"A joke," Lana whispered. She appeared to be relieved. "Just a joke."
Falcon chuckled and put his arms around her, gently pulling her to him. She rather liked the feel and the strength of the older man. Everything was going to plan. She pressed her face against the soft cloth of his smoking jacket, savoring the scent of his cologne. She had never smelled anything quite like it. It had just a touch of burning pine to it, mingled with a very pleasant scent of musk … and something else she could not define.
Falcon was equally enjoying the feel of the lush young lady against him. The feel of firm young breasts; the slight heat from her loins. Through centuries of practice, he kept his penis soft. "Oh, yes, dear. Just a joke. Oh, we'll have a fine time, you and I. It will be our little secret, right up to the culmination."
She looked up. "The culmination?"
"The height of it all, dear," he smiled, his dark eyes glowing with a hidden fire, "when we achieve the final summit."
"Of course," Lana breathed, her breath sweet.
"Naturellement," Falcon said. There was something very disturbing about this young lady.
After Lana had chosen a few books and left the room, Roma appeared in the center of the study, a slight odor of burning coals with her. "Well, Falcon, it seems you have assured yourself a place between her lovely legs. But what of the others?"
"All in due time, Roma. We have the time. But we must be careful not to depasser les bornes."
"I know the boundaries, Falcon. You just worry about your own perversions with pretty young things, bon?"
"Oui. I have missed you for several hours. Where have you been?"
"Speaking with someone not of this world, Falcon."
They both smiled, and the odor of burning sulfur seemed to grow stronger.
NINE
By midafternoon, the storm had struck, sending all its fury across the land: walls of rain hurled against the great house, the wind bending the trees in a grotesque dance of the elements, the silver liquid bullets of the Heavens hammered against the house. The storm intensified as Roma picked up a huge black book and began reading.
No mortal could have held the book's weight; no ten mortals could have held it, for the black-bound book contained the names of every human being who had ever been converted to the godless teachings of Satan. Every name, from the beginnings of time.
Roma hummed quietly as she flipped through the thousands of pages, the print so fine it would have taken a magnifying glass for a mortal to see anything other than a blur. She hummed a Faustian melody as she sought the page of her choice. It was not easy to find, for its words had rarely been investigated by those before Roma … those keepers of The Book. And it had been used even less. Then she ceased her humming as a smile creased her lips, the page and the evil words leaping at her eyes. Roma devoured the message, memorizing each ritual, each item needed. She closed the book as a satisfying sigh escaped her lips.
Falcon appeared in the center of the room, his face dark with fury … and concern for the witch. "I cannot believe you are really contemplating this!"
"It need not concern you." Her reply was cold. "Your participation is minimal."
"Everything you do concerns me."
"Only to the point it gains some end for you."
"I'll not allow that remark to offend me, Roma. My dear, don't you realize this could well be your gotterdammerung?"
She shook her head. "Nothing quite that dramatic, I assure you. That is still in the future. But if you mean my death, yes, I know that."
"And still you persist?"
"For our Master, yes."
"I will try to be there at … the end. To help in whatever manner I can."
"No. That cannot be. You have never read the instructions?"
He shrugged. "Why should I? Birthing a demon is not the forte of a warlock."
"Only those women who are as we can be present. But you can help in the preparation."
"Tell me what I must do."
"I need the blood of a nonbeliever. That is where we must start."
Falcon sighed, walking to her, taking her hand. "I am really quite fond of you, Roma."
She jerked her hand from his. "Don't become maudlin. You know the only love we may experience is that which we feel for the Master."
"Yes. But I see now why you are doing this thing."
She looked up at him.
"You fell in love with Balon, didn't you?"
Her steady gaze did not waver.
"You don't have to go to this extreme in penitence, Roma. It wasn't that terrible a deed."
"It isn't atonement, Falcon. Put that out of your mind. I merely wish to leave a legacy—some part of me."
"Say it all, Roma," he urged her. "Share it with me—our feelings."
She shook her head. "No. That is past."
"That's not what I mean."
And the thoughts of the witch and the warlock were mingled: what if they failed here at Falcon House? What if all the plans of the Master came to naught? What then?
"I must say it," Falcon said. "You believe there is a chance we will fail?"
"Balon's love child has powers even he doesn't know about—yet. The young man might never have to bring them into play. Yes, he could beat us. So any demon child we produce is simply insurance against the future. I have the Master's permission to do this, so it is settled. And you will have to play a part with Nydia."
"We don't know she is Christian."
"I believe she is."
The witch and the warlock looked at each other for several seconds. Falcon then nodded his head. "I will do my part."
"Always remembering that right up to the last moment, we must attempt to convert them."
"Yes."
"But we may as well gather what we can—just in case. I need blood. The nonbeliever must not die, for we will have to return again and again." Their thoughts were shared. "Yes," Roma said. "She will do." She touched her neck. "Tonight, Falcon. Do it."
He vanished.
Everlasting life; eternal youth; beauty for the women, never-failing virility for the men; an orgy that would span time; an end to the mundane worries that plague mortals. That is what the Lord of Darkness had promised the Coven members of Whitfield in return for their pledge of service to him. For a nether world here on God's earth. Just one spot that would truly be the kingdom of the damned; of the Cloven hoof. Then, as time trudged on, the disciples of Mephistopheles could spread slowly outward, carrying the message born in the smoking pits to others, until the Prince of Filth ruled a county, a state, a country, or a world.
All was ready. The churches of Whitfield no longer held any trace of the Lord God: the crosses were hanging upside down; the altars were draped in black; the instruments of Holy Communion were filled with the vilest of liquids ... all was in ready to receive the Prince of Darkness.
The word was received: Let it begin.
Falcon slipped down the quiet hall of the great house, pausing often to listen. But any slight sound he might have made was muted by the clashing of the storm as it battered the land. At a bedroom door, he stood for a time, a smile playing across his lips. He tried the door knob. Unlocked. He eased the door open and let his eyes play across the form of the girl sprawled in deep sleep on the bed.
Judy was a true Christian, Black had said, loyal to her God and His teachings.
She won't be for long, Falcon smiled, the lips pulling back in a grisly leer, exposing the true direction of his long, bloody life. Fangs now marred the perfection of his ivory smile; his tongue was swollen, crimson as it throbbed with anticipation, mentally savoring the hot burst of living blood.
Falcon slipped into the room, quietly closing the door behind him, the noise of the heavy storm covering his soft footsteps. Standing over the bed, he began a low incantation, his deep voice soothing the young woman, edging her deeper into sleep, the slumber becoming a state of deep hypnosis as his voice touched her dulling senses. Falcon pushed her through the stages of induced sleep, until finally she was secure in the deep somnambulistic state of controlled sleep … and then past that into sleep controlled by the Master of the Black Arts, Ruler of the Netherworld.