Part 28 (1/2)
”You speak ancient and archaic languages?” Finn asked him.
Eddie shrugged. ”I can read Arabic, Hebrew, have a sound understanding of hieroglyphics, and majored in Latin.”
”Wow,” Finn said, acknowledging his admiration.
”But this...” he indicated the book he held, ”was written by a man named Cabal Thorne in the early seventeen hundreds. Thorne was convinced that he had properly translated an ancient text. He belonged to a number of secret organizations-very secret at the time, of course. And he had been careful to get the h.e.l.l out of Europe-witch crazes went on for several more years there than they did here, in the States-or colonies, as they were, at the time. Anyway, Thorne was born in England, had a very rich father, and an absurd hatred for traditional religion of any kind. He traveled extensively in Africa, India, and the Middle East. Somewhere along the way, he became convinced that, if circ.u.mstances were just right, and he had the correct number of followers, and performed the rites exactly as they were prescribed, he could bring a demon to life. Bac-Dal was the creature's name, and was an intimate of the Devil himself. Bac-Dal, of course, as Satan's minion, was a true menace to all who were 'good,' obeying the basic tenets of behavior found in almost any known religion-you know, like refraining from murder, adultery, stealing, mauling little children, rape, ravishment, looting, what have you. Power went to those who most deserved it through their ability to seize it, survival of the fittest, and any lechery and decadence as well. Do you follow me?”
”I'm following your story. I don't believe in demons.”
Eddie shrugged. ”Bac-Dal needs servants on earth, naturally, to bring him to life. Those who intend to bring him back begin by forming a coven-”
”Not a Wiccan coven,” Sara said firmly. ”A coven of devil wors.h.i.+pers.”
”Right,” Eddie acknowledged.
His hair was neatly trimmed, a little long. He was wearing jeans and a blue denim tailored s.h.i.+rt. Finn had no idea if he was a Wiccan, Christian, Buddhist, or maybe even an atheist.
”Once Bac-Dal was properly tided and summoned by the followers, a certain power was to come to the one who orchestrated his return. That power would help him or her gain strength over others in the pursuit of preparing the circ.u.mstances just as they must be for the return of Bac-Dal, or his ability to take on human form.”
”A certain power?” Finn queried.
”What the power is, exactly, I don't know. ESP, telekinesis-the ability to make dogs bark, I'm not sure; it doesn't say exactly.
However, Thome does talk about the fact that he murdered a young woman. He claims that he walked into her home, with her family present, abducted her, and they didn't even know.”
”Ah,” Finn murmured. ”Well... he wrote the book. He could claim what he wanted, right?”
”True enough,” Eddie said.
”Show him the pa.s.sage that Morwenna found,” Sara said impatiently.
Eddie opened the book, offering it to Finn.
Finn, frowning, accepted the volume. It was large, and the cover was leather. The pages were fragile.
”I shouldn't be handling this,” he murmured.
”Just read,” Sara said.But he frowned again. The pages were handwritten. The language was indeed archaic.
”I can't understand this. It seems to be about... items needed for a strange stew or something. In fact... it almost reads like a kid's Halloween book. 'Eye of newt' and all that.”
”There's no eye of newt in there,” Sara said impatiently. She pointed down the lines, and read aloud. ”Thou shalt take the greatest care; the blood of the anointed must be mixed with that of the sacrifice; and the hair that is taken must not be cut, but torn from the head. Of all that is needed, these three are of the greatest and utmost importance-the blood of the sacrifice, the blood of the anointed, the hair of the anointed. And as these come together, as there has been life, there will be death, and where there has been the sleep of the dormant like dead, there will be life. And to all who would honor He who is the G.o.d of Darkness, remember that All Hallow's Eve, that which falls upon a full moon, is a night when the elements of the spirits and those who roam the nether world are strongest, and therefore, it can be as well, the Time of The Coming.' ”
Finn looked at Sara, and then at Eddie. ”I'm sorry. I don't see where any of this means anything. This man, Cabal Thorne, was a devil wors.h.i.+per who came to Ma.s.sachusetts at a time when he was... what? Left alone, because people were still ricocheting from all the horror that the craze had created. But... lots of people have written things. That doesn't make them real.”
”Hey, Morwenna found this text, and she wanted you to see it,” Eddie said with a shrug.
”Well, thank you,” Finn said, still lost. He rose, ”I appreciate the time-and your faith in me even holding something so old, and surely rare.”
”Finn!” Sara said, rising.
”I've got to go,” he told her. ”Thanks. Thanks for the concern.” He was feeling that strange sense of friction within himself again, looking at Sara. An urge to reach for her... and G.o.d knew just what exactly he wanted to do to her. He needed distance right now. Real distance. Away from Sara, and this bookstore, and even normal-looking, guy-next-door Eddie.
”I have to do some things before tonight,” he rushed out. ”Sound check,” he lied. He started out. ”But thanks... thanks, both of you.”
He made it back to the street. Kids in costume were in abundance. He wanted to shout at them all. One little kid crashed into him, and he fought the urge to pick him up, and throw him far from himself.
He made it back to Huntington House, giving a quick wave and ignoring the fact that Sally and John were in the parlor, sipping tea, and wanting him to join them.
He made it to his and Megan's room. His room now; Megan was gone. And everyone around them was crazy.
He threw himself on the bed, grating his teeth. d.a.m.n, he could use a drink. That would be just great. He could play drunk-and confront Megan in the same shape.
He reached for the pillow at his side, needing something to punch.
He touched something else.
It was the book he had inadvertently stolen from Morwenna's shop. The one written by the woman in New Orleans who had gotten both local and national coverage.
He halfway sat up, grabbing it to draw it closer. He pushed it off the bed instead. Swearing, he rolled over and stuck his head over the edge of the bed to see just where it had fallen.
Right in front of him. It had fallen open. On the left side was an old etching of a horrible, fire-breathing, horned creature and the chapter tide ”The Known Demons.”On the right, the chapter began. He read the heading and jerked up, throwing the book from him.
He laid back on the pillow, breathing hard.
He'd imagined it. Power of suggestion.
He forced himself to rise and go for the book. It still lay open, on the same page. He looked at the heading again.
Bac-Dal.
Chapter 12.
In New Orleans, a Thursday night poker game was growing tense, despite the fact that it was hardly a high stakes game and was a weekly game as it had been for over a year, since the DeVeaus had moved to New Orleans from Charleston to be nearer their close friends, the Canadys. There were sometimes others involved in the game, good friends all, but tonight, it was just the DeVeaus and the Canadys.
”I'll see your quarter, and b.u.mp you fifty cents,” Lucian DeVeau said, tossing the money into the pot. He leaned forward, dark- haired, menacing, dark eyes holding a touch of a fiery sizzle over the kill he was certain he was about to make.
Sean Canady, blue eyes equally as hard and bright, leaned inward to the table as well, ready to meet the challenge. He ran his fingers through dark hair with just a touch of silver, and offered his nemesis a grim smile. ”I'll just see your fifty cents, and b.u.mp you another fifty cents,” he announced.
”Let's see 'em!” Lucian said.
”Excuse me, want to wait a minute? Jade and I are in this game as well.”
Both men paused, looking to the end of the table. Maggie Canady, even in jeans and a T-s.h.i.+rt, had the ability to appear elegant with her sweep of dark auburn hair and riveting hazel eyes. She spoke imperatively, reproachful and chastising as she demanded attention.
Jade DeVeau, at the other end of the table, burst into laughter and reminded her husband and Sean, ”She's right you know. You two seem to have this game down to some kind of a macho thing.”