The Devil's Heart (12 page)

"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 and 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."

"I must have some agreement from you."

"I don't bargain with you "

"Not good enough."

"I will never bargain with you, Belial. You should know that by now."

"Afraid I might beat you, eh?"

The Heavens were silent.

"Oh, all right!" the Tempter pouted. "But you have to give me something to seal the bargain."

"I told you, Hooved-One: I do not bargain with you. Your slyness with words will not work with me."

"What is so special about Balon; You can tell me that, at least."

The Heavens were again silent.

"Ah! Of course!" the Mephistophelian voice cracked. "I see. Balon. Yes. You rather like him, don't you? You don't have to reply—I know. Yes, while your pet, Michael, is out flitting about the heavens, you'd like Balon sitting with you, eh? You do like your pet dogs, don't you? Is Michael there now?"

The Heavens rumbled as the archangel voiced his objection to being called a dog.

Satan laughed, and lightning licked across the sky. "Turn your militant maverick loose, Thunderer; let him face me. Let us see if his powers are as great as mine."

That was the wrong thing for the Dark One to suggest.

The Heavens were calm, even while Satan howled and cursed and called down malisons on all the residents of the firmament. He received no reply.

That enraged the ruler of filth. Satan fired his thoughts into the head of Jean Zagone. "You have sampled nearly all the men around you, bitch!" he said, still smarting from his conversation with the Holy One. "Pick five of the most virile and have them ready to receive Balon's pious whore."

And on the Zagone ranch, on the plains, the dancing began, preparatory to the Friday night sacrifice. The Coven members danced lewdly, hunching obscenely as they shouted filth to the Heavens. They were not afraid in their vocal and physical defilements, for the Prince of Evil had assured them his protection; guaranteed them a long and lustful life on earth.

These Coven members, these worshipers of Darkness, these students of Bell, Book, and Candle … they had made any number of mistakes in their evil lives. But paramount among them was believing anything the Devil said, while forgetting that the one True God is a vengeful God.

"Let's see how far our thoughts will carry," Sam suggested. "We'd better know, 'cause I think things are going to get down to the nut-cuttin' pretty quick."

"I do love your expressions, Sam," Nydia said, smiling. "I wonder if your father used the same colloquialisms? Bearing in mind he was a minister."

"Probably so. Mother often said he was a real character. Would speak his mind whenever and wherever."

"And yet, he has God's favor. I don't understand that. From what little I know of God's Word, I always thought of Christians as rather meek and mild types."

"Oh, I think that's a dangerous misconception, Nydia. God loves His warriors. I think Michael sits at God's side. Some even think he is God's bodyguard. Others think of him as the hand of retribution."

She glanced at him, thinking: Yes, I believe God does love His warriors.

They separated in the timber, walking first a few hundred yards apart, testing their ability to project and receive thoughts. They found that distance did make a difference in the receiving and sending.

"Let's go see this circle of stones," Sam said.

"What if we run into Black and Susan?"