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Finally Sabat let his weapon…arm fall； seemed to check his rage instantly as he raised his eyes and saw。 A movement had attracted his attention； a patch of shadow that was too dark to be shadow。 Oh God； he thought he'd got them all but there was still one left。
'e here。' His voice was a whiplash cutting through the darkness。 'You cannot escape Sabat by hiding。'
She came； so lithe and shapely that he found himself overlooking the grimy flesh and ragged garments； seeing only the beauty of an unblemished skin which had once lain beneath； the ringlets of auburn hair； nipples that could only be so swollen and hard because she was aroused； and even now she was arousing him。 Miranda！
He didn't try to reason because primitive lust was blinding him to all else。 Except his hatred of her for what she was； a dangerous bination。
'You have to answer to both Baron Cimeterre and myself；' his lips scarcely moved； his words barely audible； 'because you defiled this place； sacrificed to another god。 You took a virgin from her grave； one who rightfully belonged to the Lord of the Cemetery； mated her； and another who still lived； to your own false lord of darkness。 Then you mitted the body of the one who died as a result of that to water； not to the earth where she would have bee Baron Cimeterre's。 The others have paid the price but yours will be even greater because my Lord Cimeterre demands that I take you as you took her； for I am his disciple on the Left Hand Path which leads to eternal life for those who serve faithfully！'
'No I' She screamed but did not try to flee because she knew it would be futile。 Those dull orbs flickered with the ultimate in terror and then he was upon her。
Sabat experienced a fleeting sensation as though he was on the astral witnessing the actions of his physical body； but that was impossible。 A kind of numbness flooded over him but it did not mar the urge which fired his veins； pumped the hot blood through his body。 Neither was he aware of the coldness of her body as he flung her to the ground beneath him。 He tossed away his sword； he did not need it for this！
She struggled but his strength was too much for her； pinioning her arms； ripping the final shreds of stinking clothing from her shuddering body。 Her flesh was cold but he scarcely noticed it； grunting aloud like a stag on the rutting stand。 No longer was he thinking of Sylvia Adams and Sheila Dowson； nor the terror which the latter must have experienced； only of himself； his conquest； and the fact that he was doing it for Baron Cimeterre； himself a servant of thePetrogod。
Finally he was finished with her； drawing back and fastening his clothing。 His lust was spent and now his fury was returning。 He groped for the fallen crucifix； reversed it and struck at the inert figure at his feet with terrible force； a blow which no human skull could have withstood。 The head split almost equally into two halves； the tortured expression divided。 Something oozed out which reminded him of frog…spawn but there was no blood。 He had not expected any。
Again and again； chopping and hacking with a desperation as though he wished to destroy this ghastly being totally； erase from his mind what had happened。 A psychopath； his brain blurred； telling himself that it had never taken place； that he would never have done anything like that。 And finally； when there was nothing left that resembled a human being at his feet； he almost believed it。 Almost。
Dawn came with its usual grey soberness。 Sabat stirred； shivered and raised himself off the tomb where he had been sitting。 He thought he might have fallen asleep but he knew he could not have done so for throughout the latter part of the night he had been conscious of just staring into the darkness； seeing nothing； not even thinking。
He glanced around； half expecting to see carnage and mutilation； widespread amputation and decapitation。 But there was nothing； the undergrowth not even flattened。 A psychic battle had been fought and 。。。 won or lost？
His mouth was dry and he had a nagging headache； he always had a headache after an exorcism。 Quentin's laughter came from somewhere then died away and left him to his own musings。 This past night had been fought on two fronts； inside the church his exorcism had been powerful enough but not out here。 Back to the wall； he had called upon the forces of darkness to destroy their own kind and they had conceded to his request。 Because he was one of them
He laughed； a dry mirthless sound。 In a strange way his evil brother had done him a favour； turned him into the most ruthless psychic mercenary who had ever stalked the frontiers of darkness。 So powerful； capable of summoning those who could serve his cause best。 But it was frightening； a kind of schizophrenia； a man outside himself at times； barely knowing what had transpired。
But this business was far from over。 St Adrian's and its grounds were exorcised； if one could call it that。 A mere skirmish in terms of the fight that lay ahead。 Somewhere the man named Royston had his new black temple and was already drawing upon the power that festered like a cancer within the bones of William Gardiner 。。。 so powerful that they had sent that terrible force of unspeakable terrors last night in a desperate attempt to destroy the one man who stood in their way。 They had failed but they wouldn't give up； they couldn't afford to。
Slowly； each step a determined effort that fought against sheer fatigue； Sabat began to make his way back to the vicarage。 The day would be spent sleeping； safe now that daylight had e； recharging mind and body for whatever perils the ing night might hold。
He almost ignored the approaching car and probably would have done had it not slowed when it drew level with him。 Even at their lowest ebb his extra…perceptive senses were not totally dulled； seeing everything in those split seconds before the silver Mercedes picked up speed and was lost to sight around the bend。
The driver； a big man with receding hair and the stamp of merciless cruelty on his features； eyes narrowing and hooded like a hunting hawk that has suddenly spotted its prey。 But it was Royston's panion who succeeded in thrusting a stabbing pang of fear into Sabat's heart。 Auburn hair and mocking green eyes； none other than Miranda； the hussy off the new estate who spread her favours in her constant search for power。
She had brought Royston here at this early hour to show him that he had failed in his attempt to destroy Sabat。 And she hated the man who stood there on the pavement because she knew； knew that she had been raped and mutilated in a psychic encounter that went back to a dark age。 And it had happened as surely as if Sabat had gone to her house in his physical body and carried out that unspeakable attack on her。
Now she demanded vengeance； urged her evil lover to use every vestige of his black power to help her achieve that。 And Sabat's most dangerous enemy would be the resurrected evil that had once stalked this peaceful village in the form of William Gardiner！
CHAPTER FIVE
SABAT LET himself into the vicarage and closed the front door quietly behind him。 In all probability the Reverend Maurice Storton would have retired to bed once dawn broke； exhausted by his all…night vigil。 There was no point in waking the aged clergyman； neither was there anything to be gained by giving him a detailed account of everything that had happened last night。 Suffice to say that an exorcism had been carried out and had been successful。 The fact that Baron Cimeterre had claimed the adjoining cemetery as his own domain was something that Sabat did not propose to try and explain。 One form of evil had replaced another； and there was nothing more anybody could do about it。
Sabat's acute senses were still working。 The vibrations caused by somebody moving about on the floor above registered in his brain before he heard the slow； shuffling footsteps ing towards the head of the wide staircase。 Somebody barefoot； but there was nothing strange in that； probably Storton had been on the point of retiring to his bed when he had spotted Sabat ing up the drive and was curious to learn how he had fared。
It was Maurice Storton all right。 Sabat saw him on the top flight； checked his cry of amazement。 Oh God； the fiends had been heret done this to a harmless old man！
The clergyman was naked； a pathetic enough sight even if one did not look up at his face。 His features seemed to have slipped to one side in the manner of a seizure； a hideous caricature in which an angled mouth struggled to make incoherent speech。 Babbling insanely； a noise that was meant to be laughter。 And Sabat's heart went cold。
Storton almost fell； indeed he would have done so had he not stumbled against the stair…rail。 Balanced precariously； one eye that seemed sightless； the other reflecting an inner terror； wide and staring； inflated like a bubble that would burst at any moment。
Sabat stepped forward； knew that if he didn't reach the other quickly the old curate would almost certainly fall。 Yet he must not appear to panic for Storton was already terrified； maybe he was not even aware of the exorcist's presence。
Too late！ Sabat was within a half…a…dozen steps of Maurice Storton when the old man seemed to crumple； a sagging of every limb； folding 。。。 falling 。。。 sliding。
Sabat caught him； otherwise he would have somersaulted right down to the hall below； a weight that he could barely support； heaving the other back into a sitting position。 The head drooped forward； a low moan came from the cracked blue lips； a body expelling air because its time was up。 And it was at that moment that Sabat realised that the Reverend Maurice Storton was dead！
He propped the dead man back against the stair…rail； made sure that he would not fall。 Then Sabat straightened up； trembling uncontrollably because it had all ended like this。 His fault； just as surely as though he had murdered the clergyman with his own hands or pumped a full chamber of 。38 shells into him。
Baron Cimeterre did not return empty…handed once he had been summoned。 The bocors and the houngans knew that； always had a human sacrifice awaiting their dreaded lord。 And it was just the same here； many miles from that dark land of mystic magic。 Storton's death was needless。 Oh God； if only Sabat had insisted that his aged panion remained within a pentagram throughout that night of prayer then he would have been safe。 The Lord of the Cemetery had e and claimed a sacrifice and 。 。 。 sheer terror had Sabat's pallid features blanching to a deathly white。 Storton's body； his soul； were at terrible risk now； for in accordance with the ways of the dark powers the dreaded Baron now had claim on the frail corpse … it could be the instrument in a number of vile； unspeakable happenings。 A zombie if there was a houngan handy to raise it； or the bones used in powerful black magic after they had been exhumed； a permutation of horrors that could only be prevented in one way by somebody who knew what he was doing。
Sabat ticked his dry lips； he'd witnessed the ghastly ritual in Haiti in which a soul was granted everlasting freedom； the body given peace and put beyond the powers of the houngans。 The bile came up into his throat at the thought but that would not stop him if necessary。 There was only one snag 。 。 。 this was England； not the mystic West Indies where voodoo and its rites were accepted as part of life and death even by the police themselves。 Here he might find himself facing a number of serious charges； not to rule out the possibility of being arrested for the murder of Maurice Storton。
He shook his head as he went downstairs slowly and picked up the phone。 First he must report this death to the authorities； a seemingly normal case of a sudden stroke。 Unless you looked carefully into that single eye！ But as soon as possible Sabat knew that he must perform those ancient rites to ensure that Baron Cimeterre did not claim the body through some powerful witch doctor； som