‘A false God!’ he shouted to the silent Célèstines. ‘That was a false God! If we sacrifice this boy, we’ll summon the real God!’
Charlie, however, without hesitation, and without being hindered by any of the Célèstine assistants, strode forward and punched M. Musette hard in the side of the head. Then he twisted the sacrificial knife from Martin’s grasp, and went after M. Musette with nothing in his heart but bloody revenge. Whimpering, M. Musette picked himself up, dodged back behind the altar, and fell to the floor.
‘That was a false God,’ he babbled. ‘That wasn’t Jesus, that was a false God!’
Charlie, maddened, went after him. But Robyn had left her seat and was tugging at his arm and saying, ‘It’s over! Charlie, it’s over! All we have to do is get out of here!’
Charlie stiffened, and stood straight, staring at M. Musette like Captain Ahab staring at Moby Dick. ‘I’ll kill him,’ he breathed. ‘By God, I’ll kill him.’
But it was then that M. Musette stood up, and he was staring at Martin with bulging eyes. ‘I can’t,’ he retched. ‘I can’t ––!’
The room darkened. The shadows could have been filled with clotted blood. And then M. Musette clutched at his throat, and vomited blood, and chewed-up flesh.
‘Oh, God,’ said Mme Musette, and tried to take hold of Charlie’s arm, but Charlie wrenched her away.
M. Musette’s body heaved and shook in terrible convulsions. He tried to scream, but his screams were choked and gargled with half-digested human tissue. Then he arched his neck back, with his veins bulging, and began to sick up not just everything that he had eaten, but every human being that had been ingested by the Célèstines, a thousand times a thousand. In the words of the voice that had spoken from the dazzling white light, the temple gates were opened, and the souls of all those who had been taken prisoner were released.
M. Musette’s mouth stretched wide. He couldn’t speak. Only his eyes betrayed his agony. Out from his lips fountained blood and brains and human flesh, gallons of it, dark red and pungent, hosing the floor of the feasting hall. The Célèstine Guides screamed and shouted and began to elbow each other toward the doors.
Then, however, two eyes appeared. Two scarlet flaring eyes, and the smoky outline of something grisly and bizarre. The Célèstines fell silent again, and turned and stared at the altar. The eyes flicked this way and that, reddened as coals, mesmerizing everybody they looked at.
‘Baron Samedi,’ breathed Robyn. ‘They’ve summoned up Baron Samedi.’
A deep rumbling noise shook the building from end to end. Lightning crackled and blasted against the roof. The scarlet eyes glared this way and that, and everywhere they glared, people burst into flames, as if they were made out of nothing but sawdust and sticks. Charlie grabbed Robyn with one hand, and Martin with the other, and said, ‘Let’s go! This whole place is going up!’
They struggled their way between screaming, hysterical Célèstines. On either side of them as they pushed their way towards the exit, people were spontaneously exploding into flames. Their shrieking was so intense that at times it was inaudible, like a hundred-strong chorus of dog-whistles.
They reached the doors; Robyn whimpering, Martin silent and still and robotic in his movements, but obedient. After all, hadn’t M. and Mme Musette taught him obedience? From now on, he would do everything that he was told.
Charlie turned around. He saw M. Musette, thigh-deep in regurgitated tissue, still endlessly vomiting one thousand times one thousand. He saw Mme Musette, with her wimple alight, rigid with hysteria and fear.
Behind them both, smoky and vague, but with eyes that burned like coals from hell, he saw Baron Samedi, the voodoo devil, wreaking his revenge on all those who had disturbed him from his thousand-year sleep.
They let the doors swing shut behind them. Then they hobbled and ran across the compound. A Cherokee four-wheel-drive was parked down at the end of the accommodation block, with the keys still in it. Charlie wrenched open the doors, and said, ‘Come on. Let’s burn rubber.’
They drove into a day that loomed all around them as dark as night. Lightning crackled down on either side. In the rearview mirror, Charlie saw the Céléstine building blazing from end to end, and even before he reached the bend in the track, he saw the roof collapse, showering fire and molten metal on the congregation who called themselves the Heavenly Ones.
He drove straight through the metal barrier which protected the property, and headed east. Baton Rouge, Hammond, and then Route 59 back towards New York.
They had driven only two miles before Martin began to shiver from cold, and weep. Robyn helped Charlie out of his coat, and draped it over Martin’s shoulders. She looked at Charlie with that expression which convinced him that he loved her, and smiled. ‘Martin’s fine, Charlie. I do believe you’ve managed to get your son back.’
After ten miles of high-speed driving, just east of the Atchafalaya, Charlie pulled the Cherokee off the road and killed the engine. The storm had passed over, the sun was beginning to drift through the clouds, and there was a smell of sassafras and dust in the air. Charlie bowed his head over the steering wheel for a moment, in exhaustion and delayed shock, and then turned to Martin and touched his face.
Martin didn’t respond first of all; but then his eyes glittered with tears, and he took hold of Charlie’s hand, fingers intertwined with fingers, and said, ‘Dad. Dad. I love you, Dad.’
Charlie gave him a tight smile. ‘Why don’t you call me Charlie?’
‘Charlie,’ said Martin, and then they both held each other tight and neither of them was ashamed of crying.
‘Do you know what I’m going to do?’ said Charlie. ‘I’m going from one Célèstine church to another, one by one; and I’m going to burn them all to the ground. And, believe me, there isn’t one police officer or one politician who’s going to lift a finger to stop me.’
Robyn reached across the front seat and held his hand, and said, ‘You’re a brave man, Charlie McLean.’
24
It was evening, three days later, when Charlie parked the Cherokee in the driveway outside Le Reposoir. The sky was the coldest of pinks, and the trees stood tall and naked around the building’s silhouetted spires. Charlie opened the Cherokee’s tailgate, and dragged out two metal jerry cans, both sloshing full with gasoline.
He carried the jerry cans one after the other up the front steps. He tried the door handles, and to his surprise the doors were unlocked. He opened them up, looked into the dark echoing hallway and called, ‘Hallo? Anybody there?’
There was no response. He waited for a little while, listening, and then he hefted the jerry cans into the hallway, and set them down. Only the faintest of lights filtered down the stairs from the medieval stained-glass window. Only the faintest of breezes blew through the building that had once been called ‘the little altar’.
Charlie opened up the first jerry can, tipped it over, and poured gasoline all over the floor. When it was half empty, he was able to pick it up and slosh more gasoline over the staircase and wooden panelling. He coughed once or twice. The fumes were almost unbearable.
He was about to open the second jerry can when he thought he heard a clicking noise. He stood up straight, listening hard. It was probably a rat, or a bird. He waited a couple of moments longer, and then he began to slosh out more gasoline.
Bastards, he thought, I’m going to burn your name off the face of the earth.
He searched in his pockets for the cigarette lighter that he had brought with him. He didn’t see the small shadow that fell across the floor.
He didn’t see the small hooded figure that approached him silently as a ghost; and the dull blade of a machete that caught the very last strains of evening sunlight.
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GRAHAM MASTERTON was a bestselling horror writer for many years before he turned his talent to crime. He lived in Cork for five years, an experience that inspired the Katie Maguire series.
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About the Katie Maguire Series
Katie Maguire was one of seven sisters born to a police Inspector in Cork, but the only sister who decided to follow her father into An Garda Siochana.
With her bright green eyes and short redhair, she looks like an Irish pixie, but she is no soft touch. To the dismay of some of her male subordinates, she rose quickly through the ranks, gaining a reputation for catching Cork’s killers, often at great personal cost.
Katie spent seven years in a turbulent marriage in which she bore, and lost, a son – an event that continues to haunt her. Despite facing turmoil at home and prejudice at work, she is one of the most fearless detectives in Ireland.
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London, 1750
Beatrice Scarlet is the apothecary’s daughter. She can mix medicines and herbs to save the lives of her neighbours - but, try as she might, she can’t save the lives of her parents. An orphan at just sixteen, Beatrice marries a preacher and emigrates to America.
New Hampshire, 1756
In the farming community where Beatrice now lives, six pigs are found viciously slaughtered; slices of looking-glass embedded in their mouths. According to scripture, this is the work of Satan - but Beatrice Scarlet suspects the hands of men. As she closes in on the killer, she must act quickly to unmask him - or become the next victim herself...
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First published in 1988 by Severn House Ltd
This eBook edition first published in the UK in 2017 by Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © Graham Masterton, 1988
The moral right of Graham Masterton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN (E) 9781786695628
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