are willing to do that.'
'Death?'
'Yes, Sam Balon King. The instant holy water touches the flesh of a witch, warlock, or the undead, we die.'
'You're willing to go that far?'
'Yes,' the softly spoken one-word condemnation touched him as might a velvet-encased hand gripping his heart.
He cut his eyes to the door. 'You've discussed this with all the people out there?'
'Every one of them, Sam. That is how severely this … tragedy has touched us all.'
'I just can't believe it,' Sam leaned back in the couch, closing his eyes. 'This is just too much … too much in one day.' Test her, the thought came to him, but it was his thought, and not spoken from any outside source. He rose from the couch. 'I'll be back in ten minutes. Who wants to be baptized first?'
Her smile was warm and sincere. 'Anyone in that room.
'The line on the east wall, the third person from the end.'
'As you wish, Sam.'
He went to his room and filled a small bottle with blessed water from a church in Montreal. A member of the Coven sat beside Roma when Sam returned to the room, one of the newer members from New York. He smiled at Sam.
'I don't know all the right words,' Sam told him. 'But maybe this will work. You're sure you want to go through with this?'
'I am certain.'
'This is no guarantee you'll get into Heaven,' Sam told him.
'It's a guarantee that I will die, however,' the man said gently.
Sam glanced at Roma. She smiled sadly. 'I told you we were all sincere.' She rose from the couch to stand beside Sam.
Sam looked at the man, sitting quietly before him. Sam sighed, and said, 'Lord, I believe this man is sincere, and asking You to help him. I … don't know what else to say.' He wet his fingers with holy water and touched them to the man's forehead.
The man recoiled backward in pain, his flesh bubbling as the blessed liquid ate into his face. The man began a series of regression, as his body flew back in time. A horrid stench filled the room. Soon there was nothing but a pile of rotting rags on the floor in front of the sofa.
Sam stood, stunned by it all.
Roma gently led him across the room, to another couch. 'This is going to be a terrible ordeal for you, Sam. I think you had better have some coffee, a sandwich before you continue.'
'Yes,' he said. 'You're right. Please, that would be nice.'
He must have dozed for a few moments, for when he opened his eyes, Roma was beside him on the couch, smiling at him. Sam thought he had never seen such a sad, tender smile in his life. On a coffee table, a small steaming pot of coffee, two cups, and a thick sandwich.
'Eat,' she urged him, pouring the cups full of rich-smelling coffee. 'Then we'll talk about your God.
'This is not a dream?'
'No, Sam. It's very real. And in case you think the food or drink is drugged, choose what cup you want and give me any part of the food.'
He shook his head. 'I believe you.' He looked at the pile of rags across the room. 'After that.''
The sandwich was delicious, the coffee as good as the first cup he'd had in the dining area of the mansion—it seemed so long ago. He listened to Roma speak, her words tearing at him as he suspected they were to her.
'Satan broke all the rules, coming here, speaking to us. He told us he would no longer abide by any rules of the game.'
'The game?' Sam questioned.
'Of course, it's a game, Sam. A game between the two mightiest players in all the universe. This universe and all the others. A game they have been playing for thousands of years.'
'A game,' Sam said dully.
'A very ugly game, and a very profane one. The Foul One returned, appearing behind you. He is seldom seen in. his natural form—even by us. He is … grotesque, hideous. His very presence often kills should human eyes fall on his ugliness. Nydia's did.'
Sam touched the side of his head. 'Who hit me?'
'The Dark One. He is everywhere at once, as is your—my God, I hope. Sam?' she leaned forward until her face was only a few inches from his. 'Will you teach me how to pray to your God before you baptize me?'
'If … you would like that, sure.'
'Oh, yes, I would like that. More than anything in this world, for I know my time remaining is very short, and growing shorter.'
'My God might …'
