The Devil's Heart

But Roma picked up disturbing vibes from her son. 'What's wrong, Black?'

Dark eyes met, held, with Black breaking off his gaze under her hard look. He shook his head. 'Nothing, Mother.' He hoped he sounded convincing enough.

He didn't. But Roma said nothing about it. 'Black, we have but one mission here on earth, and nothing must stand in its way. Nothing. Do you understand that?'

'Yes, Mother.'

Scheming little bastard, Roma thought. Now you've added lying. 'Our Master wants more converts, more churches. It is a very daring move they are taking in Whitfield, so soon after failure. If all succeeds, it will mean an entire town—everyone—worshiping the Prince of Darkness. That hasn't happened here on earth in more years than even I can recall. Nothing must stand in our way.

'Yes, Mother. But why simultaneously? Why here and in Whitfield concurrently?'

'Balon, dear. Both of them.'

'But Sam Balon is dead, Mother. He is of the Other Side. He cannot be killed again.'

She took his arm and guided him into the study, motioning him to sit. 'Black, understand something, dear: Balon is very close to being chosen by … Him.' She gestured upward with a carefully manicured finger. 'Chosen to sit with Him.'

'God likes His warriors,' Black said.

'That is correct. But we don't want that to happen.'

'Why?'

Roma sighed. Sometimes she felt she had birthed an idiot. 'If for no other reason, son, to humiliate Him. To show Him He is not infallible.'

Her son nodded his head, narrowing his eyes. 'You think Balon will show up here?'

'Not necessarily. We'd rather he wouldn't. You see, if he stays in Whitfield, the temptation to help his darling beloved Jane Ann—that simpering little cunt—will be even more overpowering.'

'I see.' Black's reply was slow. 'And if Balon tries to interfere, he will lose his seat beside God; come under much disfavor.'

'Marvelous, Black,' his mother's reply was edged with sarcasm. 'There is hope for you yet.'

The look the son gave was laced with hate. 'I'm not a fool, Mother.'

You'll be worse than a fool should you attempt to plot further against me, Roma thought. But her eyes remained cool. 'I never suggested you were, Black. You're just young, that's all.'

Black blinked, then vanished from the couch, to materialize in his room. How unimpressive, Roma thought. He can't even do that well. She sat alone in the study for a time, her thoughts many.

She wondered: When I was his age, was I that naive?

She ruefully admitted that it was difficult to remember. At that age, Louis XI was King of France and Columbus had a few years to go before conning the queen out of her jewels. And probably some pussy, Roma thought.

She thrust her eyes to the upstairs, to her son's room, grimacing as she watched him sitting in a chair, rubbing his shins. The fool had banged his legs when he materialized.

This will have to be my coup de grace, she realized, not without some sadness. I am more than five hundred years old, I am tired, and have been everything from a whore to a nun; the former, she grimaced, much more preferable to the latter. If I can bring this off, I will assure myself a place by the smoking side of the Master. If I can somehow impregnate myself with Sam's seed—without cheating, too much—and if Nydia is a Christian and Falcon can plant his seeds within her … then we can leave the finest demons ever to walk the earth.

'Yes,' the heavy voice cut into her head. 'That would please me, assuring you a seat beside me.'

Roma stiffened, asking, 'How long have you been listening?'

'Long enough to realize that your son is a fool. Your son, not Balon's bastard.'

'You know my son schemes against me?'

'My, how the plot thickens!' the devil howled with dark, burning laughter. 'More and more curious, eh?'

The Lord of Flies grew silent. The room became warm. . Roma remained still, waiting.

'Your foolish son is no match for Balon's boy-child of love, ancient one.'

'I'm not that old.'

'You're too old to be thinking of birthing any more children. You have many more years ahead of you on earth, serving me. You know to birth a demon at your age would mean death. It is written. And, Witch, remember this: there is no guarantee the demon would live.'

Roma said, 'He would—possibly they would—if you took a hand.'

'Impossible.'

'You mean you have given your word?' The question was put sarcastically.

The Lord of Foulness chuckled. 'Not necessarily. In part, perhaps.'

'Nothing firm, then. So it is possible?'

'All things are possible, Roma-Nydia-Victoria-Adora-Zena-Ulrica-Willa-Toni-Sibyl … have I left any out?'