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st not be set free to bee a rival to Spode； perhaps to overthrow him。 The sooner Sabat was dead the easier the vicar would feel。 He began to hurry； some of those behind him breaking into a shambling run。
The moment he descended below ground Spode experienced that feeling of foreboding again。 His senses tuned to the evil； detected an undercurrent of hostility 。 。 。 towards himself Once he glanced back； met Alison's expressionless gaze； felt unfortable。 But she was a mere servant girl； she could not harm him。 Perhaps it would have been better for her to have remained behind。
A sense of urgency； panic； almost gripped him； but there was no reason why it should。 The candles still burned； Sabat was lying in a shaft of wan light； bloodsoaked and unrecognisable。 Spode did not look for the body of Andy Drew which should have been propped up in the shadows only a foot or so away because the youth was of no consequence； he had serve a purpose； paid in full for his treacherous act just as Miranda had。 All they needed now was Sabat's blood gushing from a severed jugular。
The others were clustered in a semi…circle behind him； disrobing themselves with an eagerness which he must temper。 First the sacrifice； afterwards they could do anything they liked。 Many of them were already naked； lusting and groping for one another； as though they had forgotten the true purpose of this night。
'Stop' Spode yelled； his deafening tones powered by the acoustics of the crypt。 'First we must sacrifice Sabat and beseech the A ncient One to grant our request this night！'
The coven froze； stared at him with blank faces。
'On your bellies； hide your eyes fools； for you are not worthy to look upon the Master。 He will strike dead any whose eyes rest on his sacred form！'
Now there was fear on their faces； their crazed brains seeming to understand； throwing themselves prostrate。 Only Alison remained standing； staring straight ahead of her。
'You； too；' Spode hissed； 'do you dare to disobey me？'
She nodded； sank slowly to her knees but did not lower her head。 It was as though she was held transfixed by the black altar； the sacrificial victim and the skeleton。 Once her eyes moved； peered into the shadows which seemed to encroach as the candles flickered and dimmed。 Perhaps she had noticed the absence of the mutilated corpse but if so she did not speak。
Spode turned angrily away from her。 If she saw and was struck down by the Master then that was her own fault。 He could not waste any more time on her。 The hand； which reached down the jewelled sacrificial knife shook； that feeling of impending disaster was growing stronger by the second。
Sabat had his gun trained on Spode； a direct bead that would have ploughed a slug between those narrow eyes and churned a path of splintered bloody bone out through the balding crown。 A professional stance； left hand gripping the wrist of his gun arm。 He would not have missed； an error was out of the question。 Yet he hesitated； not because of any twinge of conscience； that he was blasting a sitting target from ambush； he'd done that on innumerable occasions in the past and never lost a wink of sleep over it。 Two reasons； first he was curious； intrigued to witness the sacrifice of his 'own body'； anticipating his secret delight when Spode discovered the deception。 Second； Alison was standing directly behind her master and there was a risk that the slug might take a deflection on its death…course and mow her down too。 He didn't feel anything for her except 。。。 her body was sensuous； inviting； and he would settle his score with her in a frenzied lust afterwards。 Dead； she was no use to him。 So he held his fire。
Royston Spode had the knife； the blood of its last victim barely dry on the blade。 He was chanting again； words that Sabat recognised as Creole； changing to Latin。 Not the Black Mass； something else that had e from a dark land in the days when it was very young； passed down by word of mouth to the few select sorcerers of the ultimate evil。
Those on the floor were whimpering； their fear escalating； penetrating their intoxication with a terrible realisation of what might happen。 Alison； too； was visibly shaking； her features were pale。 An icy wind howled and seemed to e in down the entrance tunnel。 Spode was screeching； attempting to make himself heard； bringing the weapon down in a vicious arc that beheaded the corpse at a single blow。 And at that very moment every candle flame fluttered； extinguished in a smoke haze and plunged the crypt into blackness。
Sabat cursed； realised his mistake； almost fired blindly on his original alignment of the 。38 but he had never been one to shoot rashly。 Accuracy was uncertain； the stabbing flame gave away one's position to the enemy。 He waited； his mouth dry； finger lightly on the trigger。
Everybody was screaming or was it a host of invisible evil spirits borne on the wind？ A melee； perhaps the members of the coven had panicked and were fleeing blindly trying to find the exit。 Cursing； bodies falling。
Even as Sabat deliberated upon a course of action he heard the pounding of hooves； the snorting of some huge demented beast； its putrid smell。 Oh Jesus God； he'd left it too late； allowed Spode to summon the Evil One when one well…placed。 38 slug would have stopped him！
Sabat found himself cowering back in the narrow cleft； his instinct to start firing wildly into the snarling cauldron of blackness but logically he knew it would be useless； a futile waste of ammunition that might bring the wrath of the attacking powers upon him； their vengeance terrible for this puny mortal insult。
Something smashed and rolled across the floor； probably one of those candlesticks。 Hooves struck； flesh and bone was being pulped； wild bestial noises and human cries of terror。 He felt the rush of air； the nearness of things beyond even his own knowledge and at any moment he expected to be dragged from his hiding place。 Quentin's voice pounded against his brain but no mockery this time； sheer terror in the warning； 'Flee while there is still time。'
I cannot； for Damballah has trapped me and 1 am here to see this through！
And then； as suddenly as the malevolent maelstrom had begun； it ended； the blackness instantly becalmed； people were groaning； somebody laughing insanely。 A rat scurried across the floor as though it had been caught out in the open and sought the protection of its hole before the next psychic storm。
Sabat waited； blinked as light came suddenly； a shimmering nervous black altar candle； ignited by some unknown hand； brightening as though it sought a missing mate。 He braced himself； afraid of what he might see； closing his eyes momentarily at the awful sight which greeted him but opening them again because he knew he must look eventually。 At least he was still alive and sane； unscathed； a shipwrecked mariner adrift on the ocean savouring every precious second left to him。
The dead and dying littered the floor； a miniature replica of that aftermath of battle on the barren astral wasteland of Hopelessness； rats instead of vultures waiting to feed on the slain； knowing that the wounded would die。 Faces smashed into bloody anonymity； crumpled； naked bodies that bore cloven hoofprints as though they were branded yearlings struck down by anthrax and still twitching； death…throes that grew weaker with every passing second。
Only Alison appeared to be unharmed； mentally and physically； kneeling there in that same torn dress of many colours with not a trace of fear in her wide dark eyes。 She did not appear surprised to see Sabat； brief recognition flickering in her eyes。 He straightened up； stepped out to go to her and in that instant a shadow fell across the single pool of candlelight。
Sabat recoiled； his first reaction being to try to squeeze back into that meagre place of refuge which had spared him。 Aghast； he thought for one moment that the paralytic drug had begun to work again； draining his muscles but the 。38 came up swiftly； instinctive snap…shooting that blitzed a hail of lead on whatever it was that came towards him。 Oh God； not even Sabat could create anything like that！
The shape was human； a lumbering silhouette that resembled Royston Spode yet the features could only have e from the depths of Hades； a misshapen skull that had had flesh clumsily adhered to it as though in a blasphemous attempt to create Man。 Bloated eyes too large for the narrow sockets； a hooked nose； the nostrils clogged with mucus； a mouth that was smeared redly as though it was a ghoul that had recently feasted on raw flesh。 The bullets had chipped the head； cut grooves across the cheeks and jawbone before ricochetting harmlessly away。 And now it was determined to vent its fury on Sabat！
Seconds that might have been an eternity； and in that time Sabat recognised his attacker； realised the full implications of what had happened during those nightmarish minutes of carnage。 Spode's body it was； on which some horrific super…natural transplant had taken place； the resurrected features of William Gardiner festooned on to Royston's own obesity； a blending of body and soul that had somehow gone wrong because of the false sacrifice。 And Spode knew； knew that partial success was indeed miserable failure and Sabat would pay the penalty for what had happened！
Spode was invincible to mortal attack； Sabat might just as well have wasted his shells on that skeleton that had lain there earlier。 Slow measured steps； a wrestler closing in on an inferior opponent； knowing full well that he can crush the life out of him but preferring to savour the finale。
Sabat closed his eyes； tried to pray 。 。 。 struggled to find the right words； remembered just one line。 'Lord； beat down Satan quickly！'
Spode checked but only momentarily； as though another bullet had glanced off him； an annoyance but nothing serious。 Sabat stepped back another pace； felt the roughness of the wall gouge his shoulder blades。 He closed his eyes。 This； then was the end。 Finis。 His senses swam； the paralysis seemed to be ing back； a dull creeping numbness preparing him for death。 He didn't mind dying； it was what happened afterwards that worried him。 Even Quentin was silent； his brother's soul succumbing to the presence of a terrible evil。
Sabat could smell this thing that might have been Spode； a lingering stench of uncleansed stables； rank foul breath ing in icy blasts。 Something touched his arm； had him shuddering and turning his head； yelling 'Get it over。 Kill me； finish me！'
Even as he awaited death in some horribly agonising manner； a thud jerked him out of his resignation to the end； a noise such as Spode had made when he hacked mercilessly at the body he believed to be Sabat's； a tearing； cutting sound like a knife blade being forced to the limit of its sharpness； then brute force taking over。 A scream that no human vocal chords were capable of making； a screeching and cursing in a tongue which Sabat did not understand。
Sabat's eyes were open。 This could not be happening； it was some cruel figment of fantasy； his astral torturing him during that brief period when life slipped into death； a taunting hope that would be dashed with the ing of oblivion。
Spode was tottering； floundering； a drowning man panicking。 Those vile features were unrecognisable in an expression of unbelievable agony； lips moving soundlessly now； mute curses； falling。 He hit the floor； heaving as he struggled for breath； a grotesque fish that found itself grounded； its death struggles growing weaker by the second； lying there； eyes that dimmed； staring hatefully up at Sabat； moving on to 。。。 Alison！
The West Indian girl stood there； eyes closed as though she could not bring herself to look upon this creature who had once been her master； the bloody sacrificial knife slipping slowly from her fingers and clattering on the stones。 Her lips were moving； Sabat had to strain his ears to catch the words uttered in Creole。 'Die； fiend of a false god for this is still Damballah's