THE FIRST DAY OF THREE.

6.

The small band of Christians had spent the night at the Dorgenois house. All but Sam. He had borrowed a car from Colter and driven back to the rent house.

Yes, Sam thought, lying in bed beside Nydia. We are a very small band.

There had been no new additions last night. Sam counted them down. Colter, Don and Frances, Sonny Pa.s.son, C. D. and Connie, Bid Grenier and his wife, Pat, Susan, Noreen, Margie. David, Tony, and Oscar. Mike Laborne and his wife, Lois. Father Javotte. Andrea. Matt and Tess. Romy and Julie, when and if they joined the group. And the kids. Be thankful, he reminded himself, that there weren't that many kids.

Mrs. Wheeler, he counted one more. Although the old lady had refused to leave her house even after Colter had called her and practically begged her to join them. She would stay in her own home, thank you very much.

Sam quietly got out of bed and looked in on Little Sam. He was sleeping soundly, Dog lying by the side of his bed. Sam glanced at his wrist.w.a.tch. Eight o'clock. He had not had much sleep, but felt alert and refreshed. He showered and shaved while the coffee was perking, then fixed a cup of coffee and took it outside, to sit on the front porch.

The skies had cleared, the clouds gone, the sun shining. And it was hot and humid, with only a light breeze blowing. The breeze brought with it a very slight odor.

Sam recognized the odor immediately.

The Beasts were up and moving.

Sam sipped his coffee, gathered his thoughts, and tried to ignore the odor that drifted about him.

It was a losing battle. Hopefully, Sam thought, not indicative of the battle facing us all.

Nydia came out onto the porch, a cup of coffee in one hand. She sat down and looked at her husband. 'The Beasts are here."

"Yes. I would guess some are very close to this house. Probably over there." He pointed toward the dark swamp.

"I would have sworn we were to have more time, Sam." She sipped her coffee. "I just felt we were to have several months."

"I would have, too. Colter Dorgenois asked me last night if I felt fear. I did not then. Now, I do."

"Yes," Nydia said softly. "Dog was restless last night."

"Are you afraid to stay here, Nydia?"

She smiled as she looked at him. "Husband, I have powers inherited from my mother that you have never seen. I don't think I could use them in any evil manner. But I will use them to protect the good around me. Little Sam's powers, I believe, are awesome. Dog is not of this earth. He never drinks, he never eats. No, I am not afraid."

"You've changed over the past fifteen months, Nydia."

"I have discovered a lot of my mother in me. But with the help of G.o.d, I have managed to channel that to good use. I remember my mother talking to Falcon while I was held their captive. Before Falcon raped me. One of the few times I ever saw my mother afraid. She could see that I had totally rejected the Dark One. It took me a long time to recall those words of hers, but they finally came to me.. She said, 'I do not want to be present when Nydia discovers the powers within her and unleashes them. For it will be awesome.' "

Sam smiled. "I seem to be the low man on the totem pole in this family when it comes to powers." She leaned over and kissed him. "Little Sam and I must live with a curse, Sam. But you've been blessed. Little Sam and I can fight with powers that came from the Dark One and now have been sworn to G.o.d, while you must fight with guile and mortal weapons. The end result will be the same."

"I'll worry about you all," Sam said.

Nydia shook her head. "Don't. There is no need for that. Go and follow the trails that G.o.d has marked for you."

Sam went into the house and packed a few things. Then he retrieved his .22 autoloader and tossed several boxes of hundred-pack ammo into the bag. Nydia watched him gather up his few things.

"I'll leave the shotgun for you. And you have your pistol," Sam told her.

"I won't need any of those things," she replied.

"You're certain?"

Her reply was a smile.

She came to him, opened his shirt, and kissed the cross-shaped scar on his chest. Then she raised her head and kissed his mouth. A woman kissing her warrior-man good-bye as he prepared to go into battle.

"Take the shotgun, Sam. You're going to need it."

"All right. I've never seen you so firm in your beliefs, Nydia."

"For the first time, Sam, I know that I am one hundred percent with G.o.d."

"And very secure in that belief?"

She smiled. "Oh, my, yes."

Sam opened a hall closet door and took out a leather gun case. He unzipped the case and pulled out a twelve gauge pump shotgun, the barrel cut off to federal standards. He put a half dozen boxes of sh.e.l.ls into his bag. He went into Little Sam's bedroom. Dog lifted his head and watched as Sam kissed his sleeping son. Sam petted Dog and left the room. Dog moved closer to the bed and closed his mismatched eyes.

Sam touched Nydia's face. "I may need your help before this is over."

"I'll know, and I'll be there," she said.

Sam walked out the front door and tossed his gear into the back of the car he'd borrowed from Colter. He backed out of the drive, waved to Nydia, and pointed the nose of the car toward town.

Bonnie Rogers, Mary Claverie, and Jackson Dorgenois sat in the den of Bonnie's house. They sat around a freshly drawn chalk circle on the floor.

They waited for a sign.

Lula Magee sat with her back to the wall. The cold tile floor of the lounge should have been cold on her bare b.u.t.tocks. But it wasn't. There were no human feelings left within Lula. Jules Nahan sat beside her. His dead eyes never blinked, his flesh never twitched as the dozens of cats padded over his naked legs and belly and shoulders. He sat and waited. Walt Davis sat across the barroom, on the floor. With his tongue, he very carefully groomed himself.

Judy Mahon, Don Hemming, and several dozen of their friends slept hard, exhausted from the previous night's festivities and following s.e.xual orgy. It had been a good night for all concerned. Half a hundred new members had been initiated into the coven. It had been good fun for everybody; except that one who had died. Well, that had been his own fault. He shouldn't have begun having second thoughts just at the last moment.

It had been good fun listening to his screaming as the knife cut his flesh. That Jon Le Moyne really knew how to make the pain last and last and last. Then, just as the boy's heart was ready to cease its beating, Jon had cut it out of his chest, still beating. He had pa.s.sed the heart around and all had gotten a good taste of it. Wasn't bad.

It was even all right when those adults showed up and took their pick of the chicks at the meeting. Turned out the adults were pretty OK people after all.

They didn't have long to wait now. Just over forty-eight hours before the coven would, in a manner of speaking, blow the lid off of Becancour.

Yeah, worshiping the Dark One was a lot more fun than going to Sunday school.

The coven members, those who were active and those who were about to be, although the latter group were not yet aware of it, slept late that morning of the first day of three.

The Beasts lay in hidden places in and around the town. They did not like the sun to touch their hairy bodies, for the sun was sent by G.o.d. The darkness belonged to their Master. The Beasts rested for the night.

R. M. Dorgenois lay sleeping in the shed behind a house on the very edge of Becancour. His expensive business suit was muddy and filthy and torn. R. M.'s hands and lips twitched in his evil-tinged sleep, his eyelids fluttered, his entire body trembled in antic.i.p.ation of the coming night. He licked his lips, his tongue gathering up the last bits of blood that had dried on his lips.

Xaviere Flaubert had not moved from the window in several hours. Her eyes were far-seeing, and she did not like what she was seeing. Did not like it, but knew there was nothing she could do about it. In sixty hours all concerned would know either victory or defeat. She had asked herself the same question a dozen times during the past few hours: Why? Why had the people moved so quickly? Why had they speeded up the timetable that had so carefully been worked out? Victory had been a.s.sured them; even with the presence of Sam Balon, victory had been a.s.sured. The Master, in his way, had approached all leaders of the Coven, urging them to go slowly.

And for a time, the better part of a year, they had obeyed. And then suddenly, like a wildly careening merry-go-round, events had begun rushing by.

And now it was too late to do anything except stand back and watch it all develop.

Disgusted, she turned away from the tinted window.

Her entourage had stood silently in the huge room, watching her, waiting.

"You're thinking very negative thoughts, Princess," Janet said.

"I do not need you you to remind to remind me me of that," she snapped at the young woman. of that," she snapped at the young woman.

"Mistress," an older man spoke. "We cannot stop what has begun; but what we can do is join them and attempt to guide the events."

"Go on," Xaviere said.

"Is the Dark One near?"

"Close."

"Then let us summon him."

"Risky."

"But if we wait, and the townspeople grow even more impatient, will it not be too late?"

Xaviere considered that. "Yes," she finally spoke. "We'll need a subject. Have you one in mind?"

"Yes. Things are looking up, I believe. That foolish preacher, Cliff Lester, has begun gathering his flock to the church. He has convinced them that the subtle change in the town is due to the so-called p.o.r.nographic books and magazines sold in various stores in the area. Lester and his flock are going to have twenty-four hours of singing and praying, with marches in between. They are going to cleanse the town of filth."

"Is that right?" Xaviere said, her lips curving into a smile. "How n.o.ble of Mr. Lester and his flock."

"Yes, Mistress," the man said with a laugh.

"G.o.d must have loved fools," the Princess of Darkness said. "For He certainly put a large number of them on earth."

"Yes, Mistress. They began gathering at the church at eight this morning. They are going to have something called singin', shoutin', stompin', and eatin' on the grounds."

"What in the h.e.l.l is that?" Janet asked.

"I have no idea at all," the man said.

Sam began driving the streets of Becancour. The sawed-off shotgun lay fully loaded on the backseat, the .22 caliber autoloader lay on the seat beside him. One thing stuck firmly in his mind: last night, when he left the Dorgenois house, he had driven the same streets, and he had seen no cats. None at all. And he felt it was not due to the weather, for the rain had ceased long before he left.

Now, in the light of day, the cats had once more gathered. They sat silently on the curbs, in the trees, on porches and on roofs, watching him as he drove slowly by.

Why? Sam pondered. Why would they not gather last night as they had done in the previous nights.

Sam did not see one single dog. Not one anywhere. He did not feel the cats had killed the dogs. Instead, he felt the dogs had simply left the town, sensing something they could not cope with. He felt the dogs had moved back into the timber, away from the danger they sensed.

All except Dog. But Sam, like Nydia, felt that Dog was not of this earth.

Even though Sam felt the timetable had, for whatever reason, been moved up, and events rushing toward the inevitable confrontation between Good and Evil, Light md Dark, the town still appeared normal-normal, that is, to anyone not familiar with what was going on.

But Sam could feel the ugly evil surrounding him as he drove the streets. He looked at the people sitting on the porches, looking back at him.

'Gone," Sam muttered. "They're gone. Their souls have turned black."

Then, that little something that had been nagging at him came to the fore.

He stopped the car in the middle of the street.

He could see men and women; he could see lots of teenagers.

But there were no young children.

He drove on, very slowly now, his eyes moving from side to side, studying the people on the porches.

No young kids.

But where had they gone?

Sam had no answer for that, and none came to him.

But he could hope.

He'd mention it to? ... To whom? The entire group gathered back at the Dorgenois home? No, he didn't think so. He did not know whether he trusted them all. So he would mention it to Father Javotte and perhaps a few others.

He drove the streets, finding conditions much the same wherever he went: people sitting on chairs and in porch swings, staring at him, their faces either sullen or openly hostile.

The sad thing is, Sam thought, many of them have gone over to the Dark Side and didn't know why it happened to them.

Sam recalled something one of his professors had said one time during a small gathering in his home. The man had been a minister for a good many years before leaving the pulpit for a cla.s.sroom. "It isn't easy being Christian, Sam. A great many people are kidding themselves, lying to themselves about having accepted Christ. I have had and will continue to have some spirited debates with my good Catholic friends on that very subject." He had glanced around the group, a twinkle in his eyes. "I see several of you who are Catholic. I hope it won't come as a shock to you when I say that I know many, many priests who don't believe that a person can live a lifetime of sin and at the moment of death, be forgiven? Does that shock any of you?"

It had not shocked a single person in the room. It certainly had not shocked Sam, for he had many friends who had either grown up in the Catholic Church or were actively attending it ... they didn't believe it either.

"Oh, I don't either!" Father Javotte said. "And in that respect, I'm a practicing hypocrite. I personally believe that a person who has been a miserable jerk all his life will die a miserable jerk, no matter what mortal man speaks over them. I certainly am not Jesus Christ, although I know some priests who behave as if they were. But, of course, that is not confined solely to Catholics. You have not had the pleasure of meeting Cliff Lester, have you?"