"Mother—" Sam whispered. And as if the elder Balon had anticipated the question, the letter continued:
She has made her choice. Tony has gone over to the other side. He has done so willingly; indeed, a long time ago. I could not stop him, for his faith is weak, as is his flesh. And that is something you will have to deal with as well.
You have a mission, son, and I do not envy you your task, for it could destroy you—not necessarily physically, and I can say no more about that. But you are as surely set to this mission as 1 was, years ago. You will be tempted, and you will fall to some of those temptations, for you are a mortal, blessed in a manner of speaking, but still a mortal.
A coven is being established at Falcon House. It is a house of evil, and you must return there. Your job is there. You will not be able to contact anyone in Whitfield. Whitfield is dead; past saving. But your mother will speak to you—in some manner—before she slips through the painful darkness to the other side, and to peace and blue and light.
We will meet someday, son. I am certain of that and can tell you no more about my surety.
The feelings you and the girl share is something that you both must cope with. I cannot help you and I will not lecture you. But I will say this: The union that produced Nydia was not a holy union. If anything, it was blessed by the Dark One.
"Riddles," Sam said. "The letter is filled with riddles, and I don't know what they mean."
I love you deeply, Sam, and wish I could be of more help to you in your task. But I have said too much already.
Now I must go. Place the picture of me in the envelope, for that is all of me I can give you that will remain tangible. Put the letter on the table and do not touch it again.
Love, Father
Sam placed the picture in the envelope, the letter on the table. Together, still in mild shock, not knowing what to believe, the young man and woman watched the pages dissolve into nothing. Then they were alone.
Nydia put her head on Sam's shoulder and wept.
"Lordy!" Joe said.
Sam felt his chest begin burning. He put down his AK-47 and unbuttoned his shirt. All could see the brown burn on the white of Sam's T-shirt.
Nydia helped him out of his shirt and Sam pulled his T-shirt off. The cross dangling from a chain around his neck was glowing a golden fire.
Noah, Father Le Moyne, and Jeanne crossed themselves. Joe stood in numb shock.
"The same way the cross you gave me in Montreal did," Nydia said.
"Yeah," Sam said, putting his shirt back on. "He's here, very close, I believe."
"Don't that burn you?" Joe asked, recovering from his shock.
"For a few seconds," Sam told him. "It will just deepen the scar already there."
"Why do you believe your father is not here to help you?" Noah asked.
"It's just a feeling I have. I can't explain it any further than that."
"Nydia is wearing the cross that received the blessing at the airport," Father Le Moyne mused aloud. "And now the cross you wear has been blessed from beyond the veil. I knew none of this. I believe of all of us, Sam, you have the power to destroy a demon."
"My father is not a saint," Sam told the priest. "He is a resident of Heaven, but that doesn't make him a—doesn't give him the power to make me something I am not."
The priest smiled. "I disagree with that, Sam. Very strongly. Did you not tell me you faced down one of the Devil's creatures up in Canada? That you fought a warlock and defeated him? Yes, you did. And yes, Sam, I believe you have been blessed."
A bullet slammed through a window, the lead whining off a wall, finally coming to rest after bouncing around on the carpet. Everybody in the room had hit the floor.
"I may be blessed, Father," Sam said dryly. "But if you don't mind, I'd rather not have to prove it by getting myself shot."
"Lordy!" Joe said.
FOUR
The day dragged on slowly, with the low clouds and occasional mist seeming to wrap a dirty shroud around the landscape. That one shot was, so far, the only hostile move taken by the Devil worshippers.
The people behind the stone walls of the great mansion could occasionally hear the faint sounds of moaning, but could not tell where they were originating or what was happening to cause them.
But all could guess.
And if the elder Balon was near, he did not make his presence known. At least in any manner the humans could fathom.
The day had turned off cool, with the temperature dropping into the upper thirties by early afternoon. The wind had picked up, blowing in from the northwest, as if pushed by a mighty helping hand. The small band of Christians could do nothing but wait; and wonder what was next in store for them.
By mid-afternoon, they knew.
"Hello, the house!" Pat Jenkins's voice roared into the old mansion, pushed through a bullhorn.
Joe keyed his handy-talkie. "He ain't alone," he radioed from the upstairs. "There's a bunch with him, and they're lookin' ugly."
"Armed?" Sam radioed.
"Look like a bunch of dirty pirates about to jump on board ship."
"Hello, the house!" Jenkins again called.
Using a bullhorn taken from the trunk of Monty's Logandale police car, Sam said, "What do you want, Jenkins?"
"The Princess wants to talk to you, Balon."
"Tell her to use the telephone."
"No way, Balon. Face to face."
"Forget it, Jenkins."
"You'd better listen to me, Balon. You'll be sorry if you don't see her, kid. All bets are off. We can handle this situation any goddamn way we see fit. And that's the way it is. You understand what I'm saying?"
"What's he mean, Sam?" Nydia asked.
"I don't know. Unless someone of a higher power has interfered, causing Satan to pull out; something like that."
"Your Dad?"
"I—don't think he has that much power." Sam suddenly smiled. "1 think the old warrior is pulling a fast one and helping Dad, even though God has probably forbidden him—both of them—to do so."
"Why would He do that?" Jeanne asked. "1 mean, forbid us help? All it would take is just one little-bitty miracle on His part and we'd be out and safe."
"I don't think God does miracles much anymore," Sam told her and the group. "I think He gives humans the wherewithal and then pretty much leaves it up to them after that."
"That is correct," the voice spoke in Sam's head.
"Dad?" Sam asked quietly.
The room full of people fell silent.
"Hello, the goddamn house!" Jenkins called.
He was ignored.
"Yes, son."
"Dad, what is happening?"
"Satan is gone, He will not return to that coven. Unless you fail and they are victorious. You need not worry about the Tablet. But you will be under siege for several days. Look to yourself to even the odds. You are trained to do that. The siege of Satan's followers must conclude by midnight, Saturday. And you must be especially careful between six P.M. and midnight on Friday."
"Xaviere?"
"Exactly. I will be able to assist very little, if at all. I will more than likely be punished—chastised is a better word—when I return."
"For helping us?"
"Yes."
"Is it difficult to slip out—of there, I mean?"
The voice seemed to chuckle. "No. But the majority don't wish to leave. I can't explain any further, son. You will see, in time."
"Dad, you will forgive me if I choose not to be in any great hurry?"
Laughter in Sam's head. "The old warrior likes you, son—likes you a lot."
"Michael? What is he, Dad? And how can he get away with the things he does?"
"If you had been born when I was active in the pulpit and asked that question of me, you and I would have had quite a session in the woodshed," the voice said with a chuckle. "Michael, son? Michael is one who is like unto God. He is a Levite; a chief man of Issachar; father of Omri; father of Zebadiah; son of Jehoshaphat.
Michael is the archangel; God's warrior. Michael is many things to us all; he sits by the right hand of God. And he loves a good fight and loves warriors. Like you, my son."
And Sam knew then what his father expected him to do. "Dad—I can't fight an entire town."
"I did," the father threw down the challenge with that short statement.
Sam felt the presence of his dad leave him, leave the house. The more astute of the others in the room also picked up on the departure.
"He is gone," Noah said.
"Yes," Sam said. He then informed the gathering of the gist of his conversation with his father. Joe came in the room just in time to catch the last part.
"The whole damned town!" he blurted. "There ain't no way possible, Sam. Good God, boy—think about the odds, will you?"
"Dad seemed to think there is," Sam countered. "And he was adamant on that."
"Sam," Monty protested. "We're outnumbered three or four hundred to one!"
"I know," the young man said. "But so was Dad, back in Nebraska, in the late '50s."
Joe looked mournful. "Yeah. But he got killed."
Sam glanced at him. "Yes. To save the others," he reminded them all.
"You gonna answer me or not, you son-of-a-bitch!" Jenkins yelled through the bullhorn. "I'm damn tired of fucking around with you, Balon."
Sam walked to a window facing the front grounds, opened it, and burned a full clip of ammunition at the gate and the crowd gathered there. Sam watched in grim satisfaction as his burst of fire knocked half a dozen sprawling on the gravel and the concrete. Three of them lay still, dying in bloods of blood. The others twitched and moaned and screamed in pain.
"There's my reply, Jenkins!" Sam yelled.
"We'll get you, Balon!" Jenkins promised. "We'll get you all. You can't get out, none of you."
Then the truth hit Sam. That's right—we can't get out. But for some reason I have yet to understand, you people are very reluctant to come onto these grounds.
He closed the window and turned to Father Le Moyne. He said as much to the priest, adding, "Can you tell me the story behind this house; these grounds? Is there something special about it?"
"Sam, there is something that has been nagging at me ever since the day I met you and your wife. But I can't pull it to the surface. For some reason, I think someone is buried on these grounds, under the house, perhaps. It will come to me, in time."
"I know something about the house," Noah said. "Both this house and the Giddon house were begun within hours of each other, and finished on the same day. So the stories go. For approximately forty years, this mansion was owned by a group of religious people, of all faiths. That was from—oh, 1890 to probably 1931 or '32. Then the mansion was empty for about twenty-five years. Along about 1945, just after the war, it came back on the market. It's been owned by several families since that time."
"A group of religious people," Sam said. "What did they do here?"
"No one seems to know," Noah told him. "And 1 have done extensive research on the matter. But this one interesting fact kept cropping up: Religious leaders from all around the world have met here on more than one occasion. Very secretly. Between 1890 and 1930. People of all faiths; and I mean all faiths. But I do not have the vaguest idea what—if anything—was accomplished by or during those meetings."
"I wonder why they stopped meeting here?" Father Le Moyne asked. "And now that you mention it, I do recall something about that. And also about the name Balon. It will come to me, I'm sure."
"Well," Noah said. "I have shared all the information I know on the subject. I will admit, it fascinated me for a time, but the well ran dry, and one can only butt one's head against a stone wall for so long."
"Desiree?" Sam looked at the beautiful young woman. "Does this place have an attic?"
"I'm sure it does," she replied. "But everything has—happened so fast I haven't even thought of looking for it."
"Monty, you and the others keep your eyes open," Sam said. He looked at Noah. "Want to explore the house?"
"Delighted, Sam."
When questioned, Desiree admitted she had no idea where any keys might be located. She had keys to the entrance doors on the ground floor and to the garage. That was it.
"See if you can find me an axe," Sam said to Richard Hasseling. "If the doors are locked, and I'm betting they will be, we'll break them in. I'll get us some flashlights and we'll be ready to go."
It took four heavy swings with the axe to break down the final door leading to the attic. When the thick oak door was smashed, hanging by its hinges, the two men were met by yawning darkness, the open mouth of the cavernous room greeting them like some prehistoric monster lying in wait for prey.
For the first time Noah showed some hesitation. "I don't like this, Sam."
"Neither do I," Sam admitted. "But I think there are answers somewhere in this room. And I want to know why those Devil worshippers outside so far refuse to set foot on the grounds of Fox Estate."
Sam fumbled around in the entrance of the room until he found the light switch and clicked it on. Naturally, nothing happened. The room remained immersed in darkness, ominously silent.
"Nydia," he called. "See if you can find some light bulbs, honey."
The men clicked on flashlights, playing the beams of light into the room, the narrow lines of light touching the dusty, cobwebbed, sheet-draped contents of the attic.
"A veritable paradise for collectors of junk," Noah observed. He flicked a beam of light upward. "There's the drop cord for the bulb."
"Sure is spooky in there," Nydia said from behind the men.
Neither had heard her footsteps and Noah jumped about a foot off the floor.
"My dear," he said. "You do have a quiet approach. I think I just aged about a decade."
Sam changed the bulb, flipped on the switch, and the attic was filled with light. Dark pockets where the light did not touch crawled around the corners and edges of the big room.
"You search to your right, Noah. I'll take the left side," Sam said.
"I'll explore the center," Nydia said. "What are we looking for?"
"I don't know," Sam admitted. "But I think we'll know it when we see it."
Noah opened a creaking trunk lid and hauled out a pair of women's old-time bloomers. "My word!" he said. "Obviously the meetings conducted here were not all confined to matters of religion."
"Maybe they belonged to a nun," Nydia said.
"Possible," Noah said. "But not likely. These— undergarments were worn about eighty or ninety years ago. Not many women took part in any serious business of any type back then."
"Bring back the good old days," Sam said with a grin, knowing he would get a rise out of Nydia.
"Keep talking, turkey," Nydia responded. She opened a trunk and removed a leather-covered book. She worked at the rusted clasp and finally opened the book. The pages were all handwritten in a beautiful flowing style.
All in Latin.
"Damn!" she said. "I had to take Latin in high school, but this is too much for me."
"Let me see it," Noah said, walking to her. "I read Latin." He studied it for a few silent moments. "Well, now. This is most interesting. Might be what we are seeking. Listen to this, you two."
He carefully turned a page and said, "This is a copy—not the original, of course, this is dated 1901 — of the Compendium Maleficarum. In short, a breakdown on how to become a witch or warlock. It was first written in Italy, in the early 1600s."
Noah quickly and silently scanned more of the old pages, speed-reading.
"All right," he said. "This part concerns the Black Mass, the Sabbat. This next text is in French. It concerns the coldness of the Devil's penis. Excuse me, Nydia." He closed the old book. "Fascinating reading, but I don't believe it's what we're looking for. But I think we're on the right track. So let's continue our search."
A knocking reached the ears of the searchers. The trio froze in place. The tapping seemed to be coming from a dark corn
er of the dusty attic. Coming from a large crate.
A crate large enough to contain a body, Sam thought.
"I picked up on that," Nydia said. "Thanks a lot, lover-boy."
"Picked up on what?" Noah asked.
"Forget it, Noah," Sam told him. He looked around the attic. His eyes found a rusty, dust-covered old crowbar. Sam picked it up, shook off the dirt, and walked to the large crate. The thumping became louder.
"Sam!" Nydia said.
"It has to be," he told her. "Whatever is in that crate is coming out. Maybe with or without our help."
Noah pulled his .357 from leather and stepped up to the crate, standing beside Sam.
Three thick metal strips, secured by heavy old locks held the lid in place. Sam broke the first lock. The knocking and tapping ceased. Sam looked at Noah. The man's face was sweaty but his grip on the big pistol was firm and steady. Sam pried loose the second lock, then the final lock was broken, freeing not only the lid, but whatever was in the crate.
Sam wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and gripped the lid in his big hands. He flung it open.
Noah gasped.
Nydia turned loose the scream that had gathered in her throat.
Something dark and bloody flew at the trio.
The news had spread quickly throughout the coven: The Master was gone. The Dark One was no longer in the area. But his daughter, the Princess, was here, so everything had to be all right.
But the seeds of doubt had been sewn, and fertile minds were nurturing the seeds.
For the tenth time that day, Princess Xaviere tried to make communication with her Master Father. For the tenth time she failed.
She sat in her quarters in the Giddon House, in the flickering candlelight, and stared in the direction of the mansion on the other side of the stone wall. She thought she had heard a woman scream just a moment before, but she was not sure. So much screaming from the weak Christians left in the town. She did not know what to do. She could not understand why her Master Father had deserted her when victory seemed so near.
"Very well," she muttered. "Obviously he is testing me. So be it." She made up her mind.
She rang for the coven leaders to come to her.
The Devil's Touch Page 25
