The Devil's Heart Page 4

  "You're not angry with me for thinking that?" Again, that strange burning sensation in the center of his chest.

  "Don't be silly. I can't imagine a woman who would be angry."

  "How do you do that? I mean, read people's minds?"

  "Was that the personal question you were going to ask?"

  "No, ma'am. I mean, Roma."

  "You were going to ask how I managed to stay so young-looking."

  "Damn," he muttered. "I'm really going to have to control my thoughts."

  "I was born in Rumania, Sam. A … well, a few years ago," she laughed. "I have a mixture of races in me, and my mother was astonishingly beautiful." (She was, five hundred years ago, when Roma, christened Nydia, was born). "My mother was over a hundred years old when she died. And still quite attractive." (And begging for her life while Nydia the Witch bludgeoned her to death, laughing as she did so). "I really take no special care of my body, other than to exercise daily and watch my diet."

  With that, she rose from the poolside lounger and executed a clean, graceful dive into the water just as her daughter was walking toward them, rubbing her hair with a thick towel. Sam watched her stride toward him: like her mother, ripe perfection. And, like her mother, dressed in a bikini that scarcely covered all the essentials.

  "My mother is quite a woman, isn't she?" Nydia asked, sitting down and catching her breath from her laps in the huge pool. Steam rose in light upward exhalations from the heated water.

  "At least that, Nydia. I would think Falcon would be extremely jealous of her."

  "Did she come on to you, Sam? Sure, she did," she said, not giving him time to answer the question. "Oh, they both do what they want to do. Have their little affairs. I've known about them both for years."

  "Why do I get the feeling you and your mother don't get along?"

  "Because it's true. We're civil to each other—most of the time—but we stopped being friends a long time ago."

  "Care to talk about it?"

  "Later. Here comes the never-aging sexpot."

  Sam shook his head at the acid in Nydia's remark.

  "Nydia's been going to a church," Black said to Falcon. The men sat in the study, the heavy doors closed.

  "I know it, so does Roma. There is nothing we can do about it. For several reasons. But we know He has been meddling."

  "But why? I thought the rules …"

  Falcon cut him off with a wave of his hand; a curt slash of impatience. "The Masters make the rules, each knowing they can break them at will. If, really, any rules do exist, which I more and more doubt. But nevertheless, we are required to follow what our individual Master dictates. And don't ask questions. What goes on in the minds of the two Supreme Beings is beyond the grasp of even us. When are the others arriving?"

  "Tomorrow. Noon. I arranged for a helicopter to bring them in."

  "Balon's bastard know of their coming?"

  "No. Neither does Nydia."

  Falcon brooded for a time, his dark features unreadable. "You feel … how many to be ready converts?"

  "Ten. Five young men, five young women. The others are for our mutual enjoyment. Two young men, four young women."

  "Leave the men for Roma. We'll share the women. They are young?"

  "And tender."

  "Lovely?"

  "Beautiful."

  "Virgins?"

  "I think … possibly three. Susan is curious of our Master. She will be an easy convert, and an easier fuck. But one of them I know is pure. She is the one I picked for you.

  Both men laughed, the chuckling evil. "Problems should they vanish?"

  "By that time it will be over and done with, bon?"

  "Oui. Balon's bastard is to be Roma's … exclusively. You understand that?"

  "Yes, Falcon. Unless she tells me differently."

  "You may have to kill your sister, Black. Or, on a more pleasant note, plant your seed within her. Does either prospect disturb you?"

  The young warlock shrugged his reply.

  "Good. You are your mother's child. Well, now … a full nine days." He smiled, the smile as corrupt as his heart was dark. "I am looking forward to the time."

  The hot wind picked up, rousing Jane Ann from a fitful sleep. Tony had not returned. She opened her eyes and gasped in fright when she saw the mist at the foot of the bed.

  The mist began to change, to take some shape, and her fright turned into a mixture of relief and joy. Jane Ann smiled.

  "I will do what I can to help," the voice said, beating a silent message inside her head. "But I don't know how much He will allow me to do. I am rather a maverick within the Kingdom."

  "Oh, Sam!"

  "Let me finish. You have lost half of all you once loved, Balon flung his message. "And I can tell you no more than that. Help Miles and Wade while you can. In the end, it will be up to you and the clay man. But more weight will be put on your shoulders, your faith."

  She did not understand. "Tony? He is the half I have lost?"

  "I can tell you no more at this time."

  Jane Ann knew then that her suspicions had been correct. Tony had gone to the other side. "Our son?"

  "He will be tempted, and he will fall from grace more than once during the next nine days. But I can do little to help. I will attempt to see him, perhaps attempt to write to him. I … think he will find an unexpected ally coming forward. But my place is with you, and at the end, you will have a choice to make."

  And Jane Ann knew what that choice would be.

  "Don't be too hasty in your decision." Balon hurled the warning. "You have many, many good years ahead of you. You don't have to do this."

  "I must."

  "Once you have decided, the only alternative is to accept the Dark One's offer."

  "I will never do that. I love you, Sam. I want to be with you.

  "I must go now," Balon projected. "Be careful."

  The mist began to disperse, becoming shapeless, formless. Then one slim tentacle of mist broke from the vapor and moved down the side of the bed to touch Jane Ann on the cheek. Then the mist was gone. She put her hand to her cheek: the spot was damp. Soon her tears had kissed the touch of love that endured … of life after death.

  Dinner had been quite an event, the setting something Sam had heretofore witnessed only in the movies. The meal had been served in courses, and the coffee the best he had ever tasted.

  "Mother owns land in Columbia," Black explained. "We have the beans flown in and grind them ourselves."

  Falcon was very polite throughout the meal, but not given to much conversation. He and Black excused themselves after dinner and went into the study, closing the door. Nydia said she was going to bed and would see Sam in the morning.

  The look Nydia fired at Sam was full of warning. And Sam did not really understand it … at least he tried to convince himself of that.

  Roma rose from her chair and held out her hand. "Come, Sam, walk with me. The night air will do us good."

  He held her wrap and was conscious of the heady perfume wafting into his nostrils. He was grateful when they stepped out into the cold night air of the terrace.

  "Tell me about yourself, Sam," she said, standing very close to him.

  "Not that much to tell. I'm twenty-one. Went right into the army out of high school. Did my time, and glad I did. Here I am."

  "You and Black have a lot in common. Black and Nydia were born in March 1959."

  "So was I. Where were they born, Roma?"

  "Rumania."

  "I thought that country was under communist control."

  "I travel wherever and whenever I choose, Sam. My investments are worldwide. Tell me about your father."

  "I never knew him. He died before I was born. My mother married a doctor before I was born. He delivered me. Doctor Tony King."

  "But you always knew this King person was not your father?"

  "Oh, yes. They made that clear when I was old enough to understand. My dad was a minister. Big man."

  In
more ways than one, she thought. "But you never had the calling?"

  "Me?" Sam laughed. "Oh, no. But I have worn dad's cross around my neck—all my life." He touched the center of his chest, feeling the outline of the cross.

  Roma fought to keep herself from recoiling away from the young man. She remembered that cross very well: it had burned her several times while she and Sam Balon were grappling for control, prior to mating as they fought in circles through timeless, trackless space, neutral ground, ruled by no Master.

  Roma shivered.

  "Cold?" Sam touched her arm instinctively, protectively. At the touch, his chest began that strange burning, now much more intense.

  "No," she said shortly. The mention of that damned cross driving all thoughts of sex from her. She moved away from his touch; the burning in the center of his chest ceased. "I must go," she moved toward the house. "I'll see you in the morning, Sam. Sleep well."

  She was gone, the darkness of her gown fading into the night.

  Footsteps echoed hollowly on the stone walkway leading from the yard. Sam turned. A tall, almost emaciated-looking man slowly made his way up to the terrace.

  "Best you go in the house now, sir." The man spoke slowly, as if the act of speaking was painful.

  "Why?"

  "Because it is going to rain, and you are not dressed for the elements."

  Sam looked up into the sky. Thousands of stars twinkled down at him. "But there isn't a cloud in the sky!"

  "It will rain," the man insisted. "Soon."

  "What's your name?" Sam asked.

  "Perkins. Jimmy Perkins."

  "Have you worked for the Williams long?"

  "Years. Go in the house now." The man turned, and the night seemed to dissolve him.

  Sam listened for the sound of fading footsteps. But none could be heard. The man appeared to have vanished.

  Perkins? Sam thought. Now … where have I heard that name before?

  Lying in his bed, conscious of Nydia in the next room, near but so far, just before sleep spread its gentle blanket over him, Sam was still musing over the tall man with the somehow familiar name.

  And on the dresser, the cross glowed dully.

  "Meddling!" Satan fired a dirty salvo into the Heavens. "Always meddling. Why can't you abide by the rules?"

  "You are complaining about rules being broken, Asmodeus? How droll."

  "We made an agreement—aeons ago. You rule the Heavens; I rule the earth."

  "I don't recall any hard and fast set of rules." The Master of All chuckled, and the Heavens rumbled with thunder. "Hooved one, you amuse me. Your mind, what there is of it, is open for inspection. My maverick resident returned to earth by his own volition—not with my permission."

  "You lifted the veil."

  "Not necessarily. Balon is a curious one, and a brave one. He takes chances; he pries; he investigates. Besides, the boundaries that divide life from death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends and the other begins?"

  Satan howled his laughter, the foulness stinking the air. "That is not very original of you, Thunder-Breath. Have you taken to spending your time reading Poe?"

  "Idiot! Who do you suppose put the thought in his mind?"

  "I was under the impression it was I."

  'That says a great deal for your intelligence."

  "I don't have to stand here and be insulted."

  "Anywhere you go is an insult to someone."

  "Bah!"

  And the Heavens became silent as a gentle rain began falling over Falcon House and the grounds surrounding it.

  "Miles!" The mist formed at the foot of the Jew's bed. "Open your eyes. Look at me."

  Miles fearfully opened his eyes, looking at the mist. He began silently reciting prayers, recalling them as if he had just stepped out of the synagogue.

  Miles tried to speak but found he was voiceless.

  "Don't be alarmed." The mist thrust its silent projection as it began to take shape. "I can hear your thoughts."

  "Go away!" Miles said. "Sam? My God—my God! Oh! I think I'm having a heart attack."

  "And I think you're as full of it now as when I knew you years ago."

  "Don't think ugly!" Miles sat up in bed. "You're too close to Him to take chances."

  "Miles?" Doris stirred by his side. "What's wrong?"

  I should tell you and you'd have an accident in your gown. "Nothing," his voice popped from his throat. "A little gas, is all."

  "Umm," she said, and then fell into a deep sleep.

  "She won't wake up again until I leave," Sam projected. "You may speak normally."

  "I wish you had taught me how to do that years ago."

  "I didn't know how years ago."

  "Sam—I'm dreaming all this, right?"

  "It is not a dream."

  "I was afraid you'd say that. Sam, I'm an old man, with more than my share of aches and pains: bad circulation … and that other thing, too. Arteriosclerosis. And I got …"

  "Not anymore, Miles."

  "What do you mean, Sam?"

  "Do your legs hurt you, Miles?"

  Miles thought about that for a moment, his hands feeling his thin legs. His legs were not cold, nor did they ache. He looked at the mist and said: "What did you do, Sam?"

  "Corrected a few physical problems. You and Wade will have to be strong, mentally and physically, to make it through this upcoming ordeal."

  "Why am I experiencing this feeling that I am about to get the shitty—excuse me, Sam—end of this handel?"

  "I don't speak Hebrew, Miles."

  "Bargain. You really don't? That seems odd."

  "All languages are as one there, Miles. Miles? Am I your friend?"

  "Oy! Here it comes; I knew it."

  "Wouldn't you rather go out in a blaze of glory, Miles?"

  "If it's all the same with you, Sam, I would rather not go out at all! Sam, old friend, do you realize what you're doing to me? You turned my head all cockeyed more than twenty years ago. I'm a Jew—I don't believe in all this crazy stuff. Now here you come again—no offense meant. Sam, please, it's good to see you; what there is of you. But … oh, Sam! What do you want from this old man? Let me rephrase that: What's gonna happen to me?"

  "You're going to meet The Man in nine days."

  "Some friend you are! You fix my legs all up where they don't hurt—first time in five years—then you tell me I'm gonna die in nine days!" He lay back, his head on the pillow. He closed his eyes. "If I don't see you, don't talk to you, you'll go away."

  He was still for a few moments, until curiosity got the best of him. He opened his eyes. The mist that was Sam Balon was still there, looking at him.

  Miles sighed, then said: "Well, sometimes it works. Okay, Sam … I never could win an argument with you. What do you want me to do?"

  "Finish the Clay Man."

  "I knew that was coming, too."

  "I will speak with Wade and Anita. Perhaps Wade only. They will come to stay with you and Doris. The Clay Man will have power for nine days only; for the duration of the siege. When life leaves him, the four of you will go home."

  "How is it, Sam? I mean … where you are. Were. Where you stay."

  "Different. But I don't stay there often. When I'm there, I'm usually in trouble with Him."

  "That, I can believe. Sam? What does this make me? This flies in the face of all that I was taught as a child. Everything I was taught to believe."

  "I cannot say what it makes you. That will be your choice at the end."

  "Wonderful," Miles said dryly. "I love a mystery."

  The mist began to fade.

  "Sam?" Miles cried. "What about Jane Ann?"

  The mist projected its reply, and Miles was saddened.

  Breakfast at the mansion was served buffet style, with Sam and Nydia eating together.

  "Did you sleep well?" she asked.

  "Passed out," Sam said, buttering a piece of toast. "I don't recall ever sleeping so soundly."
/>   "It's the silence of the woods. But sometimes it can be … well, frightening."

  "How?"

  Her eyes were serious as they fixed their beauty on Sam's face. "Do you believe in the Devil, Sam?"

  "Of course."

  "Do you believe in possession?"

  Sam chewed thoughtfully for a few seconds. "Yes, I do, Nydia. Even though most Protestants don't. But my father did. My real father. Mother told me he did. My stepfather was raised in the Catholic Church, but he broke from it when I was about ten … just a kid. Tony stopped worshiping God. Just quit. I don't know what happened. But mother taught me the Bible, and to believe in demonic possession. One thing she stressed was that the Devil walks the earth. Yeah … it was about that time I started hearing whispers about Tony running around on Mother. But," he shrugged, "his loss. Mother is beautiful. I don't understand men who run around on their wives. Sorry, I'm digressing. Why do you ask about possession?"

  "Are you a Christian, Sam?"

  "Well … technically, yes, I suppose I am. I'm not very pure at heart at times, though."

  "Christians aren't supposed to be perfectly pure—I don't believe that's possible for a human."

  "Sounds like you're really serious about religion, Nydia. I mean, don't take that the wrong way … so am I. It's serious business."

  "I … would like to know more about it, yes. Tell me, Sam: can you still be a Christian and lust after someone?"

  "I don't know, Nydia. That's a human trait, isn't it? Yes, I think you can, if you recognize the fault and try to do something about it. I think being a Christian means believing in God, trying to do right by his Commandments. I think it all depends on how a person lives his or her total life: do you help others in need; try to think good thoughts; do the best you can? Those types of things." He smiled. "Are you lusting after someone, Nydia?"

  "Yes." She put her hand on his and squeezed gently.

  Sam returned the gentle caress. "I couldn't take my eyes off you after we met."

  "I felt the same. And … Sam? It's funny, sort of. I got the feeling that it was … right. You know what I mean?"

  "Yes. It was … odd. I've never felt anything like it. You know, we're going to have to be careful: your mother reads thoughts."

  "What do you mean, Sam?"