gns.thegraveyardvultures-第12部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！


to　another　god。　You　took　a　virgin　from　her　grave；　one　who　rightfully　belonged　to　the　Lord　of　the　Cemetery；　mated　her；　and　another　who　still　lived；　to　your　own　false　lord　of　darkness。　Then　you　mitted　the　body　of　the　one　who　died　as　a　result　of　that　to　water；　not　to　the　earth　where　she　would　have　bee　Baron　Cimeterre's。　The　others　have　paid　the　price　but　yours　will　be　even　greater　because　my　Lord　Cimeterre　demands　that　I　take　you　as　you　took　her；　for　I　am　his　disciple　on　the　Left　Hand　Path　which　leads　to　eternal　life　for　those　who　serve　faithfully！'
　　
　　'No　I'　She　screamed　but　did　not　try　to　flee　because　she　knew　it　would　be　futile。　Those　dull　orbs　flickered　with　the　ultimate　in　terror　and　then　he　was　upon　her。
　　
　　Sabat　experienced　a　fleeting　sensation　as　though　he　was　on　the　astral　witnessing　the　actions　of　his　physical　body；　but　that　was　impossible。　A　kind　of　numbness　flooded　over　him　but　it　did　not　mar　the　urge　which　fired　his　veins；　pumped　the　hot　blood　through　his　body。　Neither　was　he　aware　of　the　coldness　of　her　body　as　he　flung　her　to　the　ground　beneath　him。　He　tossed　away　his　sword；　he　did　not　need　it　for　this！
　　
　　She　struggled　but　his　strength　was　too　much　for　her；　pinioning　her　arms；　ripping　the　final　shreds　of　stinking　clothing　from　her　shuddering　body。　Her　flesh　was　cold　but　he　scarcely　noticed　it；　grunting　aloud　like　a　stag　on　the　rutting　stand。　No　longer　was　he　thinking　of　Sylvia　Adams　and　Sheila　Dowson；　nor　the　terror　which　the　latter　must　have　experienced；　only　of　himself；　his　conquest；　and　the　fact　that　he　was　doing　it　for　Baron　Cimeterre；　himself　a　servant　of　thePetrogod。
　　
　　Finally　he　was　finished　with　her；　drawing　back　and　fastening　his　clothing。　His　lust　was　spent　and　now　his　fury　was　returning。　He　groped　for　the　fallen　crucifix；　reversed　it　and　struck　at　the　inert　figure　at　his　feet　with　terrible　force；　a　blow　which　no　human　skull　could　have　withstood。　The　head　split　almost　equally　into　two　halves；　the　tortured　expression　divided。　Something　oozed　out　which　reminded　him　of　frog…spawn　but　there　was　no　blood。　He　had　not　expected　any。
　　
　　Again　and　again；　chopping　and　hacking　with　a　desperation　as　though　he　wished　to　destroy　this　ghastly　being　totally；　erase　from　his　mind　what　had　happened。　A　psychopath；　his　brain　blurred；　telling　himself　that　it　had　never　taken　place；　that　he　would　never　have　done　anything　like　that。　And　finally；　when　there　was　nothing　left　that　resembled　a　human　being　at　his　feet；　he　almost　believed　it。　Almost。
　　
　　Dawn　came　with　its　usual　grey　soberness。　Sabat　stirred；　shivered　and　raised　himself　off　the　tomb　where　he　had　been　sitting。　He　thought　he　might　have　fallen　asleep　but　he　knew　he　could　not　have　done　so　for　throughout　the　latter　part　of　the　night　he　had　been　conscious　of　just　staring　into　the　darkness；　seeing　nothing；　not　even　thinking。
　　
　　He　glanced　around；　half　expecting　to　see　carnage　and　mutilation；　widespread　amputation　and　decapitation。　But　there　was　nothing；　the　undergrowth　not　even　flattened。　A　psychic　battle　had　been　fought　and　。。。　won　or　lost？
　　
　　His　mouth　was　dry　and　he　had　a　nagging　headache；　he　always　had　a　headache　after　an　exorcism。　Quentin's　laughter　came　from　somewhere　then　died　away　and　left　him　to　his　own　musings。　This　past　night　had　been　fought　on　two　fronts；　inside　the　church　his　exorcism　had　been　powerful　enough　but　not　out　here。　Back　to　the　wall；　he　had　called　upon　the　forces　of　darkness　to　destroy　their　own　kind　and　they　had　conceded　to　his　request。　Because　he　was　one　of　them
　　
　　He　laughed；　a　dry　mirthless　sound。　In　a　strange　way　his　evil　brother　had　done　him　a　favour；　turned　him　into　the　most　ruthless　psychic　mercenary　who　had　ever　stalked　the　frontiers　of　darkness。　So　powerful；　capable　of　summoning　those　who　could　serve　his　cause　best。　But　it　was　frightening；　a　kind　of　schizophrenia；　a　man　outside　himself　at　times；　barely　knowing　what　had　transpired。
　　
　　But　this　business　was　far　from　over。　St　Adrian's　and　its　grounds　were　exorcised；　if　one　could　call　it　that。　A　mere　skirmish　in　terms　of　the　fight　that　lay　ahead。　Somewhere　the　man　named　Royston　had　his　new　black　temple　and　was　already　drawing　upon　the　power　that　festered　like　a　cancer　within　the　bones　of　William　Gardiner　。。。　so　powerful　that　they　had　sent　that　terrible　force　of　unspeakable　terrors　last　night　in　a　desperate　attempt　to　destroy　the　one　man　who　stood　in　their　way。　They　had　failed　but　they　wouldn't　give　up；　they　couldn't　afford　to。
　　
　　Slowly；　each　step　a　determined　effort　that　fought　against　sheer　fatigue；　Sabat　began　to　make　his　way　back　to　the　vicarage。　The　day　would　be　spent　sleeping；　safe　now　that　daylight　had　e；　recharging　mind　and　body　for　whatever　perils　the　ing　night　might　hold。
　　
　　He　almost　ignored　the　approaching　car　and　probably　would　have　done　had　it　not　slowed　when　it　drew　level　with　him。　Even　at　their　lowest　ebb　his　extra…perceptive　senses　were　not　totally　dulled；　seeing　everything　in　those　split　seconds　before　the　silver　Mercedes　picked　up　speed　and　was　lost　to　sight　around　the　bend。
　　
　　The　driver；　a　big　man　with　receding　hair　and　the　stamp　of　merciless　cruelty　on　his　features；　eyes　narrowing　and　hooded　like　a　hunting　hawk　that　has　suddenly　spotted　its　prey。　But　it　was　Royston's　panion　who　succeeded　in　thrusting　a　stabbing　pang　of　fear　into　Sabat's　heart。　Auburn　hair　and　mocking　green　eyes；　none　other　than　Miranda；　the　hussy　off　the　new　estate　who　spread　her　favours　in　her　constant　search　for　power。
　　
　　She　had　brought　Royston　here　at　this　early　hour　to　show　him　that　he　had　failed　in　his　attempt　to　destroy　Sabat。　And　she　hated　the　man　who　stood　there　on　the　pavement　because　she　knew；　knew　that　she　had　been　raped　and　mutilated　in　a　psychic　encounter　that　went　back　to　a　dark　age。　And　it　had　happened　as　surely　as　if　Sabat　had　gone　to　her　house　in　his　physical　body　and　carried　out　that　unspeakable　attack　on　her。
　　
　　Now　she　demanded　vengeance；　urged　her　evil　lover　to　use　every　vestige　of　his　black　power　to　help　her　achieve　that。　And　Sabat's　most　dangerous　enemy　would　be　the　resurrected　evil　that　had　once　stalked　this　peaceful　village　in　the　form　of　William　Gardiner！
　　
　　
　　　CHAPTER　FIVE
　　　
　　SABAT　LET　himself　into　the　vicarage　and　closed　the　front　door　quietly　behind　him。　In　all　probability　the　Reverend　Maurice　Storton　would　have　retired　to　bed　once　dawn　broke；　exhausted　by　his　all…night　vigil。　There　was　no　point　in　waking　the　aged　clergyman；　neither　was　there　anything　to　be　gained　by　giving　him　a　detailed　account　of　everything　that　had　happened　last　night。　Suffice　to　say　that　an　exorcism　had　been　carried　out　and　had　been　successful。　The　fact　that　Baron　Cimeterre　had　claimed　the　adjoining　cemetery　as　his　own　domain　was　something　that　Sabat　did　not　propose　to　try　and　explain。　One　form　of　evil　had　replaced　another；　and　there　was　nothing　more　anybody　could　do　about　it。
　　
　　Sabat's　acute　senses　were　still　working。　The　vibrations　caused　by　somebody　moving　about　on　the　floor　above　registered　in　his　brain　before　he　heard　the　slow；　shuffling　footsteps　ing　towards　the　head　of　the　wide　staircase。　Somebody　barefoot；　but　there　was　nothing　strange　in　that；　probably　Storton　had　been　on　the　point　of　retiring　to　his　bed　when　he　had　spotted　Sabat　ing　up　the　drive　and　was　curious　to　learn　how　he　had　fared。
　　
　　It　was　Maurice　Storton　all　right。　Sabat　saw　him　on　the　top　flight；　checked　his　cry　of　amazement。　Oh　God；　the　fiends　had　been　heret　done　this　to　a　harmless　old　man！
　　
　　The　clergyman　was　naked；　a　pathetic　enough　sight　even　if　one　did　not　look　up　at　his　face。　His　features　seemed　to　have　slipped　to　one　side　in　the　manner　of　a　seizure；　a　hideous　caricature　in　which　an　angled　mouth　struggled　to　make　incoherent　speech。　Babbling　insanely；　a　noise　that　was　meant　to　be　laughter。　And　Sabat's　heart　went　cold。
　　
　　Storton　almost　fell；　indeed　he　would　have　done　so　had　he　not　stumbled　against　the　stair…rail。　Balanced　precariously；　one　eye　that　seemed　sightless；　the　other　reflecting　an　inner　terror；　wide　and　staring；　inflated　like　a　bubble　that　would　burst　at　any　moment。
　　
　　Sabat　stepped　forward；　knew　that　if　he　didn't　reach　the　other　quickly　the　old　curate　would　almost　certainly　fall。　Yet　he　must　not　appear　to　panic　for　Storton　was　already　terrified；　maybe　he　was　not　even　aware　of　the　exorcist's　presence。
　　
　　Too　late！　Sabat　was　within　a　half…a…dozen　steps　of　Maurice　Storton　when　the　old　man　seemed　to　crumple；　a　sagging　of　every　limb；　folding　。。。　falling　。。。　sliding。
　　
　　Sabat　caught　him；　otherwise　he　would　have　somersaulted　right　down　to　the　hall　below；　a　weight　that　he　could　barely　support；　heaving　the　other　back　into　a　sitting　position。　The　head　drooped　forward；　a　low　moan　came　from　the　cracked　blue　lips；　a　body　expelling　air　because　its　time　was　up。　And　it　was　at　that　moment　that　Sabat　realised　that　the　Reverend　Maurice　Storton　was　dead！
　　
　　He　propped　the　dead　man　back　against　the　stair…rail；　made　sure　that　he　would　not　fall。　Then　Sabat　straightened　up；　trembling　uncontrollably　because　it　had　all　ended　like　this。　His　fault；　just　as　surely　as　though　he　had　murdered　the　clergyman　with　his　own　hands　or　pumped　a　full　chamber　of　。38　shells　into　him。
　　
　　Baron　Cimeterre　did　not　return　empty…handed　once　he　had　been　summoned。　The　bocors　and　the　houngans　knew　that；　always　had　a　human　sacrifice　awaiting　their　dreaded　lord。　And　it　was　just　the　same　here；　many　miles　from　that　dark　land　of　mystic　magic。　Storton's　death　was　needless。　Oh　God；　if　only　Sabat　had　insisted　that　his　aged　panion　remained　within　a　pentagram　throughout　that　night　of　prayer　then　he　would　have　been　safe。　The　Lord　of　the　Cemetery　had　e　and　claimed　a　sacrifice　and　。　。　。　sheer　terror　had　Sabat's　pallid　features　blanching　to　a　deathly　white。　Storton's　body；　his　soul；　were　at　terrible　risk　now；　for　in　accordance　with　the　ways　of　the　dark　powers　the　dreaded　Baron　now　had　claim　on　the　frail　corpse　…　it　could　be　the　instrument　in　a　number　of　vile；　unspeakable　happenings。　A　zombie　if　there　was　a　houngan　handy　to　raise　it；　or　the　bones　used　in　powerful　black　magic　after　they　had　been　exhumed；　a　permutation　of　horrors　that　could　only　be　prevented　in　one　way　by　somebody　who　knew　what　he　was　doing。
　　
　　Sabat　ticked　his　dry　lips；　he'd　witnessed　the　ghastly　ritual　in　Haiti　in　which　a　soul　was　granted　everlasting　freedom；　the　body　given　peace　and　put　beyond　the　powers　of　the　houngans。　The　bile　came　up　into　his　throat　at　the　thought　but　that　would　not　stop　him　if　necessary。　There　was　only　one　snag　。　。　。　this　was　England；　not　the　mystic　West　Indies　where　voodoo　and　its　rites　were　accepted　as　part　of　life　and　death　even　by　the　police　themselves。　Here　he　might　find　himself　facing　a　number　of　serious　charges；　not　to　rule　out　the　possibility　of　being　arrested　for　the　murder　of　Maurice　Storton。
　　
　　He　shook　his　head　as　he　went　downstairs　slowly　and　picked　up　the　phone。　First　he　must　report　this　death　to　the　authorities；　a　seemingly　normal　case　of　a　sudden　stroke。　Unless　you　looked　carefully　into　that　single　eye！　But　as　soon　as　possible　Sabat　knew　that　he　must　perform　those　ancient　rites　to　ensure　that　Baron　Cimeterre　did　not　claim　the　body　through　some　powerful　witch　doctor；　somebody　like