Piercing the Darkness (83 page)

They had chased and cornered the imp, the teaser, the liar named Amethyst—and Amethyst was not a cute little pony. She was a small, crinkled, warty lizard with toothpick arms and legs and a dragonlike face, cowering in the same corner, her body superimposed over Amber’s, her arms covering her head.

“She is mine,” Amethyst insisted, even pleaded. “She invited me in!”

Mota held his sword right under Amethyst’s flaring, chugging nostrils. “Saints of God are coming, and they will deal with you.”

“No . . . please . . .”

The doorbell rang. Lucy’s first thought was:
No! Not now of all times! God, how can You be so cruel to me?

But she could see the outlines of her visitors through the frosted glass of the front door. She threw the door open.

Marshall and Kate Hogan.

“Hi,” said Marshall, “we’re—”

Amethyst screamed, “No, go away! Go away!” Then she began to curse.

Lucy stepped back from the door and motioned for them to come in. “You may as well know everything!”

They stepped through the door.

At the sight of them, Amethyst leaped to her feet, her back flat against the wall, her eyes bulging with terror. “Stay away from me! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill
her
!”

It took only a split second for the Spirit of God to tell them what they were facing.

“You be quiet!” said Marshall.

Amethyst’s head bumped against the wall as if she’d been thrown a punch. She glared at them through wide, glazed eyes, hissing through tightly gritted teeth like a muzzled, rabid dog.

“Just stay there now, and be quiet.”

Kate stood by Lucy and held her. Lucy clung to her without reserve.

“Amethyst?” Kate asked.

Lucy nodded.

Marshall and Kate couldn’t help staring. This was the initial cause of it all; the lawsuit, the heartache, the mystery, the gossip and division,
all
the trouble began with this imp now trembling and cowering before them. It was like isolating a virus—or cornering a rat.

“Amethyst,” said Marshall, “it’s all over.”

Amethyst glared back at him defiantly. “She’s mine. I won’t let her go!”

Marshall spoke evenly and firmly. “Spirit, my Master has defeated your master. He has disarmed all the powers and authorities, right?”

Amethyst drooled in defiant silence.

“The shed blood of Jesus Christ has taken away your authority, right?”

“Yes!” Amethyst hissed.

“And my Master, the Lord Jesus Christ, has granted me His authority over you, hasn’t He?”

“Yes!”

“And
you
are defeated, aren’t you?”

Amethyst put his clawed fingers over his own mouth and refused to answer.

Mota flipped the hand away. “You answer him!”

Amethyst could hear the angels everywhere, could feel the heat of Mota’s blade, and could not back away from the authority of this believer in Jesus. It was no use resisting.

“AWWW!” AMETHYST CRIED.
“I hate you! I hate all of you!”

“Come out of her.”

“No!”

“I’m binding you right now, in Jesus’ name!”

Amethyst cried out, writhing, struggling against unseen shackles that held her arms and legs. She couldn’t move.

“Let go of this little girl. Come out, and go where Jesus sends you.”

One claw at a time, Amethyst began to let go of the little girl, her eyes darting back and forth from Marshall to the angels and back again. Mota and Signa began to close in.

With an anguished scream she dropped the girl and made a break for it, shooting through the roof of the house. Mota and Signa made no attempt to chase her.

It wasn’t necessary. Amethyst had no sooner cleared the roof of the house than she saw an incoming wave of white fire rolling over the town, heading her way.

The Host of Heaven!

She let out a squeal and shot across town, heading for the big white house.
The spirits at LifeCircle! They got me into this!

AMBER SLUMPED TOWARD
the floor as if in a faint, but Marshall caught her. Lucy and Kate knelt beside them.

“Mommy . . .” said the girl, dazed and exhausted.

Marshall gave the girl to her mother. “She’s all right, but we’ll have some praying to do. We’ll have things to talk about.”

Amber fell into her mother’s arms, and then nestled there with no desire to leave. That was fine with Lucy. She had her daughter back, and she wasn’t about to let go.

With tearful, weary eyes she looked at these two rescuers and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Marshall and Kate were in a terrible rush, but they had to be gentle about it.

Kate started. “Can you help us?”

Lucy couldn’t answer. She was torn and confused, pulled from all directions.

Marshall spoke gently but quickly. “Listen to me, Lucy. We know Sally Roe is alive, that she’s been writing letters, and that you’ve been intercepting those letters from some people who want to kill her. The last letter she wrote gave away where she could be found. If she isn’t dead by now, she soon will be if you don’t help us.”

Lucy looked down at her daughter, peaceful though shaken. “It’s been just awful.”

Kate asked, “Where did you send those letters, Lucy? Please tell us. Sally Roe’s life could depend on it.”

Lucy looked at them, then at her daughter. Her mind was so confused; it was just so hard to know what to do anymore.

DESTROYER WAS FILLING
Khull’s mind with some marvelous inspirations as Khull held his knife in plain sight, always sure that Sally could see its clean, keen edge. “Might as well face it,
gentlemen.
We’re all made of the same stuff. All our hands are dirty, and we’re all killers at heart. You want power, we want power, and we walk on the disposable people to get it. That’s the name of the game.”

Santinelli looked at Sally. Her face was still red from where he had struck her. “I will not have your blood on my hands, Ms. Roe. What follows will be your doing, not mine.”

Sally spoke for the first time since being bound in the chair. “The responsibility is
yours
, sir. I appeal to you in the name of decency itself, in the name of all that is right.”

“Law derives from power, Ms. Roe, not from morality. Spare me your newfound beliefs.”

“The rosters, Ms. Roe,” prompted Goring.

Do it
, said the Strongman.

“SHE’LL TURN STATE’S
evidence, John. Yeah, and she’s got an earful for you.”

Marshall was sitting at Lucy Brandon’s dining room table, on the telephone with John Harrigan, his friend in the FBI. Lucy, Kate, and Amber sat in the living room; Lucy was still holding Amber, who hadn’t made a sound. Pastor Mark Howard was there as well, at Lucy’s invitation.

“Ever heard of the Summit Institute? Well, let me give you the location. Sally Roe’s letters went there, and now she’s probably there too, if she’s still alive.”

Lucy spoke up from the living room couch. “They’ll kill her. They want her for no other reason.”

Marshall liked what he was hearing from Harrigan. “Yeah, right, those agents shouldn’t be too far from there right now. That’s good. Well, get them over there, and I mean now! Yeah, right.”

Lucy told Kate and Mark softly and bitterly, “LifeCircle! They got me into this! The whole lawsuit was their idea! Claire Johanson and Jon
Schmidt—the whole lot of them! They’ve done nothing but threaten me and coerce me since this whole mess started, and now where are they? Well, I’m not going down alone!” She called to Marshall, “Tell them I’m ready right now.”

Marshall heard her. “John, you can send somebody over here right now. She’s ready to talk.”

THIS WAS IT!
The brushfire was catching on! From here it would burn upward—hot, hungry, inextinguishable!

Mota took a golden trumpet in his hand and shot through the roof of the house, soaring through the white light of his warriors still rushing over the town. Upward, skyward, slowly spinning, wings afire, he put the trumpet to his mouth.