blankly as the men she held entranced.
'Might as well sit down,' I said. 'We can't leave without her, so we've got to wait till she's finished.'
'That could take hours.'
'Time passes faster in her little world.' I nodded toward the Ecclesia. 'See?'
Several of the holy men began squirming about. Their dull, low moans were the sounds you'd hear from the depths of any mental hospital. Their pelvic motions increased in speed. The Mahatma and The Ayatollah slid jerkingly to the carpet, their sight turned inward.
Isadora shook with fury or pain or terror. Tears started to run. She cried out once and fell to the hearthstones, trembling. When I knelt at her side, she reached up to grasp my neck.
'Let's get out. Please.' Her words barely made it from her to me.
I picked her up. I had no experience in calming a wounded child, so I did the only thing I knew how to do-I let her cry.
'It was awful. Awful. They hated me for being a girl and they told me they wouldn't fuck me because I was a girl and unclean and I had filthy thoughts and I wasn't a virgin in my heart so they-they c-cut me up...'
She buried her face in the nook of my arm just as before and sobbed. The wet heat of her breath and tears soaked right through my jacket.
Ann fumbled in her purse. She stepped over to the esteemed members of the Ecclesia, who lay there with closed eyes and twisted, peaceful smiles.
'Let's go,' I said. The place felt like a charnel house. A musky stench ambushed my nostrils.
She ignored me and the thirty kilos of kid I was trying to keep from dropping. She drew her pigsticker from its sheath and advanced on the man in red.
'In this sign,' she said, 'be conquered.' She carved a five-pointed star in his forehead. Deep. The knife edged down to cut off the tip of his nose.
I hadn't thought her the vengeful sort. I really would have stopped her if I hadn't had my hands full. I resorted to the sternest form of moral persuasion.
'Why not just shoot them in the crotch and be done with it?'
She reached up under The Rabbi's curly hair to nick off a slice of his ear. 'For your
,' she said to his sleeping visage. A trickle of blood snaked though his dark locks.
On The Ayatollah's cheekbone she inscribed something in swirling Arabic. 'In the name of
' She nearly hissed the words.
'Let's
' I wasn't interested in skin decoration.
She turned to join me at the door. Her gaze was as blank and distant as theirs had been. She wiped her blade on Beathan's frock and returned it to her bag without looking. Her hand reached out to touch Isadora's head.
I waited for her to say something symbolic and important. Maybe even something comforting.
Her hand slid away silently, wearily, to drop at her side. She followed me out without a word.
21
Yuletide
The promotional campaign was causing a riot among the press. Speculative articles spread through the tabloids like mold through Roquefort. Editorials canted about the decaying morality that could culminate in such a mockery of All Things Sacred. Some of the more apocalyptic magazines and TV programs nailed our plan dead on. Hallelujah House was particularly unkind in their characterization of whomever was behind it all.
All of which only helped circulate the awareness of the plan. The new Zeitgeist spread almost without our
