MOON FALL (49 page)

The service
s were going well. Richard Dash
wood had entered
the back of the chapel to check on them several times, and the
prayers, in twisted Latin, were being sung on schedule.

He and Sister Regina had been very busy since the services
started. First, bega
n the preparation of Sister Bibiana
to serve as the devil's bride. Although she knew a great honor
was being bestowed upon her, she had protested rather violently
until he had administered a dose of his paralysis drug and
hypnotized her. Now she was in one of the examining rooms,
being bathed and shaved, perfumed and made up by Regina.

Once that process was begun, Dashwood had administered
a mild tranquilizer to Mark Lawson, to make him docile so
that when he was led from the basement vault to the chapel,
to serve as part of the living altar, he would be fully awake
for the experience. And for his own slow, very painful death.

Dashwood had hoped to rip his heart, still beating, from his
body, but Lucy insisted they use an overdose of the paralysis
drug
,
as was usual when they had to return a body to be
found. The drug, in high doses, not only paralyzed the voluntary
muscles, but slowly seeped into the involuntary ones, slowing
the heart and the respiration, so t
hat the victim felt as if he were
dying. It was an ancient concoction similar in nature to a modern
drug that had been targeted for use on child molesters, then
was withdrawn because it was considered too cruel. Dashwood's
drug was superior: in small doses, it wore off without
an antidote and when used to induce death, broke up in the
bloodstream so quickly that it was impossible to identify. Dashwood
smiled, thinking about the modem doctors, like Frank
Cutter, who thought they knew everything: they had overlooked
the old medicines, dismissing them as old wives' cures, and in
doing so, had turned their backs on a world of knowledge.

He had also tranquilized a twelve-year-old girl, Denise Somebody-or-other. Her name didn't matter and he didn't intend to
use her; perhaps Sara Hawthorne was a lost cause, but he still
intended to deliver Kelly Reed to the altar. That would redeem
him with Lucy.

He glanced at his Rolex. In an hour, he would have to join
the services to do his duty as high priest and deflower the
novice, Marybeth
Tin
gler
.
It was a task he looked forward to,
but first, he had other work to do
.

He left his office and went to his apartment, where the black
cloth with its inverted pentagram was already laid out on the
carpeting.

He stripped off his robe, then sat, naked and cross-legged,
in the center of the pentagram. He drew a deep breath, exhaled,
and repeated the process
.
Controlling the revenant would be
grueling work alone, but it was worth it if it would lure Kelly
Reed back to the fold.

The cottage, so warm and cozy when Minerva was there,
now seemed full of shadows and ghosts. Kelly knew that was
stupid, but she couldn't help
how she felt.

She couldn't concentrate on the spells, either
.
They seemed
as idiotic as her own growing fear
.
For her, being left behind
in the supposed safety of the house was far more frightening
than accompanying Minerva to St. Gertrude's. It was almost
unbearable.

"Kelly!"

She jumped, whirling as someone knocked on the door.

"Kelly! It's Mark. You have to help me. Minerva's hurt!"

She pulled back the curtain and saw Mark staring at her.
"Just a minute," she called. Grabbing a coat Minerva had lent
her, she raced out the door as Mark turned and began to trot
away
.
"Mark, wait!"

"Hurry!" he called without turning around. "Follow me!"

Hours
h
ad passed, and still the women and girls in their black
hooded robes continued to chant. Sara's knees were killing her
from kneeling on the hard wooden riser.

She kept her cowl pulled past her cheeks and forehead so
that the nuns on either side wouldn't recognize her, and she
fortunately remembered some of the chants from her Latin
classes a decade ago
.

The chant ended and the cowled figures rose as an ancient
pipe organ wheezed to life. At first. she didn't recognize the
music, but slowly it came to her: it was Mendelssohn's Wedding
March, played in a minor key. Around her, the others turned
to face the doors. Suddenly, they were thrown open, and the
girl in red-
Marybeth
Tingler
-
began walking slowly down
the aisle. Under the red cowl, her eyes shone with pleasure and
her reddened lips smiled. Sara bent her neck slightly so the
girl wouldn't see her face, then turned to face front as the others
did, once she finished her walk.

Marybeth stood in front of the altar, Mother Lucy behind it
''Tonight,
our first order of business is to initiate our novice.
This year, we hav
e chosen an outstanding student,
Marybet
h
T
in
gler. After the ceremony, she shall be known forevermore
as Sister Mary Elmo."

The chapel doors sounded as if they'd been blown open, but
Sara couldn't turn to look, since the others didn't move; but a
few seconds later, a tall, robed figure strode by-
Dashwood.
As he stepped up toward the altar, Marybeth
Tingler
stripped
off her robe, revealing a pale, slim body, the tips of her small
breasts painted an obscene red-black.

Lucy moved out of the way as the girl climbed onto the
altar, her legs facing the inverted cross, her head tilted back
over the edge of the altar. For a brief instant. Marybeth's eyes
locked on Sara's, and the girl smiled. Sara tensed, but the girl
looked away without any other reaction, and Sara told herself
she didn't recognize her.

Dashwood walked around the altar and let his robe fall from
his shoulders, revealing a thin, lightly muscled body and an
eno
rm
ous erection. ''Mary Elmo, do you desire to become a
bride of Satan?"

"I do," she answered in a husky voice.

"Do you promise to obey His laws, to do whatever He asks
of you, and never to question Him?"

"I do."

"Do you agree to die whensoever He wishes, be it tonight
or centuries hence, and when you die, do you agree to become
one of the guardians of the order as the sister you are replacing
will do tonight?"

"I do."

"Then, in Lucifer's name, I take you as His bride."

He plunged forward, and Marybeth 's eyes bulged in shock.
She screamed once; then her eyes glazed with pain, then pleasure.
as
Dashwood
continued to thrust.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sara thought she saw one of
the black gargoyles move.

Kelly had followed Mark into St Gertrude's forest, and
nearly to the abbey grounds before she lost him. He'd never
slowed, and she'd run blindly after him, mindless of the tree
limbs and bushes that snagged and tore her clothing, not caring
about the scrapes and bruises she endured on her frequent falls.

''Mark?" she called. ''Mark? Where are you?"

He didn't reply, and suddenly she began trembling very hard.
It wasn't Mark.
Until now, she hadn't had time to think, just
to run after him, but now she realized that he had been easy
to see, despite the dark. The nuns had used him to lure her
here.

But she was alone. If he hadn't disappeared, she probably
would have followed him straight into the church, or Lucy's
office, or wherever else he wanted. But he had. She could hear
chanting, and though she felt a little turned around, she followed
the voices and soon saw the dark outline of the chapel and the
faint f
l
icker of candlelight behind the stained-glass windows.

Now what?
She wondered where Minerva and Mark were.
Should she try to get to town and find the sheriff? Somehow,
she didn't think they'd let her make it.

Minerva had told her the sisters wanted to sacrifice her, and
that frightened her now, but not too much. She'd spent so much
time successfully evading them over the past months that she
knew they weren't omniscient. She decided to hide in the bushes
near the chapel door for a few minutes and try to figure out
what to do next.

''Get up, boy."

Mark Lawson squinted into the beam of a flashlight. His
limbs felt heavy, his mind muddled, and he remembered a man
holding him still while a nun gave him a shot. The room had
s
pun, and then,
nothing.

''You drugged me," he tried to say, but his tongue tripped
over itself, and his lips felt rubbery and thick.

''Unless you get up right now, you'll get more of the same."

Mark pushed himself up off the chill floor, his hand against
a wall to steady himself. There was a single nun standing
between him and the open door, and he thought he could get
past her, but the minute he took a step, his knees buckled and
he fell. The woman's cold hand closed on his upper a
rm
and
yanked him to his feet; then she dragged him to the door and
out, following the flashlight's beam across a fathomless room
to a flight of stairs. She pushed him ahead of her and forced
him to crawl up the staircase.

Dizzily he looked around and saw that he was in a room
that was sort of like Dr. Cutter's examination room. A girl in
a white gown stared at him blearily from a chair, and he figured
she'd been drugged, too. Her wrists were bound together and
attached to a leg of the exam table next to the chair.

''Take off all your clothes and put this on." The nun held
out a white robe like the girl's.

''Why?"

"Do it, or I'll do it for you."

"I'm not gonna undress in front of a girl."

"Yes, you are-
that, or you get another shot."

"I have to go to the bathroom."

The woman pursed her lips and stared at him a long moment.
''This way," she said, roughly pushing him out of the room,
and about ten feet down the hall to another door. She opened
it to reveal a small, neat restroom. A tiny, dark window over
the toilet promised freedom. The nun pushed him inside and
stepped in after him. "Do your business," she ordered.
He felt his head clearing and realized he should hide it. He
looked at her, keeping his eyes unfocused, his body limp. ''I
can't with you watching," he slurred.

"If you have to go, you will."

''I think it's diarrhea. Please, ju
s
t wait
outside
-
please?"

She glared at him, and h
e
put his arms across his belly and
s
tum
bled against the sink. At that,
s
he made a disgusted sound
and walked out. "Be quick. If you try anything, you'll be very,
very sorry." She closed the door and he could hear her tapping
her foot just outside.

Groaning, he carefully climbed on top of the toilet seat and
saw that the window had a crank. He groaned again, then made
a gross sputtering sound with his mouth as he tried the crank.
It turned, and cold air hit his face.

"Hurry up."

"I am," he moaned, then made more wet sputtering noises
as he shakily stepped onto the tank top and pushed his head
out.

The window was in an alcove, half below ground, and he
quickly slithered out, turned, and moaned and sputtered once
more before climbing unsteadily out of the alcove, then crawling
on his hands and knees behind a row of bushes against the
building. He was still shaky and his limbs wouldn't obey as
well as they should, but he was at least twenty feet away when
he heard the nun shriek, "You'll pay for this, you little shit!"

He almost laughed, but caught himself. Peeking out from
behind the bushes, he saw no one, so he pushed through them
and half-ran, half-staggered toward the end of the building.