"He created humans, didn't He?"
And the clock in the hall chimed its message: it was Friday. The horror was about to begin.
Sam awakened with his arms full of soft, warm nakedness and his heart pounding. But he did not awaken with a start. He wondered why his heart was hammering so violently in his chest? He opened his eyes, looking around the dimly lit room. He saw the trays of food on the dresser and remembered bringing them in. Nothing else was disturbed. He listened but could hear nothing. He glanced at his watch on the nightstand and knew then what had awakened him. It was just past midnight. Friday. But what was so special about that? Friday? The day Satan is worshiped, of course.
He gently brought Nydia out of sleep.
"I love you," she whispered. "And I don't think it is wrong." She smiled. "And I must look awful."
"No, you're beautiful." He picked up his watch. "Look at the time."
"Oh, God! No wonder no one checked on us."
"What do you mean?"
"It's Friday. They would all probably be at the circle of stones, behind the house. I used to ask them what they did out there, but I would get such silly answers I finally quit asking. Something about star-gazing was what they finally settled on. I never did believe it."
"Nydia? You're holding something back from me."
"Yes."
"Tell me?"
"It … isn't time, Sam. I will. I promise."
He thought of her statement in the four-wheel about knowing a lot about him. He shrugged it off. "You mentioned something about that circle of stones this afternoon while we were eating at the park. It triggered something in me then; the same thing happened now. There is something about a circle that is whispered about back in Whitfield—used to be, anyway." He paused. "Sure. Now I remember. Kids used to say that was where the Devil lived. That must be where Dad met the Devil. Oh, damn, Nydia! How much of this is real and how much is not? What in God's name are we supposed to believe and do? I don't know. I do know this: I want to see this circle of stones. We'll go out there tomorrow."
"Are you out of your mind?"
He ignored that, for he believed he just might be … for a number of reasons. "Can we see it from the house?"
"Faintly. From that window." She pointed. "But you can't see it at night."
He slipped from her warmth and blew out the small lamp, plunging the room into darkness. He opened the drapes. "Nydia," he called. "We can see it."
"What do you mean?" She crawled from the big bed and came to his side, pressing against him. She gasped at the sight in the small clearing behind the mansion.
It was torch-lit.
"I've never seen that before," she said.
"It's begun," Sam said flatly, without fear. And Nydia picked up on the firmness in his voice. "The nine days have begun."
"Sam, what are you talking about? What nine days?"
He looked at her in the darkness of the room. "Nine days, honey. We have … they have, nine days. Don't ask me how I know. I just know. And I'll tell you something else: my knowing scares the shit out of me!"
In Whitfield, around the circle of stones, as behind Falcon House, the pledge was being chanted: "I renounce God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost."
And in both places, the Beasts growled their approval.
"I renounce and deny my Creator, the Holy Virgin, the Saints, Baptism, Father, Mother, Relations, Heaven, Earth, and all this world contains that is good, pure, and sacred."
They lifted their arms straight out in front of them and screamed: "Praise the power of the Prince of Darkness. For only he is the true Master.
"I give my body and mind to Satan. Praise be his name. My Master. None other than him. This I swear by all that is unholy."
And the Beasts of Satan howled their agreement, their eyes wild, jaws leaking drool. The Beasts began dancing: an obscene hunching and howling, dancing to the beat of music they alone could hear.
"Is there a gun room in this house?" Sam asked as they dressed. The drapes were closed, the room lighted. Somehow they both felt much more comfortable with the lights on.
"Yes. Falcon enjoys shooting." She grimaced a sudden distaste.
"What's wrong?"
"He likes to see animals suffer. He's an expert shot, but I've overheard servants talking—down through the years—that he'll deliberately shoot an animal where it will take it the longest to die. He likes to listen to a wounded animal scream."
"Nice fellow," Sam muttered. "The servants?"
"You mean can we trust them? No, I don't think so. They have all been with Roma for as long as I can remember. Especially Jimmy Perkins. He's a sneak. That's not the right word. He's a zombie."
"You may be more right than you think about that," Sam told her. "Come on—let's see this gun room. I want to see what Falcon has in stock."
They walked down the dimly lit hall, walking quietly but not stealthily, in case they met someone unexpectedly and aroused suspicion. Nydia stopped him at a doorway.
"The first of the guest rooms in this wing," she whispered. "This would be Adam's room. All the boys' rooms are on the left, girls' rooms on the right."
Sam cautiously opened the door and looked in. The room was deserted. "You take the girls' rooms," he told Nydia.
Only Mac and Howard were in their beds. When Sam tried to wake them, he could not. They were sleeping as if drugged. Which, he concluded, they probably were. Across the hall, four young women were in their beds: Judy, Lana, Linda, and Susan. Sleeping soundly. Too soundly. Sam shook Lana gently, then roughly. She could not be roused. He did the same with each of them; they could not be awakened. He noticed the heavy gold medallion on a chain around Susan's neck.
"They're all drugged," he told Nydia. "I guess. From now on we'd better be careful what we eat and drink. I'll bet you those trays of food I found outside the door to our rooms were drugged; that's why no one checked on us.
"Mother always uses the buffet line when we have this many guests. At least that's been her routine in the past."
"Routine can be dangerous," Sam said, remembering his training. "Lulls one into a false sense of security."
Nydia smiled. "Yes, Sergeant."
Sam slipped his arm around her waist and let his hand slip down to the curve of her buttocks. He gently caressed her.
"Don't start something you can't finish," she said. "And here in the hall would be a perfectly dreadful place to be caught making love."
Sam removed his hand.
She stopped them before they entered the foyer they had to cross to get to the gun room on the second floor. "I just remembered something: Falcon has a reject room in the basement. He spends hundreds of dollars—maybe thousands—on guns every year. If there is the slightest flaw: a scratch on the stock, a tiny bit of bluing that's wrong, anything … he won't have it. Just throws it in the reject room and forgets it."
"He doesn't return them?"
"No, never."
"That's the place for us, then. Take one of his favorite guns and he'd probably miss it. Where are the servants' quarters?"
"That way," she said, pointing. "First floor, in the back."
"Come on. 1 want to check there, too."
The servants' quarters were all empty.
"That answers another question," Sam said. "Come on, we'd better hurry." He wondered how long the ceremony at the circle of stones would last.
"It breaks up just before dawn," she said, reading his thoughts.
"Pretty good gimmick we have going," Sam said with a grin. "It may really come in handy before all this is over. I wonder how far we can project and read each other's thoughts?"
"We'll try tomorrow." She tugged at his arm. "Today, I mean. Come on, let's get to the reject room."
Sam selected a good shotgun and a high-powered rifle, then picked a pistol for Nydia. The weapons were all in good condition, except for needing cleaning and oiling. They were fine weapons, from old and skilled manufacturers. He stuffed his pockets with cartridges and had Nydia do the same. She was nervous, wanting to leave, but Sam wanted to prowl. He found a tarp-covered cache of camping equipment, loading them both down with shelter halves and blankets, rope and tent pegs. They filled two packs, then filled two smaller knapsacks. Finally Sam picked up two pairs of binoculars and steered Nydia toward the door.