The Devil's Heart (17 page)

"Now, you hear me well, witch and warlock: the both of you will not fail this time. These are my commands: you will establish a Coven on these grounds; to insure that, I have ordered more members in, to reinforce this group. They will be here tonight. You, Roma, will give me a demon son from the seed of Balon's bastard; you, Falcon, will give me a bitch demon from the womb of Nydia. But test them before you seduce them—as God is doing—see if they are worthy of my touch. You must offer them ample opportunity to leave, and allow them to do so if that is their choice. Of course," the Devil chuckled, "you can also ambush them on their way out."

The torches smoked for a few moments, the circle of stones silent in the flickering light. Then Satan roared.

"Do either of you really think I care how you accomplish any of this? I don't care how you go about it. I don't care if there is a sacrifice this night. I put the sacrifice business in the mind of that fool writer a thousand years ago … it's been repeated ever since. Why is
everything
I say constantly taken out of context? Can't I make a joke occasionally? After all, I was once an angel, and a goddamned good one, if I do say so myself. I'm not humorless. I gave the world Pilate, Hitler, and rock and roll music, didn't I?

"No, Roma, Falcon, you will not fail me. I want to hear the screaming of those puky holy people; I want to hear the wailing as their blood stains the ground, and I want to see a demon burst forth from your womb, and a matching bitch from the cunt of your
Christian
daughter.

"There are no rules—none! I have this precognition that I am going to be defeated in Whitfield. Very well. I can live with that; I can accept it. I will derive some satisfaction from it, however: the wailing and begging of Balon's Christian whore as she is ravaged and flogged and finally nailed naked onto my cross. And, no, you may rest your fears, Balon will not interfere here. He'll be much too busy back in Whitfield, with that impossible golem.

"No, that meddler from the firmament broke His word, even though He denies it, so I see no need for many rules. But you two hear me well: I want blood, pain, degradation, filth … everything
we
believe in … and more. Tell your fool son to mount the male if that is what he desires; he will never be anything other than a stooge to me. Failure, Roma. You failed with both your latest children. But at least, and it pains me to say this, Nydia did accept
something;
she is faithful to
something.
Which is much more than can be said of that foolish son of yours. He disgusts me. Scheming, plotting, foolish, foolish boy.

"It is doubtful I shall return here until you have completed your assignments. I must return west. That psalm singer broke His word, thinks He has
me
fooled; thinks I believe He has departed. Well, I don't trust Him. I know He's got something up His sleeve—I just don't know what. Be careful: Balon's goody-two-shoes son has tremendous powers, which is another reason I'm sending in help. So, good-bye.
And don't fail me!"

"Something happened," Sam whispered. "I feel as if I was locked in some kind of time warp, where everything stood still."

"Me, too," Nydia said, returning the whisper. "Look! Roma and Falcon are moving now."

"They were speaking with Satan."

"How do you know that?"

"Some … one just told me."

She looked at him in the darkness, her eyes wide and scared. "Who?"

"I don't know."

Nydia suddenly gasped. "My God!" She grabbed at Sam's arm. "Look at that."

Both of them grimaced their shock and horror as Howard was led to the dark altar by two servants and Black began his sodomy of the young man. Howard screamed his outrage and pain, fighting against hands that held him while Black laughed as he forced the ugliness.

Howard screamed again, his cries echoing around the small valley. Roma ran to the scene of rape, her black robe open, exposing her nakedness, the stones preventing Sam and Nydia from seeing what was taking place. They could but wonder what the witch was doing.

Kneeling in front of the altar, Roma sank her teeth into the femoral artery of Howard's thigh, the blood gushing from the fang bites, spilling over her face and lips. She drank greedily of the hot red liquid, biting him again and again, working steadily upward, until his thigh and groin area were pricked with the needle marks.

She drew away from him, her face covered with blood. Howard's cries tapered off into low moans as Black began shivering with approaching climax. The Beasts began dancing, a grotesque, obscene hunching, a debasement of any rhythm that needed grace or beauty. Soon all were dancing and chanting: "Prince of Darkness! King of the Night! Lord of the Flies and of Filth! Hear this one scream for you!"

Howard screamed as Black climaxed. The Coven members danced about the altar, tearing off their clothes. Howard lay unconscious across the altar.

Falcon pointed to the young man draped in humiliation across the flat stone altar. "Tend to his needs," he ordered.

Then, oblivious to the cold and the damp, the men and women coupled like animals, their naked bodies gleaming in the torch-lit circle of stones.

The naked Satan worshipers began fucking like dogs, while the Beasts danced and howled and slobbered around them, their own erections starkly vivid in the flickering light.

Roma took Jimmy into her ageless cunt, while Falcon impaled a screaming Sandy against the damp ground, the young woman suddenly filled with his massive organ. She screamed her pleasure-pain and wrapped young legs around the older man's back, meeting him lunge for lunge, shrieking out her evil joy. She cried blasphemies, flinging the oaths into the night air, her shrill voice seeming to push the others into more profane, perverted acts.

"I've seen enough," Sam said, taking Nydia's hand, leading her away from the circle of flickering lights, back toward the house. They were dressed in dark clothing, blending into the night as they walked.

As they walked away from the blasphemous screaming and cursing, from the scene of Devil worship, Nydia said, "I get the feeling mother knew we were watching. You?"

"Yes. And I think Satan told her we were."

"That … feeling of being suspended for a time."

"Yes." They waited in silence for a time, Sam breaking the mood by asking, "I wonder what my mother is doing?"

"You should have seen Hershel do his stuff this afternoon," Miles excitedly told Jane Ann over the phone. The only two phones belonging to believers that still worked in Whitfield, although the plugs had been pulled and the wires severed by phone-company personnel. "Those people who have been so crappy to us for the past year don't act so high and mighty now."

"Sam didn't do so badly himself," she replied. She looked around for the mist that was Balon. She could not see any evidence of the vapor, but she knew he was present.

"Janey? We're all right here. I don't understand what is happening; why this has to happen; why God just doesn't take us if that is His will … but you, are you doing all right?"

"I was afraid, Miles. But Sam comforted me. I prayed. You?"

"Like I haven't been away from synagogue for fifty years."

"Doris?"

"Like a mountain of faith. Janey? I don't understand any of this. It's so baffling. Are we being tested? Is that it? If so, why? What have we done with our lives that makes us so worthy … or unworthy, as the case may be? What does Sam say?"

"He says we will all understand someday."

"How like him." Miles' reply was dryly put. "Stay strong, Jane Ann. Our prayers will be with you, at the end," the last words were filled with emotion.

"You know what is going to happen?"

Her old friend's silence told her he knew only too well.

"I'll talk to you later," she said. She hung up the phone and turned to face the rear wall of the den as she sensed Baton's presence. "Have you been away?" she asked the forming mist.

"Part of me," Balon projected.

"I won't ask how that is possible."

"You're learning."

"Eight more days," she said, some of her fear returning, changing the tone of her voice.

"Put it out of your mind," Balon told her. "Think only of how pleasant it will be later."

"I wonder how our son is doing?"

The mist seemed to smile. Balon said: "Our son has more going for him than he realizes."

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said."

"Do you always speak in riddles?"

"I do not speak in riddles. Those who are not yet a part of my world do occasionally interpret my words as riddles."

She sighed. "It's hours past full dark, Sam."

A scream cut the night, a wail of agony so intense it sawed at Jane Ann's flesh like a knife with a dull cutting edge.

"I thought we were the only ones who would be subjected to … whatever?"

"No. There are people in this town, this locale, who have professed to be Christians. Their lives were lies. Liars, cheats, hypocrites, impostors pretending to serve the Lord God. Many of them. Now they beg for His mercy. But it is too late. It will not come."

"I thought our God was a just God, Sam?"

"He is. But humankind must help. Humankind was not put here on earth with a blank book, Janey. The book is the Word of God. Humankind understands that; they just won't—many of them—follow His Word. Now they must pay for their sins."

"Sam? Answer this for me, if you can: isn't it true that God answers all prayers?"

"Yes. In His own way."

"Drop the other shoe, Sam. In plain English."

The mist seemed to sigh, then projected: "More often than not, the answer is no."

Sam and Nydia made it back to the mansion just seconds before the Coven members summoned by their Master arrived, pulling up to Falcon House in half a dozen automobiles and vans. The young man and woman stood in their quarters, the lights out, the rooms dark, watching the Devil worshipers leave the vehicles, walking up the steps to the house. Not all of them were willing participants: some fought the hands that held them; some were crying; a few were little more than children.

Nydia closed the drapes and stood for a moment, Sam's arms around her. "Those poor little girls down there," she sobbed, pressing her face against his chest, crying and trembling with fear. Finally, overcoming her terror and horror, she pulled away from her young man and turned on the bureau lamp. She looked at the bed, gasped, one hand flying to her mouth. She pointed.

On the bed was Sam's Bible, open, two chapters circled in red. And his beret, his Ranger beret he carried with him in his luggage, whenever he traveled, lying beside the Bible.

Sam was no longer shocked by the surprises that occurred around him; his mind had accepted the knowledge that there were some things that could not be explained … so be it. He walked to the bed, looked at his beret, touched it, then answered Nydia's as yet unasked question.

"I worked and sweated my butt off to get this. I'm very proud of it."

He touched the red that outlined the chapter in the :Bible.

"What … is it?" she asked.

"Blood. Marking Revelation, chapters twelve and thirteen."

"Blood! Whose blood?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't know. Let's read this."

They sat on the edge of the bed, reading in silence for a few moments, trying to comprehend the message contained therein.

"I've never read the Bible before," Nydia admitted. "Except for a few quick peeps at friends' homes. But it sounds absolutely fascinating."

"It is. Nydia, I don't understand any of this. What does the blood have to do with this?"

"There!" She pointed at a passage. She read aloud.

" 'And they overcame him by the blood of the lamb.' Could that be it?"

"I … don't think so. I just don't know. Mother said that my real father often told her the Bible was vague, given to many different interpretations. But look here … right there," he pointed, and read aloud, " 'And I saw one of his heads as it were wounded to death; and his deadly wound was healed; and all the world wondered after the beast.

" 'And they worshiped the dragon which gave power unto the beast: and they worshiped the beast, saying, Who is like unto the beast? who is able to make war with him?' "

They both read the remaining verses of the chapter in silence, Nydia finally saying, "It could mean so many things, Sam. Michael was a warrior, right?"

"One hell of a warrior."

"Sam … !" she gave him a disapproving look for his paradoxical statement. "Anyway … warriors fight. Blood is spilled … right?"

"Yeah," he admitted reluctantly. "Could be you're right."

"Is the beast the Devil?"

1 … guess so.

"You're a preacher's son, Sam. You're supposed to know these things."

"I'm a backslider, honey. Not a very good Christian."

She kissed his cheek. "I don't believe that, Sam. Not for a second. Michael cast out Satan, right?"

"That's what it says."

"So … of all the angels in Heaven, who would be the one most likely to help someone fight the Devil?"

Sam looked at her in the dim light. The look he gave her was of extreme uncertainty. "Are you … Nydia, are you saying that Michael is helping me? That he is
here?"

"I don't know, Sam. Maybe he isn't here; maybe he doesn't have to be here, yet, to do these things."

"Yet?"

"Let me finish. Was your father a warrior?"

"A war hero. Yeah, he was a warrior."

"Who would he most likely make friends with … uh … up there?" She pointed upward.

"Honey, this is getting a little bit farfetched. When was the last time you recall any angels appearing here on earth?"

"Well … how would we know, really? I mean, people might not want to speak of the sighting, right?"

"You have a point. Yeah. For fear of being laughed at. I … seem to recall reading that Michael did appear to help—in some way—with Joan of Arc."

"All right. Your father had to have appeared to give you that envelope, didn't he? He's in Whitfield right now, isn't he?"

"Yeah. But my father isn't an angel."