Piercing the Darkness (90 page)

“Splendid!” said Guilo.

SANTINELLI WAS GASPING
for breath and about to collapse when he reached the parking lot, but the sight of Khull holding Goring’s briefcase fed his rage and his rage kept him going. He got to the van in mere seconds, pointing his shaking finger.

“I’ll . . . take . . . those!” he gasped.

Khull smiled mockingly. “Huh? You mean
these
?” It was a great joke to him.

Santinelli was losing all semblance of dignity. “You devil! How dare you betray us!”

Khull held up his hand. “Hey, just who was going to betray who? We’re all devils, right? You said so yourself. I’m taking these for insurance: number one, to make sure I get paid, and number two, to make sure you and I always remain close, trusting friends!”

Santinelli had more rage than sense, and grabbed at the briefcase. Khull wasn’t about to let go of it.

GUILO LET THEM
go ahead and tangle. He was waiting for the right moment.

All right. Good enough.

With his huge hand, he batted the briefcase free. It struck the pavement, flipped twice, then flew open, throwing the letters everywhere.

Santinelli—dignified, honorable, distinguished, high-powered attorney Santinelli—stooped to grab up the letters, but so did bloodthirsty, demonized, Satanist murderer Khull. They went to their knees, playing one on one, grabbing faster, grabbing more, shoving, jostling, grappling, ripping . . .

Until they came to the feet. Three sets of feet. Nice shoes. Nice suits. Three men.

One man held out his badge. FBI.

DESTROYER BRACED HIMSELF,
but the Strongman didn’t roar this time. He didn’t even slap Destroyer around the room. Instead, with defeat in his eyes, he looked above and all around, just watching his empire crumble.

The cloud of demons was so hacked apart by this time that the light of Heaven was shining down on the Summit Institute in alarmingly large patches, turning the Global Consciousness Conference into a shambles. The psychics were unable to get any readings, the channelers’ spirit entities weren’t speaking, the tarot readers couldn’t remember what their cards were saying, and every “higher self” on campus was out to lunch and not answering.

In the meantime, word was getting around the campus that three federal agents had just arrested someone and were still checking around. Something big was going down, and few conferees had their minds on their own hidden potential and godhood, a shot in the arm the demons could have used.

All this was distressing enough, but then the other spirits began to arrive from Bacon’s Corner, the Omega Center, Bentmore University, and other centers of demonic power disrupted by the spiritual shock waves. One by one, in various stages of dismemberment and injury, they tumbled into the basement of the chalet, screaming, scratching, clawing for rescue, for answers, for someone to blame.

Terga, the Prince of Bacon’s Corner, was slowly withering, and pointed at the Strongman with his one good hand. “You brought this upon us! You and your ridiculous Plan!”

Corrupter, only half his original size, rolled across the floor like a lame rat and spit out his accusation. “Have we built our empire at Bentmore only to feed it to Heaven’s Host?”

Barquit kept his wings tightly wrapped around him, humiliated by his defeat and now swordless. “Your Plan! Always
your
Plan! Is this why I was never warned of the woman’s coming,
or
of this ambush laid against my principality?”

Then from all around, from every fanged, drooling, spitting mouth, came the big question: “What have you done about the woman?”

The Strongman had one simple answer for all the questions. He pointed to Destroyer. “
There
is your betrayer! If he had killed her when he should have, we would not be in this state today! It was
his
idea to capture her letters, and now her testimony is
in writing
and defeats us! He is the one whose harassments did not destroy her, but drove her to the Cross!”

The Cross! That was all the spirits needed to hear. Swords appeared. “You will pay for this!”

Destroyer met their murderous eyes with his own, drew his blazing sword, and sliced the air with ribbons of red light. “So you are better than I? Then show it now!”

They stood in their places, spitting and cursing at him from a safe distance.

He huffed at them in anger. “To the Abyss with all of you! I will finish what I have started!”

The Strongman shook his head. “You won’t, Destroyer. She belongs to the Lamb. He has redeemed her from our grasp!”

Destroyer clenched his teeth and growled, “I
will
finish!”

The Strongman spread his wings in Destroyer’s path. “We are withdrawing, Destroyer, and Khull’s henchmen will not go with you. Without men to do your killing, the
woman
will have power over
you
!”

“She doesn’t know that!” Destroyer pointed his sword right at the Strongman’s belly. “I will finish what I have started!”

The Strongman studied Destroyer with probing eyes, and then stepped aside. The hate-crazed demon shot out of the chalet.

“We will not see him again,” said the Strongman. He turned to the battered, tattered assemblage. “Princes, we are restrained! We will wait for a better time.”

In a burst of black wings, chugging sulfur, and trails of red smoke, the Strongman and his princes scattered in all directions from the Summit Institute, abandoning it like a sinking ship, letting the clamor and smoke shrink into the distance behind them.

FOLLOW THE WOMAN,
follow the woman, get her!
The spirits of Broken Birch thought only of the woman and stayed close to the ground in hot pursuit, guiding and empowering the four killers who now thrashed
and clawed their way through the forest looking for their fleeing prey.

There! The killers spotted her, struggling up a steep bank, losing strength, stumbling, falling.

Tears streamed down Sally’s face; her shirt clung to her back, soaked with sweat. She clambered over some stones and then flopped to the ground, her lungs heaving. Every muscle in her body trembled and quivered; her legs and arms would no longer move. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t think; she felt she was dreaming.

THE DEMONS JUMPED
on the backs of the killers.
Kill her! Kill her! Chop her into little pieces!

There was a roaring sound behind them. The forest was flooded with light.

Behind them?

Some looked back. They screamed, and others looked back also.

They could no longer see the Summit Institute, their haven, their fortress—all they could see was the Host of Heaven!

Cut off! Ambushed!

“Take them!” said Tal.

Red smoke.

KILLER NUMBER ONE
collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. He’d had enough of this mountainside.

Killer Number Two, further up the slope, turned when he heard Number One hit the ground. “Hey, c’mon!”

Number One didn’t answer. He just wanted to breathe.

Number Three had just broken into a clearing and could see the Institute. He whistled at them. “Hey! Looks like feds down there! They’ve got Khull!”

Number Four saw the woman tumble behind some rocks. He took his knife in his hand. He was almost there. He paused just momentarily to look back, then cursed. “It
is
Khull!”

The Summit Institute looked like a model of itself from up here, with neat rows of toy cars lined up in the blacktop parking lot and rough shake rooftops nestled among the trees. Khull wasn’t hard to
recognize, staggering along between two men in suits with the front of his shirt all red and his hands behind his back. That guy behind him had to be Santinelli, being led along by a third man. There was no sign of Goring, but just seeing this was enough.