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  Tom started to get out of his chair. Chuck waved him back. “Settle down. Violence is what they thrive on.”

  “You’re pretty cool for an old dude, Chuckie-baby,” Val told him.

  The priest was all of forty.

  “Thank you, Val. I do try to stay abreast of things.”

  “Now you’re being sarcastic.”

  “Yes. I am. You’re an intelligent young lady. Surely you can see why I would be offended by anyone worshipping my enemy.”

  “Oh, no, man! You shouldn’t feel that way. He’s the best friend you ever had. Without him you’d be out of a job.”

  The priest chuckled. “You do have a point. What’s happening in this town, Val?”

  “The first year of Anno Satanas began on Walpurgis Night.”

  “May Eve, huh? I thought that occurred about twenty years ago.”

  She shrugged. “This is a whole new ball game, man. All that other stuff has been bagged.”

  “What damn language are you speaking, girl?” Tom asked.

  “Screw you.”

  “That’s what you had in mind, isn’t it?” her father reminded her.

  “So? That isn’t wrong according to our beliefs. Wouldn’t you like to . . .”

  Then she proceeded to tell them all what she would like to do for her daddy, what her daddy could do for her, and if Mommy-dearest and Chuckie-baby wanted to join in ... well, man, the more the merrier. And it was all spoken in the most profane manner the girl could think of. It was perverted and sickening.

  Tom and Liza looked shocked, with pale faces and trembling hands. Chuck didn’t bat an eye. He stood up and walked back to her bedroom, studying for several minutes the symbols on the wall. He disregarded most, concentrating on only a few. He wasn’t certain he understood all that he saw, but he felt he now knew enough to understand what was going on.

  The signs and symbols he concentrated on were a jumbled-up mixture of Egyptian-Ethiopian-Assyrian; and that was not strange because voodoo had existed thousands of years before Christ walked the earth. And voodoo had its roots all over Africa.

  The voice of Tom ripped through the house. “Come back here, goddamn you!”

  Chuck walked back to the den. Val was gone. Tom was standing in the open front door, his face red and his hands balled into fists.

  “Let her go, Tom,” the priest said. “Nothing you or I or anyone else could say would change how she feels. She has made her choice.”

  The father turned slowly. “Are you saying it’s irreversible?”

  “For now. Perhaps forever.”

  Tom lifted his big hands. “Well . . . I mean . . . what the hell do we do now?” He shouted the question.

  “I think we should all attend a party tonight.”

  Chapter 13

  “A party?” Tom yelled at the priest. “My kid is gang-banging half the young studs in town, doing drugs and God only knows what else, and to top it off she’s worshipping the Devil . . . and you want us all to go off to some damn party!”

  Chuck waited until the man had yelled and stomped around the den, venting some of his anger and frustration. “Settle down, Tom. I told you the small cookout is being held at Dee Conners’s place. That’s where this so-called expert is staying. I’d like to talk with him and I think you should too.”

  “We weren’t invited to the party, Father Vincent,” Liza pointed out.

  “That won’t be any problem. I’ll take care of that; I’ll just call Dee. I think it best if we take two cars. One or the other might have to leave early. Now then, let’s have some more coffee and talk about Val.”

  * * *

  “I split man,” Val told the group. “Before Vincent could start working some of his hoodoo shit.”

  “I know what you mean,” another girl said. “When my parents saw all the stuff in my room, they called the preacher. He prayed and all that crap. It was kinda spooky. But when he said it was just a teenage fad thing, I really had to work to keep from busting out laughing. You going back home, Val?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s pretty close to time, the way I hear. What I’ll do is, I’ll go home with one of you guys and call my folks; tell them I got to think on things, get my head straight. Then I’ll come home. By that time, we’ll be making our move and it won’t make any difference anyway.”

  “Praise the Dark One!” Nick said.

  “Praise the Dark One!” the group said.

  While the rest were chanting the dark and evil phrases, two teenagers slipped away and out of the house. A block from Nick’s house, they stopped on the sidewalk.

  “You’re right, Janet,” Gary said. “We’ve been had.”

  The girl nodded her head. “I thought it was just a joke at first. You know, a way to get back at our parents. But when they sacrificed that little puppy the other night, I about puked. I felt so sorry for that puppy I wanted to cry.”

  “We gotta do something.”

  “What we got to do is be real careful, Gary,” she cautioned.

  He knew what she meant. Coven members made lifetime commitments to the group, which included a strict vow of secrecy and silence. That vow was not unlike the La Cosa Nostra vow of the Mafia. Members of covens were not allowed to disassociate themselves from the group after having taken part in or witnessed any of their many and various criminal perversions. Any member breaking the code of secrecy placed his or her life, and the lives of his or her family, in serious jeopardy.

  Both Gary and Janet had heard what had happened to Lanny and Dora. The kids had wanted to break away—did break away. But before they could get to the police, they were caught, tortured, raped, sodomized, and then killed, their bodies dismembered with a chain saw and disposed of.

  “But we gotta do something,” Gary persisted.

  “I know, I know, Gary. But we got to be cool with it. We’ve got to think out each move real careful.”

  “Are we through with the group, Janet?”

  “All the way, Gary.”

  “God, I feel so much better just hearing those words.”

  Seventeen-year-old female fingers found and clutched at seventeen-year-old male fingers, as their eyes met. “I love you, Gary.”

  “And I love you, Janet.”

  “You got any ideas?”

  “Janet . . . I want with all my heart to just run. Get clear of this town before it happens. And it’s not just mumbo-jumbo—it’s going to happen. But I just can’t turn my back on innocent people. We have to make some sort of stand.”

  She rubbed his arm. “You’re so brave.”

  He shook his head. “No, honey. I’m just scared!”

  * * *

  While the doctors worked frantically at Cal’s small lab, Jim Hunt and Max Bancroft slowly cruised the town in Jim’s county unit.

  “Over there’s another one.” Max pointed out the lightning bolt over the swastika.

  “Yeah. I see it. How many devil symbols does that one make?”

  “ ’Bout a dozen in the past fifteen minutes.”

  And the lawmen had been very conscious of the hot, hate-filled, and hostile looks they’d been receiving while they cruised. Not just from young people, but from people of all ages . . . men, women, and kids. Not from the majority of the townspeople, far from it, but from enough people to make them very edgy.

  “How did it get so far without us picking up on it?” Max asked.

  “The Devil’s slick, Max. We’ve heard that so many times, from so many preachers, we tend to just let it slide. We say it can’t happen to us, not in our community. I think we became uppity about our faith. I’ll not do that again.”

  “Look over yonder, Jim,” the chief of police said softly, pointing.

  A long row of cats sat on a chain-link fence, watching silently as the sheriffs department car approached and drove slowly by. The tails of the cats swished back and forth, as if following the clicking of a metronome. Click. Swish. Click. Swish. The eyes of the cats, coldly unblinking, never left the car and t
he men in it.

  “Another group about the same size across the street, Jim. Pull over, I got an idea.”

  The men got out of the car and approached the second group of cats in a silent face-off with the cats across the street. The cats allowed the men to pet them and scratch them behind their ears, purring softly in contentment.

  “Just like people,” Jim said. “Some good and some bad. We’ve found some allies, Max.”

  “Yeah. But how do we tell them apart?”

  “Just like people, Max. I reckon we can’t until the action starts.”

  The cat purred under his touch and licked his hand with a rough tongue.

  * * *

  As the sun began dipping more and more toward surrender to the night, and the guests began gathering at Dee’s A-frame, one inmate in the Reeves County jail decided it was time to make his move.

  For the past two nights, Josh Taft had been hearing voices and having some real pissers of dreams. Finally, in order to get some sleep, he had agreed—in his dreams—to the demands stated in return for his freedom.

  Of course, Josh knew it was all a bunch of crap, but when you’re in jail and facing the rest of your life being locked down hard in the bucket, you’ll agree to damn near anything.

  Sitting on the edge of his bunk, the evening meal over, Josh heard the voice tell him, “Now, Josh. It’s all ready. Do it now.”

  Josh felt kind of stupid following the directions of a voice that he knew wasn’t real. But he knew all those years in prison that faced him were damn sure real. And he also knew he wasn’t the type of man that could survive behind the walls of gray-rock college—somebody would kill him.

  So what the hell? He’d do what the voice had earlier told him to do. When he failed, and he knew he was going to fail, all it would get him was a good ass-whipin’ from some of the guards.

  He looked down at his hands. The voice had told him that when Josh was ready, just go to the door and stand. Then do whatever he felt had to be done. “Sure,” Josh muttered. “Right.”

  “Are you doubting me?” the voice whispered.

  Josh looked around him. His cell was empty—as usual. The whole damn cell block was empty ’cept for him. So where the hell was this voice coming from? He didn’t know it, yet, but he had already answered part of that question.

  “Why me and not the others?” Josh asked, his voice barely audible. Hell, he didn’t want the other prisoners to think he was nuts.

  His lawyer said that defense wouldn’t work anymore. He’d done it too many times; he’d pleaded not guilty by reason of insanity too many times in the past.

  The voice giggled. “They are with you and waiting. You are their leader. So to speak.”

  Josh stood up. “Well,” he muttered. “Sooner we get this over with the sooner I can forget all about it and get some sleep.”

  “Oh ye of little faith,” the voice taunted. “If you will forgive a bit of plagiarism.”

  Josh didn’t know what that meant, so he merely shrugged his heavy shoulders and walked to the door. The doors in the cell blocks opened with a key, or the jailer could push a main button that would open all of them. Individual cells could also be opened by button if the jailer so chose. It was all done electrically.

  Josh heard a click. He knew what that click meant. The door was open. The thought that he was being set up entered his mind.

  “Nay, nay,” the voice said. “But I won’t do your killing for you. There are still jailers and deputies you have to deal with.”

  “You let me worry about that.”

  “Oh, I shall, I shall!”

  Josh hadn’t heard any other clicks, but since he was the only prisoner housed on the so-called “bad side,” the faint clicks probably would not penetrate the thick concrete and steel-reinforced walls.

  Josh stepped out into the hall.

  Somewhere in the jail he could hear laughter and the sound infuriated him, filling him with a sort of rage he had never before experienced. Josh felt ten feet tall and strong as a bear.

  “Oh, you are,” the voice told him. “Go on. The others are waiting for you to lead them.”

  Josh took a couple of steps and mentally went over the list of other prisoners. He liked it. They were good boys, most of them, rough and rowdy from up in the ridges. Ten at last count. Good ol’ boys who didn’t give a damn for law and order, and they was all lookin’ at anywheres from five to twenty-five years. He figured they’d all come with him.

  Josh reached the main cell block door and he heard the lock click open. He paused for a moment. If that voice had really told the truth about who it belonged to, by stepping through that cell door he had just lost his soul.

  But did that really mean a damn to him?

  Didn’t take him long to come up with the answer to that: No.

  He put his hand on the steel door. “How about the cameras?”

  “They won’t see you, Josh. Trust me.”

  Josh didn’t figure he had a whole hell of a lot of choice in the matter. He looked out through the thick, reinforced glass. The big room called the runaround was empty.

  Josh pushed the door open and stepped out about the same time as Carey Ellis pushed open the door from the other cell block. The men stood for a moment, grinning at each other. Carey was looking at twenty-five for second-degree murder.

  Paul Grant came out next. Paul was a no-good from way back. Thief, child-molester, moonshiner (no telling how many people had gotten bad sick or just up and died from drinking his rotten ’shine—Paul made damn sure it was never sold in Reeves County), and two-bit car thief. Paul grinned.

  A parade of human crud followed. Louis Easton, Mark Hay, Steve Larkin, Hal Richards, and guys Josh knew only as Fox, Levi, and Willis.

  Josh motioned Carey over to him. “Go in the kitchen and get knives, meat cleavers, whatever.” He grinned. “It’s pig-slaughterin’ time in Reeves County.”

  * * *

  Carl was determined to make this evening as enjoyable as possible. He felt the good times in Reeves County, as in Ruger County, would soon be over. He sipped on a beer, waiting for Dee to signal him it was time to put the steaks on.

  Carl had met and liked Tom Malone instantly. He looked and walked like a man who was sure of his ability to take care of himself, but without the cockiness and swagger of the bully. Tom and Father Vincent came out to the porch and sat down with Carl and Mike.

  “I can’t get a word out of Mike,” the priest said with a smile. “Perhaps you can tell me what’s going on in this town, Carl.”

  “Several murders to be sure.”

  Chuck laughed. “You’re as close-mouthed as the deputy there. Just before I came out here, one of my congregation called and wanted to know about a secret meeting that was held over at Doctor Bartlett’s lab today. Would you know anything about that, Carl?”

  A sweet, sad, and very inviting song drifted to the men from out of the dark woods. It was sung by someone with a lovely soprano voice in perfect pitch, blending in with the long shadows of the night. It touched all but one of the men on the porch.

  “Don’t listen to it,” Carl warned. “And above all else, do not go into those woods.”

  With those words, the lovely song faded into a low and ugly menacing growl.

  “What the hell?” Tom said.

  “You said it,” Carl told him.

  Father Chuck Vincent sighed.

  Tom looked confused.

  Deputy Mike Randall looked scared.

  A foul odor drifted to the men on the front porch. It was the first time the Episcopal priest and the insurance agent had smelled the odor of evil. Both of them fanned the area around and under their noses.

  “The Old Ones are not far from the surface,” Carl told them. “That smell signals they are close. Among other things. It’s the odor that lingered around Satan.”

  “Gods of the old Egyptian order of Seti,” Chuck said.

  Carl looked at him. “Yes.”

  “That would
explain some of the symbols back in Val’s room.”

  “Val who?” Carl asked.

  Tom explained about the fight and what led up to it and his daughter’s running away.

  “You had best be prepared for the possibility of her never returning,” Carl warned the man. “The odds are not good.”

  “The way my wife feels right now that would certainly not disappoint her. I really believe that if I hadn’t showed up when I did, Liza would have killed her.”

  “Or your daughter would have killed your wife,” Carl said. “Remember this, people: Satan-worshippers are dangerous. Their anti-social behavior prompts them to commit violent acts just for the hell of it. And they have a total lack of conscience. Killing one of us would bring about no more remorse in them than swatting a fly or stepping on a roach.”

  “I talked to Jim this afternoon, Carl,” Mike said. “He said go ahead and level with everybody out here.”

  “Have you told Judy anything?”

  “No. I thought I’d leave that up to you.”

  Carl looked first at Tom, then at the priest. “You people better go fix yourselves a stiff drink. You’re going to need it.”

  Chapter 14

  Josh stepped around a corner and buried the meat cleaver in the deputy’s head. The deputy died without uttering a sound.

  Working the heavy blade free of the skull bone, Josh lowered the body to the tile floor and quickly stripped the weapon from the man, leather and all. He belted the rig around his waist.

  “Hey, Melton!” a voice called from the other side of the concrete block wall. “You gonna make a career out of gettin’ that coffee.”

  Josh walked around the corner to the interrogation room and lopped the second man’s head off with one vicious swing of the meat cleaver. The headless deputy toppled from his chair as his head bounced on the floor, leaving a bloody smear.

  Levi stepped into the room. “I got the radio operator, Josh. Ain’t nobody else in the jail.” He grinned, holding up a set of keys. “The gun cabinet.”