that wasn't good for a man: man ought to wet his dauber every day—twice a day if he could find a hole to stick it in. He sneered as he thought of Jane Ann. Now that was gonna be some prime fuckin'. Prissy little psalm-singin' bitch. So damn high and mighty when everybody knew she was fuckin' that preacher fellow, Balon, way back then, and them not even married, or nothing. Bet her eyes will pop when I shove my meat to her, Jake thought, grinning. Got to be close to 45 years old and still looks good enough to eat.
They were back of the house, squatting down behind a line of hedge, watching for anything out of the ordinary. They saw nothing to alarm them.
'Jew boy so sure his God's gonna take care of them they ain't even guardin' the back,' Boo said.
'Stupid fuckers,' Clint agreed. 'Come on, let's take 'em. I wanna see that Jew bitch squall when we pour gasoline on her and set her afire.'
But Jake was too old a hand to be sucked into something this obvious. And since he didn't particularly care for either Clint or Boo, he said, 'You boys git on up there. Me and Link'll stay back a piece, keep a good eye on your back trail.'
The two overanxious members of Zagone's Coven nodded their heads in eager agreement. They ran across the yard. They made it to the back porch steps before two shotguns blasted, the slugs from one catching Boo in the face, blowing his head apart. The other blast hitting Clint in the center of his chest, flinging him backward. He died as he hit the ground.
'I didn't figure they was that dumb,' Jake said, fingering the medallion that hung around his neck. 'Come on. I got me an idea.'
Jean wasn't surprised to hear their attempt to rush the house had failed. Things were not going as planned. Not at all. 'What's your idea, Jake?'
'Simple,' the foreman said. 'Burn 'um out.'
Gasoline was found, Molotov cocktails made. The first firebomb exploded in the hands of its preparer; the second and third ones bounced off the house and went out. The fourth and fifth bombs were picked up by the Clay Man and hurled back at the crowd, badly burning one man and blinding another.
'Enough!' the Prince of Darkness hurled his command into the brain of Jean Zagone. 'It is as I thought: useless. Let them be.'
And the Dark One knew then his attempts to wrest, the town of Whitfield from the hands of God and build a Coven there were doomed to failure. The Almighty Meddler had allowed him to waste his time here for more than twenty years, knowing all along He would not allow the final act.
The Dark One brooded, his thoughts more savage than usual. He searched the Heavens for some sign of his lifelong foe, but He was not to be found.
Could it be, Satan mused, could it be true, that He really did retire into His firmament? But why would He do such a thing?
The Dark One could find no logical reason for such silly behavior on His part. There were reasonably innocent people in this miserable village . . . well, not really innocent, he amended that … but He had not—so far—interfered with their taking; their torture; their rape; their degradation.
Why?
Why would He save only the Jew and Jewess, and those silly Gentiles? Satan could not believe He would allow the torture and rape of Jane Ann simply to test Sam Balon … or would He? No, that might be it in part, but there was more to this. The Prince of Rats knew that God sometimes acted in mysterious ways, but this was erratic even for Him. It made no sense.
And Satan knew something else: he was having to work too hard here to accomplish so little. If he accomplished anything at all, he added.
No … something was amiss. There had to be more to it for Him to behave so strangely.
The Lord of Pus looked upward and roared: 'Star-Wart? Answer me, you bastard!'
But there was no reply from the firmament.
The King of Shit howled and screamed his displeasure, vending his anger, fouling the Heavens with profanity, daring the Mighty of the Mighty to give him a reply. And the Beasts around The Digging huddled in their caves, shaking with fear, for they sensed doom. They had been the first to sense it, for they were much more animal than human, and could feel with a perception that humans did not possess that it would rain, snow, the ground tremble, the sky produce hail, and when things were going badly for their kind.
And they were afraid.
Jane Ann looked at the mist of Balon and asked, 'Will they come for me this night, Sam?'
'No. It will be near the end.'
'And they will have me … ?'
'About thirty hours.'
'And then?'
'It will be over for you on earth.'
'And we will leave together?'
'Yes.'
'Miles and Doris, Wade and Anita with us?'
'Yes.'
She rose to get his Bible and opened it to one of the psalms she had been reading. 'I wish it was over,' she said.
