Chapter Eight.

I.

The bath of purification lasted only two minutes. Jack dried himself on three small, soft, highly absorbent towels which had strange runes embroidered in the corners; they were of a material not quite like anything he had ever seen before.

When he had dressed, he followed Carver Hampton into the living room and, at the Houngon Houngon's direction, stood in the center of the room, where the light was brightest.

Hampton began a long chant, holding an a.s.son a.s.son over Jack's head, then slowly moving it down the front of him, then around behind him and up along his spine to the top of his head once more. over Jack's head, then slowly moving it down the front of him, then around behind him and up along his spine to the top of his head once more.

Hampton had explained that the a.s.son a.s.son-a gourd rattle made from a calabash plucked from a liana of a caleba.s.sier courant caleba.s.sier courant tree-was the symbol of office of the tree-was the symbol of office of the Houngon Houngon. The gourd's natural shape provided a convenient handle. Once hollowed out, the bulbous end was filled with eight stones in eight colors because that number represented the concept of eternity and life everlasting. The vertebrae of snakes were included with the stones, for they were symbolic of the bones of ancient ancestors who, now in the spirit world, might be called upon for help. The a.s.son a.s.son was also ringed with brightly colored porcelain beads. The beads, stones, and snake vertebrae produced an unusual but not unpleasant sound. was also ringed with brightly colored porcelain beads. The beads, stones, and snake vertebrae produced an unusual but not unpleasant sound.

Hampton shook the rattle over Jack's head, then in front of his face. For almost a minute, singing hypnotically in some long-dead African language, he shook the a.s.son a.s.son over Jack's heart. He used it to draw figures in the air over each of Jack's hands and over each of his feet. over Jack's heart. He used it to draw figures in the air over each of Jack's hands and over each of his feet.

Gradually, Jack became aware of numerous appealing odors. First, he detected the scent of lemons. Then chrysanthemums. Magnolia blossoms. Each fragrance commanded his attention for a few seconds, until the air currents brought him a new odor. Oranges. Roses. Cinnamon. The scents grew more intense by the second. They blended together in a wonderfully harmonious fashion. Strawberries. Chocolate. Hampton hadn't lit any sticks of incense; he hadn't opened any bottles of perfume or essences. The fragrances seemed to occur spontaneously, without source, without reason. Black walnuts. Lilacs.

When Hampton finished chanting, when he put down the a.s.son a.s.son, Jack said, "Those terrific smells-where are they coming from?"

"They're the olfactory equivalents of visual apparitions," Hampton said.

Jack blinked at him, not sure he understood. "Apparitions? You mean* ghosts? ghosts?"

"Yes. Spirits. Benign spirits."

"But I don't see them."

"You're not meant to see them. As I told you, they haven't materialized visually. They've manifested themselves as fragrances, which isn't an unheard of phenomenon."

Mint.

Nutmeg.

"Benign spirits," Hampton repeated, smiling. "The room is filled with them, and that's a very good sign. They're messengers of the Rada Rada. Their arrival here, at this time, indicates that the benevolent G.o.ds support you in your battle against Lavelle."

"Then I'll find Lavelle and stop him?" Jack asked. "Is that what this means-that I'll win out in the end? Is it all predetermined?"

"No, no," Hampton said. "Not at all. This means only that you've got the support of the Rada Rada. But Lavelle has the support of the dark G.o.ds. The two of you are instruments of higher forces. One will win, and one will lose; that's all that's predetermined."

In the corners of the room, the candle flames shrank until they were only tiny sparks at the tips of the wicks. Shadows sprang up and writhed as if they were alive. The windows vibrated, and the building shook in the grip of a sudden, tremendous wind. A score of books flew off the shelves and crashed to the floor.

"We have evil spirits with us, as well," Hampton said.

In addition to the pleasant fragrances that filled the room, a new odor a.s.saulted Jack. It was the stench of corruption, rot, decay, death.

II.

The goblins had descended all but the last two of the cathedral steps. They were within only a dozen feet of Rebecca.

She turned and bolted away from them.

They shrieked with what might have been anger or glee or both-or neither. A cold, alien cry.

Without looking back, she knew they were coming after her.

She ran along the sidewalk, the cathedral at her right side, heading toward the corner, as if she intended to flee to the next block, but that was only a ruse. After she'd gone ten yards, she made a sharp right turn, toward the cathedral, and mounted the steps in a snow-kicking frenzy.

The goblins squealed.

She was halfway up the steps when the lizard-thing snared her left leg and sank claws through her jeans, into her right calf. The pain was excruciating.

She screamed, stumbled, fell on the steps. But she continued upward, crawling on her belly, with the lizard hanging on her leg.

The cat-thing leaped onto her back. Clawed at her heavy coat. Moved quickly to her neck. Tried to nip her throat. It got only a mouthful of coat collar and knitted scarf.

She was at the top of the steps.

Whimpering, she grabbed the cat-thing and tore it loose.

It bit her hand.

She pitched it away.

The lizard was still on her leg. It bit her thigh a couple of inches above her knee.

She reached down, clutched it, was bitten on the other hand. But she ripped the lizard loose and pitched it down the steps.

Eyes shining silver-white, the cat-form goblin was already coming back at her, squalling, a windmill of teeth and claws.

Energized by desperation, Rebecca gripped the bra.s.s handrail and lurched to her feet in time to kick out at the cat. Fortunately, the kick connected solidly, and the goblin tumbled end over end through the snow.

The lizard rushed toward her again.

There was no end to it. She couldn't possibly keep both of them at bay. She was tired, weak, dizzy, and wracked with pain from her wounds.

She turned and, trying hard to ignore the pain that flashed like an electric current through her leg, she flung herself toward the door through which Penny and Davey had entered the cathedral.

The lizard-thing caught the bottom of her coat, climbed up, around her side, onto the front of the coat, clearly intending to go for her face this time.

The catlike goblin was back, too, grabbing at her foot, squirming up her leg.

She reached the door, put her back to it.

She was at the end of her resources, heaving each breath in and out as if it were an iron ingot.

This close to the cathedral, right up against the wall of it, the goblins became sluggish, as she had hoped they would, just as they had done when pursuing Penny and Davey. The lizard, its claws hooked in the front of her coat, let go with one deformed hand and swiped at her face. But the creature was no longer too fast for her. She jerked her head back in time and felt the claws trace only light scratches on the underside of her chin. She was able to pull the lizard off without being bitten; she threw it as hard as she could, out toward the street. She pried the cat-thing off her leg, too, and pitched it away from her.

Turning quickly, she yanked open the door, slipped inside St. Patrick's Cathedral, and pushed the door shut after her.

The goblins thumped against the other side of it, once, and then were silent.

She was safe. Amazingly, thankfully safe.

She limped away from the door, out of the dimly lighted vestibule in which she found herself, past the marble holy water fonts, into the vast, vaulted, ma.s.sively-columned nave with its rows and rows of polished pews. The towering stained-gla.s.s windows were dark and somber with only night beyond them, except in a few places where an errant beam from a streetlamp outside managed to find and pierce a cobalt blue or brilliant red piece of gla.s.s. Everything here was big and solid-looking-the huge pipe organ with its thousands of bra.s.s pipes soaring up like the spires of a smaller cathedral, the great choir loft above the front portals, the stone steps leading up to the high pulpit and the bra.s.s canopy above it-and that ma.s.siveness contributed to the feeling of safety and peace that settled over Rebecca.

Penny and Davey were in the nave, a third of the way down the center aisle, talking excitedly to a young and baffled priest. Penny saw Rebecca first, shouted, and ran toward her. Davey followed, crying with relief and happiness at the sight of her, and the ca.s.socked priest came, too.

They were the only four in the immense chamber, but that was all right. They didn't need an army. The cathedral was an inviolable fortress. Nothing could harm them there. Nothing. The cathedral was safe. It had had to be safe, for it was their last refuge. to be safe, for it was their last refuge.

III.

In the car in front of Carver Hampton's shop, Jack pumped the accelerator and raced the engine, warming it.

He looked sideways at Hampton and said, "You sure you really want to come along?"

"It's the last thing I want to do," the big man said. "I don't share your immunity to Lavelle's powers. I'd much rather stay up there in the apartment, with all the lights on and the candles burning."

"Then stay. I don't believe you're hiding anything from me. I really believe you've done everything you can. You don't owe me anything more."

"I owe me me. Going with you, helping you if I can- that's the right thing to do. I owe it to myself not to make another wrong choice."

"All right then." Jack put the car in gear but kept his foot on the brake pedal. "I'm still not sure I understand how I'm going to find Lavelle."

"You'll simply know know what streets to follow, what turns to make," Hampton said. "Because of the purification bath and the other rituals we performed, you're now being guided by a higher power." what streets to follow, what turns to make," Hampton said. "Because of the purification bath and the other rituals we performed, you're now being guided by a higher power."

"Sounds better than a Three-A map, I guess. Only* I sure don't feel anything guiding me."

"You will, Lieutenant. But first, we've got to stop at a Catholic church and fill these jars"-he held up two small, empty jars that would hold about eight ounces each-"with holy water. There's a church straight ahead, about five blocks from here."

"Fine," Jack said. "But one thing."

"What's that?"

"Will you drop the formality, stop calling me Lieutenant? My name's Jack."

"You can call me Carver, if you like."

"I'd like."

They smiled at each other, and Jack took his foot off the brake, switched on the windshield wipers, and pulled out into the street.

They entered the church together.

The vestibule was dark. In the deserted nave there were a few dim lights burning, plus three or four votive candles flickering in a wrought iron rack that stood on this side of the communion railing and to the left of the chancel. The place smelled of incense and furniture polish that had evidently been used recently on the well- worn pews. Above the altar, a large crucifix rose high into the shadows.

Carver genuflected and crossed himself. Although Jack wasn't a practicing Catholic, he felt a sudden strong compulsion to follow the black man's example, arid he realized that, as a representative of the Rada Rada on this special night, it was inc.u.mbent upon him to pay obeisance to all the G.o.ds of good and light, whether it was the Jewish G.o.d of the old testament, Christ, Buddha, Mohammed, or any other deity. Perhaps this was the first indication of the "guidance" of which Carver had spoken. on this special night, it was inc.u.mbent upon him to pay obeisance to all the G.o.ds of good and light, whether it was the Jewish G.o.d of the old testament, Christ, Buddha, Mohammed, or any other deity. Perhaps this was the first indication of the "guidance" of which Carver had spoken.

The marble font, just this side of the narthex, contained only a small puddle of holy water, insufficient for their needs.

"We won't even be able to fill one jar," Jack said.

"Don't be so sure," Carver said, uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the lid from one of the containers. He handed the open jar to Jack. "Try it."

Jack dipped the jar into the font, sc.r.a.ped it along the marble, scooped up some water, didn't think he'd gotten more than two ounces, and blinked in surprise when he held the jar up and saw that it was full. He was even more surprised to see just as much water left in the font as had been there before he'd filled the jar.

He looked at Carver.

The black man smiled and winked. He screwed the lid on the jar and put it in his coat pocket. He opened the second jar and handed it to Jack.

Again, Jack was able to fill the container, and again the small puddle of water in the font appeared untouched.

IV.

Lavelle stood by the window, looking out at the storm.

He was no longer in psychic contact with the small a.s.sa.s.sins. Given more time, time to marshal their forces, they might yet be able to kill the Dawson children, and if they did he would be sorry he'd missed it. But time was running out.

Jack Dawson was coming, and no sorcery, regardless of how powerful it might be, would stop him.

Lavelle wasn't sure how everything had gone wrong so quickly, so completely. Perhaps it had been a mistake to target the children. The Rada Rada was always incensed at a was always incensed at a Bocor Bocor who used his power against children, and they always tried to destroy him if they could. Once committed to such a course, you had to be extremely careful. But, d.a.m.nit, he who used his power against children, and they always tried to destroy him if they could. Once committed to such a course, you had to be extremely careful. But, d.a.m.nit, he had had been careful. He couldn't think of a single mistake he might have made. He was well-armored; he was protected by all the power of the dark G.o.ds. been careful. He couldn't think of a single mistake he might have made. He was well-armored; he was protected by all the power of the dark G.o.ds.

Yet Dawson was coming.

Lavelle turned away from the window.

He crossed the dark room to the dresser.

He took a.32 automatic out of the top drawer.

Dawson was coming. Fine. Let him come.

V.

Rebecca sat down in the aisle of the cathedral and pulled up the right leg of her jeans, above her knee. The claw and fang wounds were bleeding freely, but she was in no danger of bleeding to death. The jeans had provided some protection. The bites were deep but not too deep. No major veins or arteries had been severed.

The young priest, Father Walotsky, crouched beside her, appalled by her injuries. "How did this happen? What did this to you?"

Both Penny and Davey said, "Goblins," as if they were getting tired of trying to make him understand.

Rebecca pulled off her gloves. On her right hand was a fresh, bleeding bite mark, but no flesh was torn away; it was just four small puncture wounds. The gloves, like her jeans, had provided at least some protection. Her left hand bore two bite marks; one was bleeding and seemed no more serious than the wound on her right hand, painful but not mortal, while the other was the old bite she'd received in front of Faye's apartment building.

Father Walotsky said, "What's all that blood on your neck?" He put a hand to her face, gently pressed her hand back, so he could see the scratches under her chin.

"Those're minor," she said. "They sting, but they're not serious."