The Devil's Touch (16 page)

"Don't you
ever
say anything like that again, Daniel. Not at this juncture of our lives, and the lives of a small band of Christians out there. If I have to, Daniel, I'll use my fists to pound the faith back in you; or to bring it to the surface, as the case may be. Probably is. Do you understand all that, old friend?"

Through watery eyes caused by the abrupt and totally unexpected pop across the face, Father Le Moyne looked through a mist at the man. Physically, Le Moyne could have broken the writer in half. The priest was a big shambling bear of a man. But he was a gentle, loving type of man who abhorred any type of violence.

"You do have a way of getting your point across, Noah," Father Le Moyne said.

"I felt it quite necessary. And we'll speak no more of your supposedly 'lost faith.' Come on. We have a lot of work to do. His work, Father Le Moyne. We've got to salvage as many lost souls as possible. If it isn't too late."

"Yes. For us, as well," the priest reminded the man.

"We don't matter, Daniel. Not any longer. Not in the overall scheme of things. We were adults and fully aware of what we were doing." He shook his head. "No matter. There are young people out there," he said waving his hand, "who are lost, stumbling about in the evil darkness created by the Master of Night. We have to try to help them. One way or the other," he added, a grimness to his tone.

Father Le Moyne smiled. "You always did have a way with the English language, Noah."

"I used to, Daniel. I really did. I could have been a great writer. Well," he said grimacing, "perhaps not great, but a selling author, let us say. All that changed in the few hours before midnight, long ago. But I can still make a contribution to this world—we can, Daniel, you and I. So let's stop dillydallying about and get on with it."

"One moment," the priest said, holding up a hand. He went to his living quarters and returned carrying a cross. It looked to be about ten inches long and perhaps seven or eight inches across. "Cardinal Greiner blessed this cross, many years ago. I think this might be a better weapon—at this time—than anything else."

Noah smiled. "You're probably right, Daniel. But I'll keep my .357 for a backup. After you, Father."

While Daniel Le Moyne and Noah Crisp rode through the small town, each of them experiencing a sinking feeling at the sight of empty churches, Nydia was working herself into a monumental black rage—helped by darker forces, who chuckled with mirth at what was going on.

How
dare
Sam pull something like that! How could he do it?

She picked up a metal ashtray and hurled it across the room. The ashtray bounced off the wall and hit the floor with a clatter.

"Shit!" she yelled.

Little Sam began crying in his room. His outburst of fright at the sudden noise momentarily calmed Nydia. She went into the bedroom and picked him up, talking to him, soothing him.

"Why is it grown men—responsible men—go ape over a young girl? I wish I knew. I just do not understand it."

"Ape?" Little Sam said. "Go to zoo?"

"That's where he belongs," Nydia said. "Behind bars for a time. Maybe that would calm him down. The son-of-a—" She caught herself just in time. For Little Sam was very bright and very quick to pick up on words.

She calmed Little Sam and had him laughing by the time she put him on the floor of the den. She sat on the couch and quietly allowed her mood to worsen, not aware of the forces from the nether world influencing her mental machinations, and doing so with dark humor.

So Sam parted the teenage legs of Janet, she darkly mused. I wonder how many women he's screwed since we've been married? One? Ten? More than that? And how many lies has he told me? How many times has he said he was going to the college for research and actually been fucking someone else?

"Bastard!" she whispered.

Yes, the thought came to her. At least ten women. Haven't I seen him flirt more than once, when he thought I wasn't looking? Yes. Yes, I have.

Voices began playing in her head as her mind and abilities to reason became clouded.

"And what about that Flaubert girl? You don't suppose—"

Yes, Nydia thought. Yes. She would be a prime candidate.

"And why do you suppose Sam insisted, when you two were talking about buying a satellite dish, upon having that filthy channel?"

I'm beginning to understand now.

"He's had other women here, hasn't he? Come on, admit it. Those nights you went out with the girls— sometimes several nights a week—did Sam ever object?"

No.

"Don't you find that rather odd?"

I do now.

"And many times, when you were tired and wanted to go to bed, didn't he sit up and watch that fuck film channel?"

Yes.

"It's all adding up, isn't it?"

Reluctantly, she agreed. Yes, it was.

"Would a
Christian
watch such a channel?"

No. Not the way Sam does.

"Then perhaps—"

The silent voice faded, leaving the rest of it to Nydia's fertile imagination.

Nydia alternately felt like crying, screaming, jumping up and down, and, the thought came screaming into her brain: making it with another man.

Sure, why not? Sam has been sleeping around, so why the hell not? What was that old saying?

"What's good for the goose is good for the gander," the dark voice whispered obscenely.

She would just, by God, give that some thought; some serious thought.

She gave no thought to what was taking place around her, in the small town of Logandale. All that had been blocked by the dark forces. And they urged her on.

She wrote Sam a short note, telling him that she was going for a drive and might not be back for some time. Little Sam would be at Janet's.

"Let him stew about that for awhile," she muttered. "He's probably out screwing somebody right this minute."

She dressed Little Sam, put a change into a small bag, and locked up the house. Her eyes were flashing angry sparks as she pulled out of the drive and headed into town.

"So Jon Le Moyne and I are having an affair, are we?" she muttered. "Well, we'll just see about that."

And the demons and witches and warlocks and creatures who worship the Dark Prince howled with laughter.

Father Le Moyne pulled over to the curb and looked at the pastor of the Methodist church. The man was sitting on the steps of his church, a confused and dejected look on his face.

"Come on," the priest said to Noah. "Let's find out what's wrong."

"You know what's wrong."

"Let's be certain." They walked over to the man, Father Le Moyne asking, "What's wrong, Byron?"

Byron Price, the minister, looked at the two men. "I—am troubled, Daniel. And I feel a little bit lost. Confused. What is happening? My entire congregation seems to be boycotting me."

"Well, Byron, don't feel like a lost sheep. Richard Hasseling over at First Baptist just told us the same thing, in almost the same words."

Methodist eyes met Catholic eyes. "And how about you, Daniel?"

"The same thing. No one came to mass. Not one person."

"What's happening, Daniel?"

Father Le Moyne hedged that for a moment. "John Morton at the Episcopal church told us," he indicated Noah, "not more than ten minutes ago, that he spoke by phone with several of his older members—elderly. They told him they had been bullied into not attending church this morning. Some of them had actually been physically shoved around, and worse."

A slamming door caused all eyes to turn to the house beside the church. An attractive woman was leaving the home, walking toward a car parked by the curb.

"My wife," the minister said glumly. "She's leaving me. Taking up with a seventeen-year-old boy. The Johnson boy. Seems she's been having an affair with him for several months. Maybe longer than that. Just came right out last night and told me all about it. Said—this is shameful and embarrassing—she said he had staying power in the sack."

"I beg your pardon?" Father Le Moyne said.

"He can fuck for a long time," Noah told him bluntly.

"Great scott, Noah!" Le Moyne looked at his friend. "How crude."

Byron Price put his face in his hands and openly wept. Father Le Moyne and Noah could do nothing for the man except feel pity for him. Byron was a good and decent man, who worked hard at his faith. He deserved better than this. But both men knew what had caused the breakup.

Mrs. Price rode by the three men in front of the church. She said something to the young man and they both laughed. The Johnson boy looked at the trio of men and extended his middle finger to them.

Noah reached for the pistol in his belt. Father Le Moyne's hand stopped him.

"Not that, Noah! Not yet. They've got to make some overt move first. They have to put us into some life-threatening situation. Only then can we use force. You should know that far better than I."

Byron raised a tear-stained face to the priest. "Daniel, what in the world are you talking about? You're confusing me even more."

"Go to your parsonage, Byron," Father Le Moyne told him. "Pack several changes of clothing. Get your personal things together. Come with us. And Byron—if you have a gun—get it."

"All right," Monty said. "I think it's coming out into the open now. They're trying to get us to leave town voluntarily. I think when they see we're not going to run, they'll attempt to run us out; scare us out. What I don't understand is why they decided to move so quickly with this. It all seems so abrupt."

"They haven't moved quickly," Sam said, and all eyes swung toward him. "I would bet this is an old coven. Perhaps one of the oldest. Don't ask me how I know that, I just sense it. I—no outsider really knows much about any given coven—the inner workings. But while it appears they move quickly, they actually have spent years getting set. And I'll bet Satan is here—personally."

Sam reiterated some of his experiences in and around Falcon House, in Canada.

The mighty voice had spoken to Sam several times, the words thundering in the young man's head. Just seconds after Sam and Nydia performed the marriage ceremony, by themselves, on themselves, the voice came to both of them.

Nydia had said, "I guess we're married, Sam."

"In whose eyes is the question?" the strong voice came to them.

Nydia was frightened. Sam calmed her. "What do you mean—whoever you are—'in whose eyes'?"

But the voice was silent.

Nydia said, "I sensed his presence in our room this morning. Or I should say
some
one's presence."

"The voice speaks in riddles," Sam warned her. "So be prepared for a puzzle."

"Not this time, young people," the mighty voice boomed. "The hooved one has made his decision. You, young warrior, are marked for death. A special black mass has been called for tomorrow night. They will attempt to call out the forces of darkness. If they succeed, I will do battle with them. You will know at midnight tomorrow if their calling has been successful. If so, you must take your—wife and leave the house at once. Do not attempt to fight them alone. You both must run and hide in the timber. But a word of warning: You cannot travel past the set boundaries. You will know them, for they are easily seen. Remember, young warrior, your sole purpose is to destroy the tablet, if possible."

"What tablet?" Sam asked.

"The Devil's Tablet. It is here. Hidden."

"And if I destroy it, what happens?"

"I cannot answer that, for it has never been destroyed."

"Wonderful," Sam said sarcastically. "How will I know this tablet?"

"It will know you. For the tablet is evil, and you represent good."

"May I ask what might sound to you a foolish question?"

"Ask."

"Why me? And who are you?"

"That is two questions. Which do you want answered?"

"The first one."

"Because you are who you are."

"Thank you so very much. You've really cleared it all up."

Nydia touched his arm. "Sam! Don't be ugly to— him."

"You are—good," the voice thundered in their heads. "Both of you. Not perfect, but no mortal is. And I have made my decision: I shall help you."

The voice faded away, leaving the young couple sitting in silence in the timber of Canada.

"I talked with the voice several more times after that," Sam said. The small gathering in Monty's house could but stare in silence.

Finally Monty asked, "Who—what was the voice, Sam?"

"God's warrior, Michael."

Joe closed his eyes and gripped the arms of the chair tightly.

"You really talked with Michael?" Mille asked, her eyes wide.

Mille crossed herself. So did Monty, his wife looking at him strangely. Joe bowed his head. Whether he was praying or wondering if this was all a bad dream was up for grabs.

Take refuge!
the words leaped into Sam's brain.
Band together for safety! And be careful, for all is not as it appears!

"What's wrong, Sam?" Monty asked. "Your face seemed—strange." That damn word again, Monty thought. Well, it fits the situation.

"I think I just got a message from—far away," Sam told him, speaking to the entire group. "The same way I used to get them up at Falcon House."

"From the same—fellow?" Joe asked.

"I don't know. It could well be from my dad."

Viv was chewing on her lower lip and wringing her hands together.

"You got voices in your head?" Joe asked. "And they may be comin' from your dead father? Lordy, Lordy."

Sam smiled. "Yeah. I thought I was a candidate for the funny farm when I first heard them, up in Canada, three years ago. But I quickly learned to listen."

"What did the voice say to you, Sam?" Monty asked. His wife looked at him as if he was a fool.

"To band together. To be careful. All was not as it seems."

"I'll go along with that," Joe said. "Groupin' together might not be a bad idea. But first I'd kinda like to know what we're goin' up against 'fore I bunker myself in."

"That's me," Monty said. He looked at Mille. "Ginny been acting all right to you, Mille?"

"I can't see any difference. She never went to church anyway, so that wouldn't be any indicator of change in her."