"I'll get a camera from my car," Sonny said, fighting back the hot bile that threatened to erupt from his throat. "b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!" he muttered. "Tormenting an old lady."

But why were they-whoever "they" might be-doing it?

Sonny didn't know, but one thing he knew for d.a.m.n sure: He was going to find out.

"When were you last out here in the backyard, Mrs. Wheeler?" Don asked.

"Late yesterday afternoon. I heard some noises out back last night, but I didn't come out to check on them. And I didn't call the police, either." She spoke the last with more than a trace of bitterness.

"Sonny just fired Louis Black," Don informed her. "And then kicked him in his rear end."

"Put the boot to his a.s.s, did he?" the old woman said with a smile. "Good. Sonny is a good boy. But that Louis Black is nothing but trash."

While Sonny took pictures, Don continued to question Mrs. Wheeler. "Do you know who has been tormenting you, ma'am? Have you seen any of their faces?"

"I've caught glimpses of them, Don Lenoir. But I don't know these kids anymore. They grow up so fast nowadays. I probably had their parents in school."

Mrs. Wheeler had probably had two-thirds of the population of Becancour in cla.s.s. She had taught history and civics-among other subjects-for more than fifty years.

"Do you have a garbage bag, ma'am?" Sonny asked.

"Certainly. Are these ... things from a human, Sonny?"

"No, ma'am. Animal, I think. I'll take them over to Dr. Livaudais."

"I beat his b.u.t.t more than once, too," the old lady said with a grin. "Has he settled down any?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sonny said, returning the grin. "He married Miss Lena Breaux."

"I know that! I still read the papers, boy."

"Yes, ma'am." I'm pushing fifty years old and still act like a slew-footed kid around her, Sonny thought. Probably always will, too.

"Who are you, boy?" Mrs. Wheeler looked at Sam. "I thought I knew everyone in Becancour. But you're a new one on me."

"Sam Balon, ma'am."

"Balon? I don't know any Balons. Where'd you come from?"

"Originally from Nebraska, ma'am."

"Well, you're a big one. You look like you'd be hard to handle if somebody was stupid enough to pull your string. You visiting somebody I know?"

"No, ma'am. I'm down here with my family for the summer. We rented the Lovern place out on the creek."

"Bayou," she corrected. "You a lawman?"

"No, ma'am."

"You ought to be. Big as you are. Nice to meet you, Sam Balon. You and your family come see me anytime you like. Sorry we had to meet under these hideous conditions." She cut her eyes to Sonny. "Sonny, I got me a twenty gauge pump in the house. It's loaded. I got my late husband's old .38 in there, too. And lots of ammunition for the both of them. I'm serving you warning now-my backyard is fenced. The gate is locked with a chain and padlock. Anybody else trespa.s.ses on my property, tormenting me, gets shot. And I'm a good shot, Sonny."

Everyone present knew the old lady meant every word she said.

"Yes, ma'am," Sonny said meekly.

"Animal parts," Tony said, inspecting the organs. "Sheep, I'm sure. But why Mrs. Wheeler?"

"I don't know," Sonny said. Father Javotte remained at the home of Mrs. Wheeler; he'd walk back to town. Sam was riding with Don.

"Bring me up to date, Sonny."

Slowly, Sonny began talking, telling Dr. Livaudais everything he'd heard that morning from Sam Balon and Father Javotte.

Tony received the news with a stoic expression. He was not especially a religious man, did not attend Ma.s.s very often. But there was something oddly unsettling about Chief Pa.s.son's words.

"And what do you, personally, think about it, Sonny?"

"I ... think something is very wrong in this town, Doc. But I don't know what it is. I can tell you this much: there is something weird as h.e.l.l about Sam Balon."

"Weird ... how?"

"I can't explain it, Doc. I can't explain anything that's happening around town. And I don't know what Louis was talking about when he said 'it don't make a s.h.i.t no more.' Doc, I've been in Louis's house dozens of times. It was always kind of messy. But clean. You know what I mean. Now his house is just plain nasty. And he's suddenly become nasty. Right now, we should all be out beating the bushes for Jackson Dorgenois. But he's become secondary. And you know what, Doc? I don't care. And I don't think Don cares either. That's weird, Doc. I don't want to leave this town, Doc. Me and the wife was going to drive over to Alex tonight for dinner. We always enjoyed doing that. But she told me this morning that she didn't wanna go. Jane has always enjoyed fixin' up and going out. Now she just doesn't want to go."

"Jackson Dorgenois must be found, Sonny. The man is dangerous. He could be killing right this minute."

"I know that."

Something in Sonny's eyes bothered Tony. Some little intangible ... thing thing seemed to be drifting just under the surface. "Well, if that's the way you feel about it, Sonny. As Chief of Police, I don't know of a soul who can order you to go out looking for Jackson." seemed to be drifting just under the surface. "Well, if that's the way you feel about it, Sonny. As Chief of Police, I don't know of a soul who can order you to go out looking for Jackson."

"But what I'm feeling is wrong, wrong, Doc, and what's worse is ... I know it. But I can't seem to shake it." Doc, and what's worse is ... I know it. But I can't seem to shake it."

Tony did not know what to say to the man. He was experiencing none of what Sonny claimed to be feeling. "What is it you want, Sonny? You think I have some kind of pill or shot that will alleviate the sensation?"

"Do you?"

"No."

Sonny leaned back in his chair. "It's gettin' worse, Doc. And I didn't feel this way an hour ago."

Tony thought of something, then almost immediately rejected it. None of what Sonny had told him about devil worship and covens and vampires and all that c.r.a.p was true. None of it. Tony didn't believe in any of that nonsense.

Or did he?

Oh, what the h.e.l.l! he thought. It's worth a try. "You want the best advice I can give you, Sonny?"

"I sure do."

"Go see Father Javotte and tell him what you told me. I don't have any medicine to cure you."

Mary Claverie had slept in the car, pulled off the road about two miles from Becancour. When she awakened, stiff and sore from the cramped s.p.a.ce, she felt worse than stiff and sore ... she felt awful. She got out and stretched until her joints popped. Boy! it felt so good to be free of that nut house.

Then she looked down at her nurse's uniform. All dirty and mussed and icky. Got to do something about that. Well, she had her piece of gla.s.s and her gun. So she'd just drive a bit until she came to a house, go up and knock on the door, and take whatever it was she wanted.

Sounded pretty good to her.

Then she saw the house. It sat to the south of where she had parked all night, just a little stand of timber separating Mary from the house. Getting her gun, she left the car and walked through the timber. At timber's edge, she paused. She could see window air conditioners, but none were on, and it was already hot. She hiked up her dress and squatted down, watching the house. Then she saw the telltale signs: several rolled-up newspapers were in the front yard. No one home.

Mary looked in all directions and then scampered across the yard, angling toward the back. She jumped up on the small back porch and tried the doork.n.o.b. Locked. She felt around the top of the door frame and smiled as her fingers touched the key.

In the house, she stood still for a moment, listening. She knew the house was empty; it had that feeling.

She stepped back outside and ran across the timber, to her stolen car. She crept up to the road's edge and looked both ways. Clear. She gunned the car, fishtailed for a second, then cut into the driveway of the empty house. Tucking the car behind the house, she got out.

"Your keys are in the ignition," the voice said.

"'Screw you!" Mary said. "If I ever figure out where you're hiding, I'm gonna kill you!"

She was not aware of the eyes watching her from the shed out back of the house.

Sam was the first to spot the symbol that mutely declared war.

"Look on the water tower," he told Don.

Don looked. "What is that thing?"

"An upside-down cross. It means that whoever painted it there has rejected G.o.d and accepted Satan."

Don dropped the car into D and drove on. "I've got to find Sonny and apologize to him."

"Why?"

"I came to him the other day and told him I believed something like devil worship was going on in Becancour. Then this morning, well, it was like some ... voice, but not really a voice, was telling me to reject what you were saying. I completely forgot about Jackson Dorgenois. Until just a few minutes ago. Sam, it's real, isn't it? I mean, the devil ... he's here, isn't he?"

"No, not yet. But he's coming. The Princess is here though."

"Well, Sam, if you're so certain of that. Let's ... well, do something about it."

"What would you suggest, Don?"

Don thought about that for a moment. Then he sighed and shook his head. "I don't know."

"I told you, Don. All we can do is wait."

"You know what, Sam?"

"What's that, Don?"

"I haven't seen a single cat all morning."

"Then look right over there," Sam said, pointing, Don braked so hard he almost threw Sam against the dashboard. The two men sat and stared in open revulsion mixed with fascination.

The stone fence surrounding a house on the corner of the street was lined with cats. Cats of all sizes, all colors, all shapes. The cats sat silently, staring ...

... at Sam and Don.

Nydia, Little Sam's hand in hers, stood by the bayou's edge and looked at the beginnings of the great swamp just a few hundred yards from where she stood. Dog sat a few yards away, gazing not at the swamp but back toward the house.

Silently guarding.

"He sees something we can't," Little Sam said.

"What does he see, baby?"

"Evil," the child replied.

Dog swung his big head and looked at Little Sam through his mismatched eyes.

R. M. sat in Romy's study and met the younger man's gaze. "Romy, if I knew what to do, don't you think I'd do it?"

"I don't know, Dad. But I don't believe you have ever leveled with me about our family. Why are you afraid to tell me the truth?"

"Romy ... I'm not sure I know the truth. I ... I do know that we-you and me and all Dorgenoises-are different. Our ancestors, Romy, made a decision two centuries ago; a decision that, according to what I have learned over the years, forced them to leave New Orleans."

"Why?"

"It isn't what you think, son. We're not vampires or werewolves or witches. It's very simple. Our ancestors accepted G.o.d as the only true G.o.d, turning their backs to the Evil One."

"How much of this is true, Dad?"

"Son, I can't prove any of it. I can only relate to you what my father told me, a week before he died."

"Why would accepting Christ force our ancestors out of the city?"

"They were running, son. Running for their lives."

"From whom, Dad?"

"From Satan."

Walt Davis just did not know what was the matter with him. He was well fed, comfortable, and pampered by the nurses at the clinic. The cops in this town were nice; they didn't ha.s.sle like a lot of cops Walt had come in contact with over the years.

All in all, he thought, he had it made. He might be able to stretch this into a week's affair if he played his cards right.

He stretched on the clean, cool sheets. His back was healing nicely, so the doctors said. There was still just a bit of pain, but nothing that Walt couldn't live with.

It was just ... No! that was stupid. People don't do things like that. He tried to force that thought from his mind.