Chapter Twenty-one

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Sure. Look at this bunch, scrubbed and clean and straight. They must all be crazy. Had to be. Nothing that ugly could come out of a human union, no matter how horrible the parents were. And none of these people was even slightly horrible. The chief magus, or whatever he was, turned around again and cleared his throat. He looked out across his congregation with an expression only a little nicer than the one portrayed on his vestment. "We are gathered here to pray that our Princess may survive the great suffering to which we in our impiety and stupidity have subjected her." Another stiletto type came across the nave and whispered to the dark priest or wizard or whatever he was. Then those eyes were looking right down the center aisle at Terry Quist. "Come," the wizard said softly. As Terry walked up the aisle faces turned to watch him. Just normal, ordinary, everyday faces. A lot of families had brought their kids. The low, pulsing sound that had begun the ceremony started again, this time developing thrumming chords that seemed capable of sinking into the depths of the mind, evoking in Terry emotions of stunning violence. He saw by the discomfort in the pews that he was not alone in this reaction. Here and there younger children covered their ears. And yet this was not a loud sound so much as a penetrating one. It would hardly be audible beyond the church walls, except to somebody with unusually sensitive ears. Alexander Parker must have been one such person. The music carried a strong emotional charge. Negative. Terry fantasized a Sten gun in his hands, pulling the trigger, seeing blood and brains spray around him— "Stop right there, young man." Terry stopped. He was about ten feet from the wizard. This close the man's face was quite simply terrible. It was old and the color of newspaper, and it looked as fragile as a dry leaf. The green eyes glared in the way that Terry's years as a reporter had taught him to associate with advanced psychosis or great rage. "You say that you want to join us, young man. How have you come to know of us?" Terry's sense of the situation was that there weren't many right answers to that question. He hadn't really expected to be greeted with suspicion, given his assumption that they would want recruits. Wrong again, Terry. His life was a tissue of mistakes, way back to the beginning. Obviously, he had just made another. Or had he? Getting into this was his one and only ticket out of getting killed by it. "I knew a guy named Alex Parker—" Somebody grabbed his shoulders from behind and slammed him to his knees. "Never address His Eminence from your feet, please." "Hey, now wait a minute." He sensed an arm being raised for a blow. "Sorry! His Eminence. Take it easy. I'll be real respectful." The wizard met Terry's eyes with as cold a look as he could imagine. "So you must be Mr. Quist," he said softly. "Yes. I see your logic in coming here. You were correct to assume Parker had talked about you. Now you want to join us rather than risk sharing Parker's fate. Clever. Convenient for us, too." Not quite the right response. There was something Terry didn't like about his coming here being convenient for them. "We have been given a special opportunity tonight," the wizard said. "Prepare for the Rituale Cruciatus Nexis." He clapped his hands. "Mr. Quist is going to test our revised vector." "What kind of a vector?" He was shoved again. "Never address a question to His Eminence." "Sorry! Will you tell me what test—" "It will be very brief, Mr. Quist," His Eminence said. "This vector is so quick you'll hardly even know what happened." "Wonderful, Your Eminence. Very reassuring. I think I want to go home." His Eminence did not even smile. Something was going on at the rear of the church. There were a number of people consulting with one another. Then one of them broke away and trotted up a side aisle. He consulted briefly with His Eminence. The old man seemed testy. "And make it fast," he rasped at his departing lackey. He looked toward the choir loft. "Begin the processional, Bob." "The organ?" came the reply, full of doubt. "Of course not, it's too loud. The horn." The musician was a master of his instrument, whatever it was. The music swept and swirled and throbbed. Terry even forgot his aching knees. He had never before heard a musical instrument that made such a sound. It worked on your emotions to an almost uncanny degree. This time the tone was one of
peace and reassurance, like one might hear in an ancient monastery, where the monks were chanting their matins. Perhaps fifteen minutes passed before His Eminence returned to the center of the sacristy. At the same time Stiletto Man and one of his assistants arrived and crowded Terry on both sides. Guess I'm going through with this, Terry thought. The horn sounded a single, long note. Terry craned his neck around and saw a boy and girl of perhaps twelve begin marching up the aisle with the self-consciously slow tread of under-rehearsed kids. Their grave, soft faces were yellowed by the flickering light of the thick red candles they held in their hands. They were dressed all in white, these children, and their footsteps made no sound. Now things began to get colorful. The wizard—oops, His Eminence—raised his arms and spoke: "By the power of the King of the Underworld, O Spirits of the Hells receive our gift and remember Thee us!" He began a slow twirling dance, his face sinking to deep concentration, his wand describing quick crosses. "Come and take our offering, O Deeps!" The congregation replied: "Come from the east, the south, the west, and the north. Come into this house." There was the rattle of a general turning of pages. The children reached Terry. His Eminence stopped his dance. He dropped to his knees, facing his congregation. "Who shall be the medium of the experiment?" The girl replied, "Father, it is Terence Michael Aloysius Quist," Nice. They even knew the Aloysius. The last place that had appeared was on his birth certificate. The Night Church had done its homework. "Do you give him up willingly?" "We do, your Eminence." The children spoke as from rote, carefully and in unison. Their candles guttered and swayed. "What shall open the gates of the future?" "The death of man." His Eminence stood up, a menacing presence in his shimmering robes and tall miter. "I call Thee, O dweller in the deep of hearts, come among us and receive this our gift of thanks." The congregation responded: "May He bless our experiment." There was that word again. Experiment. This Night Church was half religion, half science—the demented superstition of the Middle Ages mixed with a science that had progressed far beyond the worship that accompanied it. The music stopped. This was a cue to the children, who had paused before Terry. "Come with us, please, sir," said the girl. She put out her free hand. Terry took it and raised himself to his feet. The two children turned him around. His heart almost stopped. A black coffin lay open in the aisle. The boy took his other hand. "This is just our initiation," he whispered. "You have to get in." "Come on, don't be ridiculous." Something sharp pressed up against his neck. He shuddered; he knew that it was the stiletto. His legs were wobbly, but he made it to the coffin. In other circumstances he might have tried to run, but there were hundreds of people between him and the doors. He had a strong feeling that he either got into that coffin or ended up with his throat cut. It looked soft inside but the damn thing was hard. Beneath the white satin lining there was just wood. "Nobody close this thing," Terry said. He did not speak in a whisper. He wanted to be heard. The girl smiled. "Even if we do, it won't be for long. It's going to be fine. Really it is." The intensity of the music increased, the emotional timbre became excited and mean. There was no real pillow, so Terry had to raise his head to see what was going on around him. He raised it and kept it raised: there was no way he was going to let these loonies put that lid down. He noticed that the edges of the lid were lined with rubber, like the door of a refrigerator. His Eminence approached the altar. He began to quiver, creating the impression that a tremendous inner battle was taking place. The wand he held seemed about to drop from his hand. An acolyte appeared and held a gold platen covered by a silk doily beneath the vibrating wand. "I conjure Thee, O Lord of Flies and Ills, through the medium of his dread, bring the infection unto his body." A tension of expectancy filled the church. People were whispering. He saw a mother putting a surgical mask on her six-year-old. The music was vicious now, actually prancing with glee. His Eminence straightened up. He raised his hands and the music stopped. With a rustle of his robes he turned around. He spread his arms. "The time has come."
Page 2 and 3: PRAY FOR HER. PRAY FOR HER UNBORN B
Page 4 and 5: shoulder, then slipped around the s
Page 6 and 7: a new life, with new hopes and new
Page 8 and 9: name. As gingerly as a frightened l
Page 10 and 11: had to start somewhere. Although sh
Page 12 and 13: professor of psychology at NYU, but
Page 14 and 15: So she had met Mr. Apple. Now she s
Page 16 and 17: sweet-smelling cloth was pressed ag
Page 18 and 19: Harry's familiar morning exhaustion
Page 20 and 21: "Anoint?" The kid had assumed he wa
Page 22 and 23: "Well, yes, that's right, Mike." "S
Page 24 and 25: "Hell, I'd know in a second you did
Page 26 and 27: going through a file cabinet. "Out,
Page 28 and 29: awful sense of evil within, was sti
Page 30 and 31: MOST PRIVATE To: The Prefect of the
Page 32 and 33: Terry's tone made Mike want to slug
Page 34 and 35: above all, the dark gargoyled uglin
Page 36 and 37: elentless, and cruel. But this ti
Page 38 and 39: Seeking the edge of the future, we
Page 40 and 41: A species apart. .. It came as a su
Page 42 and 43: There was the slightest incline of
Page 44 and 45: Jonathan was touched. In all his li
Page 46 and 47: critical families themselves be inc
Page 50 and 51: Faces began to look expectantly at
Page 52 and 53: available to him he cleared his thr
Page 54 and 55: Only Jonathan knew how to comfort h
Page 56 and 57: eporter and the reporter disappeare
Page 58 and 59: Father took the Host and ate it. Pa
Page 60 and 61: ed. Anyway, your machine's irrele
Page 62 and 63: Superhuman violence. Tommy himself
Page 64 and 65: practicing on the way to work," she
Page 66 and 67: JONATHAN HAD HOPED that their journ
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Page 70 and 71: "He doesn't like the hotel," Mary s
Page 72 and 73: When Gottlieb told me that her para
Page 74 and 75: and blazing cascades. Enormous cu
Page 76 and 77: Was that funny, sad, or both? Oh, h
Page 78 and 79: "Oh, my darling." In his voice was
Page 80 and 81: Destination: Paolo Cardinal Impelli
Page 82 and 83: drink before he could speak. "You w
Page 84 and 85: She closed her eyes, nodded her hea
Page 86 and 87: from her head she didn't change. Sh
Page 88 and 89: the graph paper, ripped it off the
Page 90 and 91: Strange mementoes themselves were o
Page 92 and 93: Mike read: "He will bear the appear
Page 94 and 95: honey, I'd like to get you in my ar
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"Leave us alone, Mary. Don't you da
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it happen. It was late afternoon be
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espect for the Night Church. Best t
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"Relax, Mike, she's as committed as
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The van slowed, turned another corn
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He was a dried-up, incredibly ancie
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creating a teaching machine for you
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Chapter Twenty-one PATRICIA LAY IN
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We may be mutated in a thousand dif
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He wasn't here for evidence. There
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the hell down here! Come on, Harry,
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had been waved and shouted, "Rememb
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whether or not I love Christ enough
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words as truly as a tonic in his bl
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lessed Michael the Archangel, to bl
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This had never been intended as a w
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father and mother and cleave unto a
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penetrated deep into Jonathan's sku
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"He didn't" hurt me. He wanted to b
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Chapter Twenty-one

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