She gave him a look that would have stopped a runaway truck dead in the road. "You FORBID it!" she screamed at him. "Forbid! You do not forbid me to do a fucking thing!"
Falcon sighed. "And I worked so hard improving your vocabulary, taking it from the gutter. Now you revert."
"Forbid me! Are you forgetting who is in command here?"
"Not at all, my dear. Calm yourself. I was merely attempting to be practical about this matter. Roma, consider the risk factor. One: even should you seduce the young man without cheating, having a demon child would kill you. That is written. Secondly: the Master would surely void your plan. Oh, Roma … go fuck the young man, any way you can, and get it out of—or in your case—into your system. Then forget it. We have matters of much greater urgency here."
She whirled and stalked from the room, cursing under her breath. Falcon watched her leave, slamming the door. He stood and slowly shook his head. A pity, he thought, to be so obsessed by the memory of Balon. She fell in love with a Man of God.
He shuddered at the thought. How degrading!
"They stopped watching us," Nydia said. "I could feel her eyes when they left me. They're planning something, Sam."
"Sure they are. Evil. I just wish I knew what I—we—are supposed to do about it. Do I have a free hand? I don't know. Nydia? I … we're stumbling around in the dark with this thing. I don't know what to do. Yes, all right, my dad appeared and wrote me a letter. I've convinced myself we didn't dream it. A sign of the cross is burned—burned—into my chest. Okay, I'll accept that I've been chosen … but, damn it, honey … chosen to do what? I have to assume that I am to follow in my dad's footsteps; do what he did back in Whitfield in the fifties." He stopped at the edge of the deep timber and sat down on a large rock, Nydia beside him.
"Dad was trying to tell us something about our being related. But what? He said it wasn't a holy union. Does that make our feelings all right? I'm going to say it does. I can't help the way I feel about you. We were drawn together from the moment we met. You felt it, I felt it. And we'll just leave it at that.
"Mother always said I was just like my dad. I guess the service proved it: it … really doesn't bother me to kill. I can't say much about it, although I don't know what it would matter now, to you, I mean, but sometimes Special Troops have to kill. Cold-bloodedly. A very few get picked to do that. I got picked. I did my job. I came back to base. I did that several times. No guilt feelings. None at all. No remorse. No nothing. I think Dad must have been like that.
"Okay, then. I'll do whatever in the hell—that's an odd word to pick, isn't it—I'm supposed to do. I'm hearing voices in my head; words pop out of my mouth that are alien to me; I know things that mortals aren't supposed to know—and don't ask me to explain any of it. I can't. So I'll just have to wait until someone, or something, gives me the green light with instructions."
She put her arms around him and held him. And as has been the case for thousands of years, woman gave her strength to man through her touch, her gentleness, her understanding … and the fact that women are the more mercenary of the species.
"We'll both know when it's time, Sam," she told him, holding him. "I believe that. And I believe that our feelings for each other are right. And you must believe it."
Holding hands, they walked into the timber, and the silence of God's free nature seemed to make them stronger, and draw them closer. The mood was almost religious, the towering trees a nondenominational cathedral silently growing around the young couple. They came to a small, rushing creek and sat on a log by the bubbling waters.
"Tell me more about being a Christian, Sam."
"I don't know that much about it, Nydia. I … sometimes think it's a … feeling one must have. And I don't have it very often."
"I think you're a better person than you will admit to being, Sam."
"I've killed in cold blood," he said softly. "Before I was twenty years old."
"Yet you've been chosen by a higher power to do … something good here on earth."
He looked at her. "Killing your mother and brother, probably. Have you thought about that, Nydia?"
"Yes. But I have no feelings of love or affection for either of them, Sam. I don't recall the last time I felt anything for them. I've always felt like a stranger around them … out of place … unwanted and really unloved. I don't believe they know love. I'll put it stronger than that: they worship Satan, so how can they know love?"
His smile was gentle, full of admiration for her. And love.
"Do you believe in baptizing or sprinkling, Sam?"
"I was baptized when I was just a kid. Too young, really. You don't really understand what it's all about at twelve or thirteen. It's exciting … the thing to do. Yeah, I guess either one would do. I'm not even sure it's necessary. How about the thief on the cross?"
"I know that story. I want to be a Christian, Sam."
He looked at her. "I really hope the thoughts I'm picking up from you aren't correct."
"They are."
"I'm not a minister, Nydia. I'm not even a very good Christian. How can I baptize you?"
"Do you remember the words, Sam?"
"No. I really don't." He searched his memory. "Well … I remember what Jesus said to the eleven disciples after the rock had rolled away … or something like that."
"Oh, Sam!" She laughed at him, her laughter tinkling bells in the forest. "All right, that will have to do. So say them. Do it."
"Do it? You mean … here? Nydia, I don't have the … uh, authority."
"What authority does it take?"
"Well, I don't know, exactly."
'Then how do you know you don't have it? I mean, you're a baptized Christian, aren't you? Can't a Christian baptize somebody?"
"I … guess so, Nydia. But I'm not about to stick you in that water," he said pointing to the creek. "You'd turn blue!"
"Then put your fingers in the creek and do that other thing."
He grinned at her, the grin fading when he saw she was serious. Feeling very much like a fool, Sam kneeled by the fast-rushing creek and wet his fingers. He touched his fingers to her forehead and said, "Jesus said this, Nydia, and I really hope someone is listening who knows what this is all about. 'All power is given unto me in Heaven and on earth.'
"'Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.'
"Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.'"
And Sam knew something all powerful had been guiding his voice, for he had not read that passage since he was a child.
He kissed her lips and said, "I feel kind of like an idiot, Nydia."
"I really hope Jesus didn't add that," she said dryly.
"What do they represent?" Susan asked, her eyes on the circle of stones.
Black moved closer to her, standing just behind the young woman. She could smell the musk of his cologne and it was rich and heady, arousing some heretofore hidden urge deep within her. Black breathed deeply of her perfume and placed his hands on her shoulders.
"It is said that here is where ancient ceremonies were held," he told her. He now stood with his groin pushing against her buttocks, knowing she could feel his slight erection. He pushed against her. She made no effort to move away.
"What kind of ceremonies?" she asked, her voice low.
"The people who worship here, Susan, worship a Master who allows them supreme pleasures in life. Their Master knows that mortals are susceptible beings, and to place too many restrictions upon them is not wise. Are you a Christian, Susan?"
"I was baptized as a child, but I don't attend church."
"Why not?"
"I just got away from it, that's all."
"The talk at school is you're untouchable. That Susan is super-cool. All ice."
"You're touching me, so the talk must be wrong."
"They say you don't smoke grass, don
't drink … nothing!"
"Like I said, Black: the talk is wrong." She pushed her buttocks against his heating, swelling groin.
He moved his hands from her shoulders to her slim waist.
She said, "Tell me more about this religion, Black. It sounds very intriguing."
"What would you like to know about it?" His hands were gently caressing her denim-clad hips.
"Oh … like what is your church called? And I assume you belong to it."
"Yes. Many names. Depending on the locale."
"Have I ever been to one of your churches?"
"I doubt it." He buried his face in the lushness of her hair and breathed the scent of her.
"Why all this sudden attention to me, Black? I've seen
you looking at me at dances, but you never asked me out.
"I didn't believe you'd go out with me."
"Why?"
"Because of the talk."
"But I'm here, aren't I?"
'And we're alone."
She turned in his arms and kissed him, running her tongue over his lips, pushing against him, working her hips against his. "Did you bring blankets so we could fuck, Black?"
He laughed, his lips still on hers. "I have to admit I did, Susan."
"All right," she said softly, then added, "Lana and the others are so stupid they don't realize what happened, Black. But my father was a doctor—the research kind. I know when I've been drugged. Besides, I'm a light sleeper; not like I slept last night. You didn't have to do that, Black."
He said nothing.
She pulled away, opening her jacket, then removing it. Black gazed hungrily at the swell of her breasts pushing against her shirt. She lifted the heavy gold medallion. "Seems to be a great many of these, Black."
"But I gave only one—to you."
Her eyes were serious as they gazed into the darkness of his eyes. His were unreadable. "I studied this medallion quite closely this morning. Under a magnifying glass."
"And?"
"It was … unusual. I found myself captivated by the detail."
"But not offended?"
"Oh no."
"Some people are offended by the scene."
And she sealed her fate when she said, "I found myself wishing I was a participant."
"Did you now?"
"Yes."
"You could be."
"Tell me what I would gain."
"If you're one of the lucky ones accepted by our Master—really accepted by him—everlasting beauty and life."
"I'm a virgin, Black. I really am."
"Why? Saving yourself for the right man?"
"Something like that. But I think I've found him."
"It would be an honor for me." A thin line of sweat formed on her upper lip, although the northern air was cool. "I think I like your god, Black. And I'm not a fool: I know what Adam and the others practice."
"Do you now?"
"Yes. Black magic. Voodoo. Devil worship."
"It doesn't frighten you?"
"It fascinates me."
He took her hand and placed it on his swelling crotch. "Does that fascinate you?"
She gently squeezed. "I'd like to see more before I commit myself."
"You know the way."
She nodded and drew back, spreading the blankets away from the circle of stones, on a thick mattress of pine needles. She kneeled down, slowly wriggling out of her jeans. She patted the space beside her.
Naked from the waist down, but with their shirts open, they lay under the blankets beneath the trees. She gripped his penis and worked the foreskin back, the angry red glans glistening.
"It's big," was all she said.
There was no need for foreplay; her juices were wetting the insides of her thighs.
"Think you can get that in your mouth?" Black asked.
"It's real big," she repeated.
"Try."
Without hesitation she bent her head and took him, while his fingers worked at the wetness between her legs. He pulled her mouth from him and positioned himself between her legs, inserting only a small portion of himself inside her.
"More," she groaned.
"First you tell me your God is shit," he said.
She hesitated, then complied, uttering the blasphemy. And the medallion around her neck began to glow.
He slid another inch inside her and said, "Praise the Master of Darkness, Susan."
"Yes," she whispered in passion. "I do praise Him."
He moved between her legs and she screamed in pleasure and pain. Black said, "If this feels so good, Susan, why then does your God deny this pleasure to his subjects, whenever they choose to partake of it?"
"I don't know!" she wailed, struggled to get more of him inside her.
"Because your God is shit!"
"Yes. My God is shit!"
At his urgings, blasphemous words rolled from her mouth, leaking like filth from a broken sewage line.
And God must have frowned as the Devil laughed when Black shoved his manhood into the laughing, screaming, corruption-spouting young woman. His newest convert. By the circle of stones. Not too far from a reaking hole in the ground.
"Susan screaming," Nydia said, her lips tight as the wails of pleasure drifted through the timber.
"But not in pain," Sam observed.
"No, I guess not. My brother is … amply endowed. Like you," she said, glancing at him.
"My father must have been hung like a bull."
She laughed. "What a marvelously elegant expression.
"Shall we hike through the timber and see what's happening?" Sam suggested with a grin.
"What is this, another side to you? The voyeur?"
"I just want to see if Dad gave him the same equipment."
"You're awful. You and Black are … about the same, in that department."
"How would you know?"
"I'm his sister, remember? I've seen my brother naked on numerous occasions. None recently, thank God." She was gently leading him in the opposite direction of the wailing pleasure sounds.
"Must be gettin' good," Sam drawled.
"You're incorrigible! Remember, Sam: He has His eye on you."
"Before you get too pious, honey, remember the same applies to you."
She looked horrified. "I forgot about that."
They walked a full mile from the circle of stones before they spread the ground sheet Sam carried. He said, "We'll give them time to get it done, then wander down that way. I want to see this circle of stones and the hole in the ground."
She lay back on the ground sheet, her hands behind her head. Sam's eyes began wandering. "Don't get any ideas," she cautioned him, pointing upward. "He's watching."
A half continent away, many of the residents of Whitfield began answering the call of their Chosen Master, gathering in a huge clearing on the Zagone Ranch, whose eastern range bordered on the fenced-in area known as The Digging. While God did not interfere—directly—into the affairs on earth, at least not too often, and certainly never in any obvious manner, Satan was bound by no rules on earth, and could do anything the Dark One chose to do. And did—often.
There would be no interference from anyone in this part of Fork County. The Devil had seen to that. Should anyone travel through, all would appear normal, and no one would have any desire whatsoever to stop—for anything.
But the Dark One did not know that God also had plans for this part of Whitfield, and was already working.
This time, if all went according to Satan's plans—and the Prince of Darkness saw no reason why they should not—there would be no great billowing plumes of smoke from burning, exploding buildings; no racing about the county blowing up ranch houses and shooting people— none of that business this time. No, all would be handled a bit more sedately this time around. His followers could, of course, have a bit of fun: dance, sing, engage in their heretofore forbidden open orgies, all that type of mortal frivolity. Perhaps some human offerings would be fun. Certainly the Jew an
d Jewess and that idiot aging reporter and his simpering wife would die . . . and then … the Master of Grotesqueness would have his fun with Balon's bitch. That would be worth the waiting.
He pondered his options: whether to pass her around among the men until she died from exhaustion, or let the women have her. Perhaps have a pony mount her. That would certainly be an interesting sight. There were so many things to do with Balon's bitch.
Well, he had time to think things through. But … behind all his smugness, all his confidence that, at last, he would finally beat that Ageless Cosmic Meddler in the firmament … was the thought of that maverick resident of that miserable place: Balon.
Why did He allow Balon such liberties? That puzzled Beelzebub. Balon was not like many of the others; Balon was a relative newcomer. Of course, there had been many others before Balon, hundreds down through the years, but with few exceptions they had been such wimps, such a praying bunch of hand-wringing, psalm-singing sisters.
But not Balon. Balon, Mephistopheles concluded—had concluded, years ago—was a mother-fucker. And one fine warrior. It just wouldn't do to have many like him wandering about.
Perhaps, Satan thought … yes! Yes, there was a way. Maybe Balon would take it.
"Not a chance," the words ripped into Satan's thoughts.
"You have already extended yourself too much here on earth, Star-Wart," Satan replied. "Don't press your luck."
"You cannot tempt Balon."
"How do you know?"
"I know Balon."
"Bah! I think perhaps you have grown a bit too cocky of late. You forget, I know your limitations here on earth. I know exactly what you can and cannot do. I …"
"If you mention I one more time, Scratch … I will certainly interfere with your plans. Directly."
"You wouldn't dare!"
"Try me."
Satan was silent for a moment, smarting under the lash of words from the only thing in the universe he feared. "You will leave us alone here in Whitfield?"
"I didn't say that."
The Devil's Heart Page 9