The people behind the stone walls of the great mansion could occasionally hear the faint sounds of moaning, but could not tell where they were originating or what was happening to cause them.
But all could guess.
And if the elder Balon was near, he did not make his presence known. At least in any manner the humans could fathom.
The day had turned off cool, with the temperature dropping into the upper thirties by early afternoon. The wind had picked up, blowing in from the northwest, as if pushed by a mighty helping hand. The small band of Christians could do nothing but wait; and wonder what was next in store for them.
By mid-afternoon, they knew.
'Hello, the house!' Pat Jenkins's voice roared into the old mansion, pushed through a bullhorn.
Joe keyed his handy-talkie. 'He ain't alone,' he radioed from the upstairs. 'There's a bunch with him, and they're lookin' ugly.'
'Armed?' Sam radioed.
'Look like a bunch of dirty pirates about to jump on board ship.'
'Hello, the house!' Jenkins again called.
Using a bullhorn taken from the trunk of Monty's Logandale police car, Sam said, 'What do you want, Jenkins?'
'The Princess wants to talk to you, Balon.'
'Tell her to use the telephone.'
'No way, Balon. Face to face.'
'Forget it, Jenkins.'
'You'd better listen to me, Balon. You'll be sorry if you don't see her, kid. All bets are off. We can handle this situation any goddamn way we see fit. And that's the way it is. You understand what I'm saying?'
'What's he mean, Sam?' Nydia asked.
'I don't know. Unless someone of a higher power has interfered, causing Satan to pull out; something like that.'
'Your Dad?'
'I—don't think he has that much power.' Sam suddenly smiled. '1 think the old warrior is pulling a fast one and helping Dad, even though God has probably forbidden him—both of them—to do so.'
'Why would He do that?' Jeanne asked. '1 mean, forbid us help? All it would take is just one little-bitty miracle on His part and we'd be out and safe.'
'I don't think God does miracles much anymore,' Sam told her and the group. 'I think He gives humans the wherewithal and then pretty much leaves it up to them after that.'
'That is correct,' the voice spoke in Sam's head.
'Dad?' Sam asked quietly.
The room full of people fell silent.
'Hello, the goddamn house!' Jenkins called.
He was ignored.
'Yes, son.'
'Dad, what is happening?'
'Satan is gone, He will not return to that coven. Unless you fail and they are victorious. You need not worry about the Tablet. But you will be under siege for several days. Look to yourself to even the odds. You are trained to do that. The siege of Satan's followers must conclude by midnight, Saturday. And you must be especially careful between six P.M. and midnight on Friday.'
'Xaviere?'
'Exactly. I will be able to assist very little, if at all. I will more than likely be punished—chastised is a better word—when I return.'
'For helping us?'
'Yes.'
'Is it difficult to slip out—of there, I mean?'
The voice seemed to chuckle. 'No. But the majority don't wish to leave. I can't explain any further, son. You will see, in time.'
'Dad, you will forgive me if I choose not to be in any great hurry?'
Laughter in Sam's head. 'The old warrior likes you, son—likes you a lot.'
'Michael? What is he, Dad? And how can he get away with the things he does?'
'If you had been born when I was active in the pulpit and asked that question of me, you and I would have had quite a session in the woodshed,' the voice said with a chuckle. 'Michael, son? Michael is one who is like unto God. He is a Levite; a chief man of Issachar; father of Omri; father of Zebadiah; son of Jehoshaphat. Michael is the archangel; God's warrior. Michael is many things to us all; he sits by the right hand of God. And he loves a good fight and loves warriors. Like you, my son.'
