beret on his head. "They're either dead or dying." He pointed toward the darkness beside the Draper house.

But the men were gone.

"What—" Noah asked, looking at Sam. "But I know I hit them, and hit them accurately."

"The Beasts will feast this night," Sam said.

"I hope they get sick and die," the writer said, considerable heat in his tone. "What about this rabble?" he asked, pointing to the men on the ground.

"Leave them. Unless you want to shoot them in the head. We don't have the space nor the inclination to jack around with a bunch of prisoners."

Noah looked at the tall young man. "What would you do with them, Sam? If I weren't standing here, that is."

"I'd shoot them," Sam replied. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and helped a badly shaken Desiree from the pickup. A plan was forming in Sam's head as he walked her up to the house.

Nydia and Viv took over the job of trying to settle down a hysterical Desiree. Sam sat in the den with Monty and Noah. Monty had dragged his wife's attacker out the back door and threw him in the alley. He then found the breaker box and turned the lights back on.

The phone jangled the nerves of all present.

"I thought it was out of order." Monty said.

"Only for us," Sam told him.

Monty jerked the receiver to his ear. "Yes?"

Sheriff Jenkins. "Heard about your bad news, Monty. Thought I'd call and see how you people were getting along."

"What bad news, Pat?"

"Oh—your getting fired and all that."

"Uh-huh. I'm certain you're really torn up about it, Pat," Monty replied.

The voice from the seat of Clark County chuckled darkly. "All right, Pat. We'll play it your way. When did you put it all together?"

"Although it seems like a week ago, Pat—yesterday. How long has it been going on?'

Again, the chuckle. "I don't see any harm in leveling with you, Monty. None of you people are ever going to talk about it. Long time, Monty. More than a hundred years back. Goes all the way back to my grandfather's time. Maybe even further back than that. I never question the Master, Monty. I just obey."

"You need help, Pat."

"I need help, son? You got it all backwards, son. Boy, you don't even realize what a bind you people are in, do you? You'll know it before long, I'm thinking. I'm going to fuck your wife, Monty. And I'm going to put it to her right in front of your eyes; make you watch me hump her. Snooty bitch always did think she was too good for us small-town folks. Of course," the voice took on a softer, smoother, soothing tone, "it don't have to be that way, Monty. You could change it. Join us, Monty. Don't fight us; you can't win."

Keep him talking, Monty thought. Anything to find out the odds against us. Keep him talking. "You're that certain you're going to win this, Pat."

"In the bag, Monty. In the bag. Son, if the Master would let us, we'd overrun you people by sheer numbers. But he wants to play with you for a time. Like a big cat with a little mouse. You get it, Monty. Mouse. Like in pussy. Your wife's pussy."

Monty kept his temper in check. "I don't think God will let us down, Pat."

"God?" the sheriff said with a nasty laugh. "Don't count on that wimp, Monty. He don't have a big enough set of balls to meet the Master head on."

Monty suppressed a shudder. He could not imagine himself speaking of God in that manner. "When do you make your move against us, Pat?"

"Soon, son. Very soon. It's going to be fun listening to you beg when we nail you to a cross."

"You're insane!" Monty said.

The dark laughter rolled through the lines.

"I'll see you, Pat," Monty said grimly.

"You're going to see me all right, Monty. You're going to watch me hump your wife." The line went dead.

Monty was conscious of his wife's eyes on him. He turned and looked at her. "Trouble, Monty?" she asked. "More trouble for us?"

He had never held back the truth from her. "Yes. Sheriff Jenkins is one of them. I would imagine some of his men are in it, too. So, yeah, more trouble."

"You're not telling me all of it, Monty. Did Pat mention me?"

"Yes. And I imagine you know in what way. It was—very ugly."

"He's undressed me with his eyes every time I've been around him. Spare me the details. The things that were done to that poor girl in there—Desiree—were positively disgusting."

"Yeah," Monty sighed the reply. "I bet so."

Viv came to him and put a hand on his arm. "We're going to make it, Monty."

"You betcha, babe." He grinned at her. "We're going to hang in there and go for it."

Monty's walkie-talkie clicked. Monty picked it up and acknowledged the signal.

"Father Le Moyne here, Monty. Let me speak with Sam for a moment, please."

Sam picked up his handy-talkie. "Go ahead, Father."

"Can you and your wife meet me at your house, Sam?" the priest asked. "Leave the child with Monty and Viv, if you will."

"I guess so, Father," Sam signaled. "Sure we can. What's going on?"

"Saving a lost soul."

"We're on our way."

Monty had, of course, heard the entire transmission. "Jon or Jeanne," he said.

"Forget Jon," Sam said, and Nydia sent a silent message to him agreeing. "It's too late for Jon. He's lost forever."

"Sam!" Nydia called, as a force gripped her. All present watched her grab the arms of her chair and hold on, mentally fighting the erotic images that darkly clouded her mind.

The silent voice whispered hoarsely to the young woman, bringing back the events of that afternoon. The voice spewed profanely and vividly, carrying with it actual scenes of Nydia and Jon to her mind's eyes. Nydia relived the young man parting her legs and entering her. She groaned as the sensation became real. She again experienced, mentally and physically, his long thick push inward, filling her with pain and pleasure.

Nydia fumbled for Sam's hand and gripped it tightly. He pulled her head to his chest and held her as her mental images spilled over to him. Then the force gripped Sam's mind, and he relived his moments with Janet and Desiree. Their hands and lips on him.

Nydia and Sam first experienced anger at the shared scenes. Then a renewed spirit filled them both and they concentrated on their love for one another.

Love conquered the Dark One's force. The voice and the scenes began dissolving, breaking apart. The voice tapered off into an evil hissing; an angry dark snake, uncoiling and sliding away into the slime that is its home.

Nydia released her grip on Sam's hand. The young couple looked at each other. They were smiling. Nydia said, "We beat it, Sam. We proved we can beat it."

"Love," he said. "The Dark One cannot defeat love. The emotion is disgusting to him." He helped her to her feet. "Come on. Let's go help Father Le Moyne."

"I chose your place because it's away from town and because of the faith I felt when I drew near it," Father Le Moyne explained. "And for other reasons: an exorcism can be very unnerving, and very loud."

The priest looked at Jeanne. She snarled at him. "Mother-fucker!" she hissed.

Father Le Moyne glanced at Joe and Mille. Joe's worst fears had become reality. He was about to take part in this spook stuff. He shuddered.

The priest said, "Mille, would you please bathe the child and dress her in a white gown. Then you and Joe secure her to a bed. Tightly."

Joe and Mille literally dragged the screaming, profane, protesting teenager to a bathroom.

"You're going to have to help me bathe her, Joe," Mille told the man.

"I ain't helpin' bathe no full-growed girl!"

"Get your skinny butt in here!" Mille shouted.

"Lordy, Lordy!" Joe muttered.

"Yeah, come on in, Joe," Jeanne called. "I'll let you finger-fuck me."

"That settles it!" Joe said. "I ain't about to come in there with ya'll."

"I'll help her," Nydia said. "You people put clean sheets on the bed in there," she said pointing.

Mille and Nydia ripped the dirty blouse and jeans from the teenager and bodily tossed her into the shower, along with a bar of soap.

"Scrub it clean, sister!" Mille told her. "Don't make me have to come in there and do it. 'Cause I'll find a scrub brush and peel the hide off of you."

"Goddamn slut!" Jeanne cursed. She then smiled an evil grimace as she felt help on its way. The force entered the bathroom. Jeanne showered quickly and then faced the two women. "You wash me," she said to her sister and Nydia. "Both of you."

The force was stronger than ever before. The two women could do nothing except obey.

Mille and Nydia were in the stall with the teenager. They could not recall taking off their clothes. They could not recall stepping into the large stall. Jeanne fondled Nydia's breasts. She ran her hand over Nydia's belly and dipped downward to caress her.

"No!" Nydia screamed. She slapped the girl, knocking her down in the slippery shower stall.

Nydia pulled Mille from the shower and slapped the woman. She dressed, all the while concentrating on her love for God. "Think of God," she told Mille. "Think only of God."

The combined thoughts of pure good was too much for the force. With an evil hiss, it was gone.

"That was too close for comfort," Mille said. "Thank you, Nydia."

"It will get worse, don't ever believe otherwise. But to fight it, think of love and the Lord."

"Almost got you both that time," Jeanne said. "We'll get you yet."

Nydia tossed the girl a white gown. "Dress!" she said curtly.

They then, with Joe's help, dragged the teenager into a bedroom and tied her down. They joined the others in the den.

"I don't know if this will work," Father Le Moyne said with a long sigh. "I have already violated the first rule by not consulting the bishop. The Rituale Romanum is quite clear on that matter. But, perhaps in this case—" He shrugged. "Of the twenty-one heads prefixed in the rite of Rituale, I can safely say I meet most of them. I have not fasted, nor have I lived a blameless life. I can but hope that will be overlooked. I chose not to perform the exorcism in a church for reasons of my own.

"You people—all of you—will act as my witnesses. 1 cannot allow the Blessed Sacrament near the girl; but I have my crucifix and holy water. I am going into Little Sam's bedroom for a few moments of prayer. Please do not disturb me. When I come out, we must begin immediately."

Father Le Moyne walked softly down the carpeted hall and entered the bedroom. He closed the door behind him.

"Lordy, Lordy!" Joe said. "What in the world is a good Methodist doin' in this mess?"

The quartet walked into the bedroom where Jeanne lay tied, hands to the headboard posts, feet secured to the base of the bed. She was dressed in a white gown of Nydia's. The gown was much too large for the young girl, and she looked pathetic lying on the bed.

Until she opened her mouth.

"Goddamnmotherfuckingcockeatingpussylappingshitfacedassholesuckingbastards!" she shouted, the filth rolling from her mouth in waves.

Only Joe had anything to say about that outburst.

"Lordy, Lordy!"

Father Le Moyne entered the room. He was dressed in surplice and violet stole. He said nothing to anyone. He signed himself, Jeanne, and the others with the sign of the cross, then sprinkled them all with holy water. Jeanne thrashed on the bed and screamed in pain as the holy water touched her. She cursed them all. Father Le Moyne ignored her profanity. He placed one end of the violet stole around the neck of Jeanne, securing it. She screamed and hissed and tried to bite his hand. When she saw he was too quick for her snapping teeth, she spat at the priest, her spittle running down his face. Father Le Moyne paid no attention to it. He knelt down by the child, only Mille making the responses required.

Father Le Moyne began praying, his voice rising above the screaming hissing filth coming from the mouth of the teenager.

"You'll all die!" Jeanne howled. "You'll die horribly. I'll see to that, you cock-eaters! I'll see that it takes days for you shits to die."

Father Le Moyne prayed in Latin for a few moments, then switched to English.

"Fuck you!" Jeanne shouted, writhing on the bed. "You piss-faced son-of-a-bitch!"

"Oh God," the priest said, "Whose property is ever to have mercy and to forgive: Receive our supplications and prayers, that of Thy mercy and loving-kindness Thou wilt set free this Thy handmaiden who is fast bound by the chain of dark sins."

The priest continued the long prayer, his voice steady, rising over the howling and screaming of Jeanne. She hissed and cursed and spat at Le Moyne.

The filth from her mouth was staggeringly profane.

"I command thee, whosoever thou art, thou unclean spirit, and all thy companions possessing this child of God, that by the mysteries of the Incantation, Passion, Resurrection, and Ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, by the sending of the Holy Ghost, and by the coming of the same our Lord to judgment, thou tell me thy name, the day, and the hour of thy going out, by some sign: and, that to me, a minister of God, although unworthy, thou be wholly obedient in all things: nor hurt this creature of God, or those that stand by, or their goods in any way."

Father Le Moyne signed himself and Jeanne on the forehead, the mouth—being very careful to avoid her flashing teeth—and the breast. Jeanne continued to shriek profanity at the man. The priest began to read from the Holy Gospel, reading from Mark and Luke and John. His voice was low and steady. The room darkened, the lights dimming. All present could feel the presence of both good and evil. A foul odor entered the small bedroom, assailing the nostrils of the believers. Jeanne laughed on the bed and cursed them all.

Father Le Moyne began to pray: "Almighty Lord, Word of God the Father, Jesus Christ, God and Lord of every creature: Who didst give to Thy Holy Apostles power to tread upon serpents and scorpions: Who amongst other of Thy wonderful commands didst vouchsafe to say—Put the devils to flight: By Whose power Satan fell from heaven like lightning: with supplication I beseech Thy Holy Name in fear and trembling—"

A hot stinking wind rose in heavy gusts outside the home, battering the stone walls. A limb was torn from a tree, smashing on the roof and falling like living thunder to the ground. An owl hooked its claws in a window screen and tried to beat its way into the bedroom. Jeanne shrieked and howled and poured verbal filth on the priest. Her gown became dark with heavy sweat.

The priest had never stopped: "—that to me Thy most unworthy servant, granting me pardon of all my faults, Thou wilt vouchsafe to give constancy of faith and power, that shielded the might Of Thy Holy arm, in trust and safety I may approach to attack this cruel devil, through Thee, O Jesus Christ, the Lord our God, Who shalt come to judge the quick and the dead, and the world by fire, Amen."

"Fuck you!" Jeanne shouted. "Fuck all you cock-suckers!" she screamed. "All praise the Master! All praise the Dark One."

Father Le Moyne signed the cross and placed his hand on Jeanne's head, pinning the child's head to the sweat-soaked pillow.

He said, "Behold the Cross of the Lord, flee ye of the contrary part. The Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, hath prevailed—"

"Shove it up your stinking asshole, Zorro!" Jeanne shouted defiantly.

Father Le Moyne appeared undaunted. He continued the exorcism.

The wind slammed against the house. Screaming in his fury, the Dark One hurled the wind like giant fists against the home. The stone structure actually rocked on its foundation. Those inside the house were thrown about like stringless puppets. Only Father Le Moyne appeared not to notice the hard buffeting.

The priest prayed: "Lord, hear my prayer, and let my cry come unto Thee. The Lord be with you, And with thy spirit."

"Fuck you!" Jeanne wailed. She spat on the priest and again tried to bite him, her teeth flashing and snapping in the fading, on and off lights in the bedroom. She screamed profanity of the most hideous proportions.

"O God, and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, I call upon Thy Holy Name and humbly implore Thy mercy, that Thou wouldest vouchsafe to grant me help against this, and every unclean spirit, that vexes this Thy creature. Through the same Lord Jesus Christ."

"Fuck me!" Jeanne cried. "Give me some cock, padre. I got good tight pussy, man. Young stuff. Come on! Pop it to me, preacher!" She laughed, the evil rolling from her tongue and shining in her eyes. "Turn me over and stuff it up my ass, you queer son-of-a-bitch. I'll make a man out of you if you'll let me. Let me give you some head, man!"

Laughter, dark and menacing, rose from out of the hot wind and crept into the room.

"Leave!" Father Le Moyne shouted. "Be gone from this holy place, you spawn of the Devil."

The laughter died.

Father Le Moyne crossed himself and began the exorcism. "I exorcise thee, most foul spirit, every coming in of the enemy, every apparition, every legion; in the Name of our Lord Jesus—" He crossed himself. "—Christ, be rooted out, and be put to flight from this creature of God." He signed the cross. "He commands thee, Who has bid thee be cast down from the highest heaven into the lower parts of the earth. He commands thee, Who has commanded the sea, the winds, and the storms. Hear therefore, and fear, Satan, thou injurer of the faith, thou enemy of the human race, thou producer of death, thou destroyer of life, kindler of vices, seducer of men, betrayer of the nations, inciter of envy, origin of avarice, cause of discord, stirrer of troubles: why standest thou, and resistest, when thou knowest that Christ the Lord destroyed thy ways? Fear him, Who was sacrificed in Isaac, Who was sold in Joseph, was slain in the Lamb, was crucified in man, thence was the triumpher over hell."