THE BATTLE FOR BARNSTABLE

ALAN M. BROOKER

* * * *

Also By Alan M. Brooker

An Angel's Revenge

Killer Turtle

A Conflict Of Interest

The Mean Green Machine

The Radicals

Tharne's Quest

What Price Paradise?

* * * *

Warrior Of Earth Saga

Book I: Dreams Of Charni

Book II: The Ride To Revenge

Book III: Battle Of The Space Moon

Book IV: The Evil Ones

Book V: Mountains Of The Moon

Book VI: The Nightmare Dies

DEDICATION

In fond memory of Duke de Richleau and his endless battles with the Forces of Darkness.

CHAPTER 1: The Daughter Of Barnstable

Alex Anderson didn't mean to expose his ideas to ingenious ridicule by maintaining that everything that happened to every man was for the best; but he did contend that he who made the best use of his circumstances, and so he best fulfilled the part of a wise and good man.

Alex was no genius, driven to fulfill a major role on the world scene, but he had always considered himself to be an honorable man. He could remember reading, as a child, the words of the American clergyman McIlyar H. Lichliter. These words had stuck in his mind all these years, having an unconscious effect on his development and subsequent actions after he reached adulthood.

What were these marvelous words, that they had such a lasting effect on his subconscious thought?

Simply that--"All shallow pessimism to the contrary, the appeal to a man's sense of honor is more significant than to invoke rules and regulations or to threaten reprisals. It is the court of last appeal, the enlightened conscience of a free man."

In isolation these words mightn't seem so unusual to an adult mind, hardened to the harsh realities of modern living, but to a young ingenuous mind seeking answers to the mysteries of the Universe they carried a powerful message. If it hadn't been for this message embedded so many years ago, he might have been tempted to leave Lisa to her fate at Barnstable Manor. Knowing what he now knew about her "uncle," her future would have been grim, and inevitably short and bloody.

Lisa!

A simple name, but what a vision. Her blonde beauty fascinated Alex the first time he met her at Barnstable Manor, sitting demurely in the lounge opposite the man she believed to be her uncle while he patiently answered questions about the history of the ancient estate he had bought when the Barnstable family line suddenly and inexplicably went extinct.

It was just luck that had brought Alex to Barnstable. He was a reporter on theWestern Chronicle , the daily paper that covered the area surrounding Barnstable. News had been sparse in the district recently, so sparse that his editor had called him into his office and given Alex an ultimatum.

"Alex Anderson," he had said sarcastically, "what the hell has happened on your beat? You've filed nothing for the last three days. I'm not employing you to have a bloody holiday at theChronicle's expense."

"Can't help it, boss," Alex complained. "Everything has been as dead as a dodo. No scandals. No murders. Not even a nice juicy rape."

"Well, go out and create something," the editor growled.

"What?" Alex gasped in mock horror. "You want me to go out and rape somebody just to get you a story?"

"Not unless you're feeling randy and can't find a hot box to ease your frustrations," the editor growled. "Get your gray matter working; there must be something out there that's worth a story. It can't be totally devoid of news. Even something mundane that can be developed into a major human-interest story would be better than nothing. We need local interest items to hold our Barnstable readership. After all, that's where you were raised, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, I started my education in the small one-room rural school; one of those with all the classes in the same room under the same teacher."

"Well, there's a story in its own right. Check out if the school still exists and if there are others like it out there in the rural community. After the government's latest blaze of publicity about what they've done to raise the level of education throughout the school system a story on sole teacher schools is sure to raise the opposition's ire, and that could be worth greater interest in our area with an election due next year. The local seat is only just held by the government by less than one hundred votes and both parties need to win the seat that they have already tagged as marginal. Remember, young man, the interest of politicians in an area inevitably leads to a flood of press releases and these can grow into major news items with a little judicious prodding."

"That could take time with the speed our politicians move, but I'll check it out. In the meantime, how about a series on historical estates and churches?" Alex asked.

"Produce the copy, then I'll give you my answer. There is a growing interest nationally in conservation and historical places, so it could grow into a series. I know there are several quite ancient mansions and churches around the region, not just at Barnstable. Might even be worth your own by-line if you can make them attention grabbing by bringing in gossip about the original occupants."

Alex's eyes gleamed. He could imagine the impact of articles appearing under his name. He had often dreamed of becoming a well-known writer. It was the dream of all reporters to front a popular series. If it was really good, it might even get syndicated, maybe even converted to a series for television. If any background scandal was interesting enough, it could even end up on the big screen. This could be the chance he was looking for. The chance to make the big time and get an overseas job, travel the world…

"When can I start?" Alex asked eagerly.

"The sooner the better," the editor muttered. "I need something to attract rural support. Our circulation has been dropping outside the city boundary, thanks to the poor delivery service into the rural areas. We need something that will ensure the people still want to get theChronicle ; even it doesn't reach them until the next day. International news is old hat by then, done to death by the television networks."

* * * *

Barnstable Manor stood in splendid isolation at the end of a long, tree-lined drive. The estate was surrounded by high stone walls that hid the landscaped gardens from the view of any casual passers-by. Not that there were many in this remote part of the country. The main highway passed the entrance to the valley in which the estate stood, but the junction between it and the narrow road that followed the side of the stream was over ten kilometers from the main gates. Some small farms had been hacked from the forest at the start of that track, but then the valley narrowed to a steep gorge flanked on either side by tree-clad cliffs. The road narrowed even more, climbing toward the top of the surrounding cliffs. It was just wide enough to let two vehicles pass--if they were very careful.

The gorge widened. The track rounded a promontory before it dropped to the valley floor.

Barnstable Manor nestled against the northern cliffs, bathed in the late afternoon sunshine. Between the imposing building and the descending track stood the little village of Barnstable, after which it had been named. The village was small, only a collection of several small houses, a country store, and a single-building rural school. Well away from the village stood an ancient church.

The sight brought memories flooding back into Alex Anderson's mind. He had attended that small school for several years until his parents packed their bags and moved to the city. They'd told him it was to further his education, but he was sure he had detected a deep sorrow in his mother's eyes as his father spoke of their impending move. The sorrow returned every time Barnstable was mentioned. Neither of his parents spoke of their life in the village unless questioned about it, and then their replies were short. Even in his youth he could detect a deep hurt, but he'd never been able to discover the reason behind their pain.

Now it was too late. His father was dead, killed in a motor accident in the city, and his mother was a paraplegic confined to a wheelchair in a city rest home, a victim of the same hit-and-run accident.

Even the accident was shrouded in mystery. It had happened on a clear day, within view of dozens of witnesses. The vehicle had been described in great detail, the registration number clearly engraved on the minds of several key witnesses at the scene of the accident. The police had made extensive inquiries. The driver had been found. The witnesses then suffered a collective loss of memory, claiming in court they could neither remember the type of vehicle nor the registration number with any certainty. The judge had been furious; he had no option but to discharge the jury and order the police to re-open their investigations.

Then the witnesses started to have accidents of their own. One by one they were buried, until none of those who had given evidence were left alive. Inspector Graves knew foul play was involved, but he turned up a blank at every step of his investigation. With no witnesses left, he had to file his case away stamped UNSOLVED.

Anderson drove slowly into the village, letting his eyes flick from side to side. Everything looked like he remembered it, but he could sense a subtle difference. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the village had an unreal air about it, as if it had been locked in a time warp. He pulled up outside the store, parking his car beside the solitary petrol pump. That at least was new. The petrol had been stored in drums when he'd last passed the store, emptied into the vehicles with a hand-operated pump.

The shiny power and telephone cables linking the village to the outside world were also new, replacing the generator that had been the only source of power to the village for many years while telephones had been a luxury restricted to the manor and the local police precinct.

"What do you want?" a surly voice asked him curtly.

"Will you fill my tank, please?" Anderson asked politely.

"Only got standard," the man muttered.

"That'll be fine," Anderson said with a smile, letting his eyes run over the figure standing beside the pump. It was a young man, about his own age. Roughly dressed, he didn't look the part of a shopkeeper. "Is the owner in?"

"Inside," the young man muttered, nodding over his shoulder.

Anderson climbed the rickety steps to the verandah that ran the length of the front of the store. It had seen better days, but was still reasonably stable. A bell rang in the back of the building as he pushed the door open. He could hear muffled voices at the back of the store, then silence as footsteps moved toward the counter from behind the curtain that separated the shop from the living quarters.

"Yes?" a quavering voice asked as an elderly man came into view, his movement assisted with a heavy walking stick.

"Nice to see you again, Mr. Tarrant." Anderson recognized the old man. He'd been the shopkeeper when they left the valley.

"Do I know you, young man?" the old man muttered in surprise, staring at him through the thick lens of his glasses.

"I doubt if you would remember me," Anderson said gently. "It's been many years since I left Barnstable with my parents--"

"What's your name?" the old man interrupted.

"Alex Anderson."

"Anderson… Anderson… I can vaguely remember a couple of that name… they left here for the city… they had a young son--"

"That was me. Alex," Anderson interrupted.

"A fine couple… I was sad to see them go… They kept sanity in the village… Whatever happened to them?"

"My father was killed in a car accident; mother was seriously injured in the same accident."

"When did this happen?" Tarrant asked, a worried tone to his voice.

"Last year. Why do you ask?"

Tarrant didn't answer. He'd turned to face the window, his eyes starring toward the distant hills that reared upward behind Barnstable Manor.

"I knew they would never be safe," he muttered. "I told them to leave well alone. They wouldn't listen to me. I knew they would follow them until they got their revenge… no matter how long it took!"

"Who would follow who?"

"It doesn't matter now; the damage is done. Your parents should have kept their silence. They would have still been alive if they had. The secret should never have been taken from the valley. The curse rose in this valley, it should have been allowed to die here."

"The curse. What curse?" Anderson demanded.

"It is too late. The secret must be allowed to die, buried in the past from which it arose."

"What curse?"

"The secret found by your father, young man. What other secret could there be linked to the curse?"

"But what was the secret my father took from the valley?"

"Didn't he tell you?" Tarrant asked.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"He told me nothing," Anderson insisted.

"Then you are lucky. Your father was a wise and honest man; it's better that you don't know the terrible secret he discovered."

"What secret, damn it? If it caused my father's death, then I have to know. His killers must be brought to justice."

"It's too late for that," Tarrant said sadly. "Your father is dead; let the secret remain with him in his grave. It's better that it be allowed to die. Don't try to resurrect it. Leave well alone. It will be safer for you that you don't dabble with things you could never control."

"But his killers are still free; they have to be brought to justice."

"They will receive their just rewards for the evil deeds they have done in this valley; their time will come, of that I am certain. I don't know when, but I know it will come. Trust the justice of God, young man, not the revenge metered out in our legal system. Your father's killers will never stand before the dock in a temporal court. They're too powerful for that."

"We shall see," Anderson said. "I'll never forget or forgive. One day I'll find them, then they'll know the meaning of fear."

"If you find them, it is you who will know what fear means, not them," Tarrant said softly, tears glistening in his eyes. "They've brought fear to this valley many times; now we live each day expecting the worst, praying we will be alive to see the next dawn. Get in your car and leave this place before they realize who you are."

"I'll not leave until I have completed the work I've come this far to do, and then it will only be until I return to pursue my father's killers."

"Then I fear for your safety," Tarrant said. "What brings you here?"

"I've come to do a story for theWestern Chronicle ," Anderson told him. "I'm now a reporter on their staff. I've come to do a story on Barnstable Manor and also on the ancient church."

The old man went a deathly white.

"May God preserve your soul," he whispered, turning and shuffling back behind the curtain, his shoulders slumped.

Anderson wandered from the store, a puzzled look on his face. Tarrant's assistant was nowhere in sight. Anderson called, but there was no response. Shrugging his shoulders, he climbed back into his car. He would pay for the petrol on his way back to the city. He started the engine and turned his car in the direction of the manor. It was only two kilometers further down the road.

* * * *

Anderson pulled up outside the heavy gates that blocked entry to Barnstable Manor. They towered over his head, reaching at least three meters above the road. The heavy stone walls were even higher, standing nearly two meters wide at their base and reaching four meters upward, the top covered with broken glass cemented into the stonework. There was no way in except through the gates.

Beside the gate hung a heavy chain with a brass knob on the end. Beside the chain was a brass plaque that read RING FOR ENTRY.

Anderson tugged on the chain. A bell pealed above his head, sending echoes through the valley. Nothing moved in the garden except for the trees wavering in the breeze. Strange. He'd have expected the noise to send flocks of birds spiraling into the clear blue sky. Nothing moved. He listened. There was a deathly silence. Not a single birdcall broke the silence within the walls, yet he could hear birds calling on the other side of the road. They had risen with the noise, but had soon settled back onto their perches under the green canopy. Even the sounds of insects only came from outside the manor walls.

Should he ring the bell again? Not necessary. A stooped figure was creeping toward the gate.

"Yes?" a voice gasped.

"I have an appointment with the Lord of the Manor."

"Are you Mr. Anderson?"

"Yes."

"Then you are expected," the old man muttered as he struggled to open the gates. They swung open with surprising ease in view of their obvious weight.The hinges must be kept well oiled , Anderson mused.

"Please drive up to the house," the old man muttered. "They are expecting you."

"Can I give you a lift back up the drive?"

"If it's not inconvenient," the old man said, a grateful look in his eyes. "It's a long way to walk at my age, and I don't drive so I have no other option."

Anderson drove through, stopped his car, and waited as the old man closed the gates and climb slowly in beside him.

The drive swept majestically through a double row of stately poplars then skirted an ornamental lake set before the terraces leading down from the manor to the immaculate green lawns. A beautiful, young, blonde woman was meandering along the side of the lake, her long hair blowing in the breeze.

"Who's that?" Anderson asked, a catch in his voice. He'd never seen a more beautiful sight. The young woman was dressed in a deep red dress that brushed against her ankles as she moved. Her skin was fair, her lips lusciously full and red. A shawl was draped around her shoulders against the breeze.

"That's Lisa, the Daughter of Barnstable," the old man said, a strange note of sadness in his voice.

 CHAPTER 2: Lisa

Louis Armitage, the owner of Barnstable Manor, was an imposing figure of a man. Ramrod straight, he stood head and shoulders over Anderson who, at 1.75 meters, could hardly be called short yet he appeared puny in comparison to his host's 2 meters height. Broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and legs like tree stumps completed a picture of awesome physical strength. Standing at the top of the steps while Anderson climbed from his car gave him an additional advantage, which his booming voice helped to increase.

"Welcome to Barnstable Manor, Mr. Anderson," Armitage called down to him. "I've been a reader of theWestern Chronicle for some years; I will be happy to show you around my estate."

Anderson hid a frown. Something about the tone of the greeting appeared false, almost as if his host was in two minds about letting him visit the manor. No, that couldn't be true. All he had to do would have been to tell the reporter he was busy and unable to see him. But the invitation had been extended by a female voice. Maybe Armitage's secretary had accepted on his behalf without his authority and his host hadn't been able to think of a suitable way to slip out of keeping the appointment.

Rubbish. He must be imagining things. The smile appeared genuine enough, the handshake firm and inviting. True, the man's eyes made him feel uncomfortable, the chill blue gaze penetrating deep into his soul. The eyes were posing questions, then finding their own answers without putting the questions into words.

"I'm sorry if I inconvenienced you with my request, Mr. Armitage," Anderson apologized. "My editor decided it was time we ran a series on the important historical estates in our territory to make our local community more aware of their heritage. Many are jealous of the large homes. They don't really appreciate what the original settlers did for our country. All they see is the wealth accumulated over many generations and get jealous they haven't got a slice of the cake. We hope this series will right the imbalance."

"You don't have to apologize, young man. This is a worthy project, but what made you pick on Barnstable Manor for your first article? I presume this is the first since I've seen no other."

"Yes, this will be the first in the series," Anderson agreed. "I picked on the manor because I was born here in Barnstable."

"Then you must have left some years ago," Armitage said. "I've only been here ten years; so you must have left the valley before I came. I don't remember you."

"That would be right. My parents left about eleven years ago."

A fleeting frown crossed Armitage's face, quickly concealed as he swung away to lead the way to the large, glass-paneled entrance doors. Anderson saw, and wondered!

The doors opened into a large central hall. A wide staircase swept upward at one end, flaring out onto a balcony that surrounded the central hall at the first floor level. Several doors opened off it. The pillars holding up the high domed ceiling were festooned with carvings and pictures. Anderson was no art connoisseur, but to his untrained eye there appeared to be a king's ransom hanging from the walls. The hall reeked opulence.

A butler was standing solemnly inside the entrance.

"We'll talk in the library, Perkins," Armitage said. "See we aren't disturbed."

"Do you wish refreshments, sir?"

"Yes; send something in about thirty minutes."

Two walls of the library were covered in bookshelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with old leather bound volumes. Beside the door was a bookcase with more modern tomes, including some magazines and a few paperbacks.The reading tastes at Barnstable had changed over the years , Anderson mused, letting his eyes play over the ranks of books neatly filed in alphabetical order. The wall furthermost from the door was covered in glass, with large French doors opening onto a terrace. Beyond the terrace was the lake, the waters sparkling in the light from the afternoon sun.

"Please take a seat, Mr. Anderson," Armitage said, settling in one of the large leather-covered armchairs.

"What do you want to know about Barnstable Manor?" he asked as Anderson settled back into the heavily padded comfort of a bygone age.

"Basically the historical importance of the manor to our region," Anderson murmured, seeking for words that would hide his curiosity about the strange vibrations that filled the house. "I think my readers would be interested in the history of the family who first settled here and built this place. Things such as their source of wealth that enabled them to construct such a grand mansion and why they selected such an isolated area in which to establish their family; what happened to them; where they are now; why the valley hasn't progressed beyond a primitive subsidence economy amid such plentiful natural resources."

"I thought you were doing a newspaper article, not a book." Armitage's smile stopped at his lips, not warming the steely glint in his blue eyes. He was obviously not happy with the direction he perceived the article was heading, but he tried not to let his concern show.

"I guess I've bitten off a larger article than I initially envisaged," Anderson admitted. "The editor will have the final say in how much space he gives me. Better to give him too much and let him hack it about, than too little and get an earful of abuse."

"I suppose that is his editorial prerogative as he tries to balance creativity and the impetuosity of youth against the needs of his paper and the realities of local politics," Armitage said. "How much do you know about Barnstable Manor, and the estates surrounding it?"

"Not a lot," Anderson said with a shrug. "I was pretty young when I left here. My parents didn't talk much about their time in the village."

"Then I'll let you read the book of the Barnstable family." Armitage reached for a heavy volume resting on the table beside his chair. "It chronicles their arrival in this valley, but it goes even further back to their ancestors in Europe. That will give you the story up until ten years ago, which is when I moved in. We'll talk about that later. Are you staying in the village tonight?"

"I hadn't intended to."

"Then you had better stay here for the night. You'll never get that book researched properly, and our talk completed, before nightfall."

"I don't want to inconvenience you."

"If it would inconvenience me, I wouldn't have asked," Armitage said.

There was a soft knocking on the door. A young girl entered, pushing a trolley. She was hardly into her teens, yet her face was drawn and pale, her eyes dull and expressionless. She moved mechanically, pushing the trolley to Armitage. As silently as she came, she left.

"Good help is hard to find," Armitage apologized. "I have to take what the agencies send me from the city. They never stay long, and they all seem to have personal problems when they arrive."

Armitage reached forward and hit the bell push set into the top of the desk at the end of the room. Perkins entered so quickly Anderson guessed he'd been waiting outside the door.

"Our visitor will be staying the night. Give him the guest room in the west wing," Armitage instructed.

"It's almost four o'clock, sir," Perkins said.

"Damn. I'd nearly forgotten. I have to go and see to something," Armitage said, turning to Anderson. "Make yourself comfortable with that book while I'm gone. I shouldn't be too long. We'll continue our discussion when I return."

He followed Perkins from the room, leaving Anderson alone in the library.

Alone, but with the wisdom of the ages. He felt his eyes drawn to the rows of books. He rose, walked along the shelves, letting his eyes play over the titles. Most were classics of the past, but others were little-known works covering the metaphysical sciences and parapsychology.

 Strange subjects to be found in such an isolated manor .

Returning to his armchair, he picked up the history of the Barnstables and began to plough through it. His eyes opened wider as he read on.A strange family , he thought. Wealthy, and with clearly established links to European royalty. Why did they isolate themselves in this valley in a foreign country? They had appeared in Barnstable with sufficient wealth to buy half the valley and build their manor in the grand European style, yet with certain strange additions.

The original plans were included in the book. They showed an underground church built under the center of the mansion, with several smaller rooms leading from it. These rooms were all without light or ventilation. An unusual place for a church, especially since the period of religious persecution had long since ended before their arrival in the valley.

The book traced the ancestry of the Barnstable family through to the present day, stopping only fifteen years previously, yet some of the lines ended suddenly and without any explanation. What had happened to these families? Had they died in some family tragedy, or merely been disowned. Anderson jotted down notes for later research when he returned to the city.

He was still busily engaged in studying the book when Armitage returned. He was so engrossed with the family of the late Andrew Barnstable that he didn't hear Armitage walk through the library door until he spoke.

"Must be an interesting member of the family to keep you so engrossed," Armitage said softly.

"Andrew Barnstable," Anderson said with a start. "He seems to have vanished without trace."

"Yes, a most interesting case," Armitage agreed. "Little is known of him after he returned to Europe on a holiday. Seems to have vanished somewhere en route on his way back to the manor."

"I wonder if he's still alive."

"Possibly, but he would be a very old man, if he was. However, it's pure conjecture on our part. Evidence would be impossible to find now to link him with any living relatives in this country."

Armitage turned, looking at the grandfather clock standing beside the ornate fireplace.

"Almost dinner time," he remarked. "I'll get Perkins to show you to your room, so you can freshen up. We'll continue the discussion later."

Perkins led Anderson up the steps, then along the long corridor that was the west wing. Many doors, all closed, opened off the carpeted walkway. Perkins stopped outside one at the end of the corridor, holding it open for Anderson.

"I trust you'll be comfortable in here, sir," he said politely. "Dinner will be served in thirty minutes. The dinning room is to the right at the bottom of the steps."

Anderson let his eyes flick around the room. How could you fail to be impressed with such opulent surroundings? The bed looked big enough to sleep three, another could have slept with ease on the large couch set against the window. He opened one of the two doors opposite that through which he'd entered. It opened into an en suite. The other was a walk-in wardrobe. This room was almost as big as his whole flat and the furnishings would have cost more than his entire assets.

In precisely thirty minutes Anderson walked through the door into the dinning room.

"You are certainly punctual, Mr. Anderson," Armitage greeted him. "I like that in a person. It shows respect for your host. Let me introduce you to my niece Lisa."

Anderson turned to face the young woman standing beside his host. She was definitely the young woman he'd seen walking in the grounds. Close up she was even more beautiful than he'd expected. Her long blonde hair fell softly around her shoulders, framing the pale oval of her face. Bright red lips, a touch of rouge, and finely etched eyebrows highlighted the classical lines of her slender, straight nose. Lisa was of medium height, but her curves were full, clearly accented by the form-fitting sheet of black velvet that covered her from neck to ankle. Her arms were bare, the skin as pale as that of her face.

Lisa had been watching Anderson, excited by the approval she saw in his eyes. It was a strange emotion and she didn't know why she should feel so excited. She lived a life more secluded than that of a nun in even the strictest cloister. Her uncle never left her alone with any male, no matter how old he was. She had freedom to move around the mansion on her own, provided no other males were in residence, but she wasn't allowed outside without her faithful old nurse in close attendance. It was true that sometimes she managed to walk quickly enough to make a slight break on the nurse, but it never lasted for long enough for her to know real freedom--and it was only within the confines of the high stone walls that surrounded her world at Barnstable Manor.

Lisa held out her hand. Anderson took it in his, the warmth sending a thrill coursing up her arm. She blushed, quickly withdrawing her hand from his. She dropped her eyes, standing demurely beside her uncle as he showed Anderson to a chair opposite hers at the dining table. Throughout the meal she could feel his eyes trying to make contact with hers, but she carefully avoided them. She knew how her uncle felt about any contact between her and young men. She mustn't make him annoyed. He might withdraw his invitation to the reporter to spend the night in the manor.

Her uncle kept the conversation channeled on general topics, skillfully avoiding any talk about the manor or its former occupants during the meal. At last he leaned back.

"Let us adjourn to the lounge," he suggested. "We can talk over coffee."

"Will your niece be joining us, sir?" Anderson asked, casually.

"If she wishes," Armitage said, his reluctance obvious to Anderson. "I doubt if she'll find our conversation entertaining, but she's welcome to stay as long as she can put up with us."

Lisa looked up in surprise. This was the first time she'd been allowed to join her uncle's guests in the lounge. Eagerly she followed them through the door, taking a comfortable seat beside the blazing fire so she could watch both men. Her elderly nurse drew up an old wooden chair and sat beside her like a protective mother hen.

Her uncle was right. The conversation bored her. They kept talking about the history of the Barnstables. Why bother? The family no longer lived in the valley. The manor now belonged to her uncle. Her ears pricked up. The conversation had changed. It was more modern now. She heard her own name mentioned. Something about her destiny being linked to the destiny of Barnstable Manor. What did her uncle mean? Surely he didn't expect her to remain forever in this dreadful place. It might appear beautiful and peaceful to him, but it was as lonely as a tomb.

She longed for others her own age. She could vaguely remember a time when she was surrounded by other children, but her uncle would never talk about those days, always skillfully turning the conversation around to the present. Why? Who were those children who flashed through her memory like ghosts of the past? Why wouldn't he talk about them? Who was her mother? More to the point, where was her mother? She hated the silence that always followed her questions about her mother, the raised eyebrows that seemed to say, "You don't want to know about her." She did want to know. It was another gap in her past. There seemed to be so many of them.

A hand touched her arm.

"Are you all right, child?" her old nurse asked.

Lisa shook her head, clearing the blurred images from her mind.

"Yes," she said. "I was just dreaming."

"You look tired, Lisa," her uncle said. "Why don't you go to bed? It's really quite late. Can't have you getting bags under your eyes, they would ruin your beauty."

Lisa looked at her uncle. Although his words were gentle and solicitous, his cold, hard gaze boded no argument. She rose and left the room, feeling the reporter's eyes following her. She didn't turn to look in his direction. He would have seen the tears had welled up in her eyes. Again her uncle had treated her like a child, sending her from him. When would he start looking on her as an adult? After all, she was almost eighteen. Damn it. She was a woman. He should start treating her like one.

"Don't let him get you down, child," her nurse murmured as they walked down the corridor to her room. "Let him have his days of power and control over you while he can. They are numbered. Soon it will be your turn for glory; then not even he will be able to stand in your way."

"What do you mean?" Lisa asked in surprise.

"You'll find out, child. You'll find out--and sooner than you think."

 CHAPTER 3: The Ruined Church

Alex Anderson was disappointed when Lisa left the room. Even though she'd been silent while he and her uncle discussed the history of Barnstable, she'd fascinated him. He could almost physically feel the heat of the smoldering embers that lay submerged in her young body. There was no doubt in his mind she was frustrated, but was it with her uncle sending her from the room, or was it with the isolation and lack of male company around her own age?

She must have ardent admirers; she was too beautiful not to, unless the iron control of her uncle extended into her private life day and night. He knew several young women her age. They wouldn't have accepted the solitude. It would have been worse than being buried deep within the cloisters of a convent.

Anderson tried to bring the conversation around to his niece, but Armitage skillfully parried every question, leaving Anderson strangely concerned. He didn't like the sensations he was getting, something felt very strange in the house. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there were unusual vibrations adrift in the lounge. The fire was burning in the hearth, yet the room still felt cold and damp.

The moon had risen, full and glowing, over the distant hills. The rays extended their fingers across the lawns, reaching toward the terrace. Everything looked so serene, except…

Anderson tensed. He was sure he had seen shadows moving silently across the lawn toward the lake. Trying not to draw attention to himself, he strained to see through the window. He hadn't been wrong. Hehad seen shadows. Two figures were crossing the lawn, moving quickly from shadow to shadow so they would not attract attention to themselves. The moon reflected briefly off long golden hair as it slipped free from the shelter of a dark hooded cloak. He'd only seen one blonde at Barnstable, so one of the figures must be Lisa.

What was she doing out at this hour of the night? The other figure, moving without the fluid grace of the first, must be her old nurse.

Armitage stifled a yawn. Glancing at the clock, he rose silently to his feet.

"I'm not as young as I used to be, Mr. Anderson," he said. "You must excuse me. It's well past my bedtime. Please feel free to remain here, or in the library if you wish, for as long as you like. If you want anything, ring for Perkins. He remains on duty as long as there's anyone still awake."

"Then I think I'll also retire," Anderson said. "Can't have him remain up all night because of me."

He followed Armitage from the room and climbed the steps to his bedroom, his mind in turmoil. Surely Armitage wouldn't retire while his niece was wandering around the grounds. Unless he didn't know she was outside in the moonlight with her nurse.

Anderson turned out the light, standing silently in the shadows of the big bay windows that opened out on to a balcony overlooking the terrace. He cursed silently to himself. The glow from another window illuminated the terrace below him. It was the only one still with a light on. It must be Armitage's room. Damn. He couldn't take the risk of being seen if he tried to slip out and follow Lisa to the lake. He would have to wait until the morning, then try and get her alone to talk with her.

* * * *

A tall shadowy figure slipped silently through the trees, senses alert for any movement that would indicate the presence of human life. He had managed to hide his presence from the local population for many years. It hadn't been hard. After all, his grave stood in the ruined church, the headstone weathered by the action of rain and wind. Few people visited the church any longer, except out of curiosity, and even those who did seldom lingered among the graves. They paused to inspect the ruined altar and the battered wooden cross that still clung to the collapsing brown stone walls.

Storms had made short work of all the stained glass windows, except one that had defiantly withstood the worst that nature could throw at it. It annoyed him, yet he had been unable to break the glass even when he threw stones at it. They just bounced off the shining surface and landed at his feet, as if mocking his puny efforts at vandalism.

It was this window that attracted the most attention. Dust never gathered on it, neither did the storms damage its freshness. It looked as if it had only been placed in position the previous day, yet it had stood there since the church had first been built. It would never see two hundred years again. The glass should have faded, the colors hardly discernible from the lead holding each pane in place, but it hadn't.

The face of Jesus nestling in the arms of his mother Mary smiled down on the ruined altar, spreading an aura of peace through the mass of tumbled rubble of what had once been an imposing edifice erected to worship God in the isolation of Barnstable Valley.

Under the window was a bright brass plaque set into the stone wall. The inscription was simple, IN MEMORY OF HARRIET BARNSTABLE. She had been a truly amazing old woman, the only member of the Barnstable family who had died in her own bed, at peace with her God.

The silent figure tensed, its motion freezing and blending in with the background. The stranger heard sounds carrying through the trees. His eyes gleamed. It was the joyful sound of a young female voice, singing happily to herself.

Quickly the stranger slipped through the trees in the direction of the sounds. He stopped at the edge of a clearing. A lone figure, draped in a dark cloak, was gliding through the damp grass. The moon gleamed on her long blonde hair. Behind her straggled another figure, moving with much greater difficulty. The stranger swore. It wouldn't be wise to attack one, the other would raise the alarm, and he was still too close to Barnstable Manor to be able to silence them both before help arrived.

He followed, frustration gnawing at his innards. His frustration reached a peak when the blonde figure reached the edge of the lake. She stood poised at the edge of the water as she let her cloak slip from her shoulders. The moon gleamed on the lush curves of her naked body as she stepped carefully into the cold water until it covered her proud breasts. Her companion remonstrated with her. He could hear a muffled, laughing reply before the young girl fell backward, to float in the calm waters of the lake. Her breasts rose clear of the tiny wavelets lapping hungrily around her naked limbs, the nipples standing up like beacons on their individual snowy mountains.

The old woman was waving her arms around as she continued to remonstrate with her young companion. The young girl stepped back onto the bank, letting the water run from her body as she stretched, the moonlight playing seductively over the naked flesh.

Her companion pulled a towel from under her cloak and handed it to the girl, her voice carrying to the silent observer.

"You'll catch your death of cold, Lisa," she scolded as she watched the young girl towel herself dry, the motion setting her full breasts swinging. "I do wish you would stop this stupidity."

"But I enjoy swimming," the young girl replied.

"But naked and at night?" her companion protested. "Your uncle would have a heart attack if he could see you now, standing naked beside the lake. It's not right, you don't know who could be watching."

"Nobody would dare climb over the walls," Lisa said with a laugh. "If they didn't cut themselves to pieces on the broken glass spread along the top, the dogs would get them before they reached the perimeter fence."

"But--"

"Don't be an old spoilsport," Lisa chided. "Didn't you like to swim when you were young?"

"Yes, but never naked. I was taught to keep my body covered, hidden from public display. It was considered rude and unladylike to be seen naked in public."

"But this isn't public, it's a private property… and I like being naked. It feels so free."

The watcher licked his lips as he watched the young woman pivot once before she reluctantly continued drying her body. Such luscious curves. How he would love to get his teeth around the taut young nipples. They must be hard from the cold. He could imagine her cries of lust as his teeth bit into the soft mounds. She must be blonde all over; he could see no dark patch between her thighs.

Lisa finished toweling herself dry, then slipped back into her cloak.

"We'd better get back to the manor, child," the other woman muttered. "It's nearing midnight. We mustn't let your uncle know you have been outside the manor again without his permission. He would be furious."

"He's always furious," Lisa complained. "The older I've got, the more difficult he has become."

"He's only trying to do his best for you."

"I bet," Lisa mused. "Isolation until I can stand it no more and beg him on my knees to go to the city. Then he takes great delight in telling me no. He insists I belong at Barnstable Manor, almost like I was part of the inventory."

"He has great plans for you, child, plans that will make you famous and powerful."

"I don't want to be famous and powerful; I just want to be happy."

"I hope you will also be happy. We all want that for you."

"Who?"

"All the people who visit him at the manor."

"Yuck. I'm sure I couldn't care less how those old men feel about me. They give me the creeps. I don't know what Uncle sees in them, they seem so old and boring."

"They are all prominent people from the city; and you know they're not all men. Some are women."

"But it's hard to tell them from the men," Lisa interrupted, turning toward the manor. "They're all like wizen old prunes, ghastly old hags who have seen better days--I hope!"

The watcher followed silently, then stood in the shadows of the trees as the two women slipped through a side door into the manor. He wondered if they'd left it open. He would try it later, after the lights went out in the two windows beside the door. They'd come on after the two women slipped through the entrance. One must be the young girl's bedroom, but it was impossible to know which room the young girl occupied. It would be just his luck to climb through the wrong window and end up with the wizen old hag who had been with the girl beside the lake. This didn't please him, but it was a risk he would have to take.

The lights went out. The watcher moved silently through the shadows toward the back door. It was time to pay the young blonde a surprise visit.

The watcher stumbled, nearly falling. He crouched behind a potted palm, his face contorted with pain. He had never felt such pain. It was as if somebody was driving red-hot pokers into his brain, then gleefully rotating them for maximum effect. He tried to move closer to the building; the pain increased. It was more than he could bear. He hunched his back, retreating toward the trees.

The pain eased, then stopped when he reached the shadows under the trees. He frowned. This was most unusual. He moved around the manor, seeking another approach. The effect was the same. This couldn't be happening. What was causing such pain? It was nothing he could see. It must be inside his brain. But why? It had never happened before. Mind you, he'd never tried to approach Barnstable Manor before in pursuit of a quarry.

His visit would have to wait until another day.

Unless he was able to lure the young blonde girl away from the shelter of the manor. He hadn't felt any pain when he'd watched her beside the lake. There must be something about the manor that was the cause of the problem. The answer would be simple. He would have to wait until he was able to get Lisa away from the protection surrounding the manor.

Grumpily he returned to the ruined church. At least that would be safe for him!

He approached the line of graves situated furthest from the old building. They were in a fenced off area with a solid wooden gate between them and the rest of the graveyard. The gate carried the Barnstable coat of arms carved on each half. Opening the gate on silent hinges, the watcher approached an old stone mausoleum with the Barnstable name engraved into the stone above the heavy door. The soil around the stone door was scuffed. He reached out and pushed against one side of the carved stone. The slab slid silently aside.

Looking toward the distant hills, outlined by the rosy glow of the sunrise, the figure shrugged his shoulders and clambered through the dark opening and nestled down in the warm material that lined the only coffin inside the silent interior.

The coffin lid closed, then the stone slab swung back into position.

Andrew Barnstable was back home for the day. It was time for him to rest.

 CHAPTER 4: Echoes Of The Past

Sara Barnstable was worried, but she wasn't sure why. It had been a perfectly normal day at the small village school, as hectic and chaotic as it always was. She was the only teacher, forced to take all ages from the very young to those reaching puberty. It was a challenge she had gladly accepted when it was offered to her by the authorities, but there had been more behind her acceptance then they had been aware off.

Sara was one ofthe Barnstables, although she didn't advertise the fact. Even the villagers hadn't linked this city girl with the manor, although some had frowned when they had been introduced, wondering if there could be some link between her and the past. However, there had been no Barnstables in the valley for many years. The manor had lain empty for several years before the new owner, Louis Armitage, had bought it. Gradually he had renovated it until it resumed its former splendor, but the name had remained Barnstable Manor. It would have been far too costly to do otherwise, with the heavy crests and name molded into the wrought iron gates and carved into the ornate wooden doors. The crest had been inset in black marble into the white marble floor in the entrance foyer, and also cast into the plinths of all the statues scattered around the lake. No, it would always remain Barnstable Manor, no matter who was the current owner.

Sara was both sad and glad.

She was proud to be a Barnstable, but she was sad her links with the past had to be kept shrouded in mystery. There was something very strange about her ancestors; something that made her toss fretfully in her bed at times when she remembered the past.

Strangest of all was her father Andrew.

She assumed he was really Andrew Barnstable, but if he was why wasn't he listed in the family tree she'd found among the old books left her by her mother. The only Andrew listed there had been reported missing many years before. If that was her father, he would have been approaching his century and her father didn't look that old. It was also very strange that he never spent the day in her presence, visiting her only after the sun was well below the horizon. He moved so silently, it was creepy.

Her mother was another mystery. Her father had shown Sara her birth certificate, recording her date of birth, yet the records at the city hospital showed no admission for a Mrs. Barnstable that night, or for weeks on either side. There was a record of an illegitimate birth to a young prostitute among the many married women, but that woman's name wasn't Barnstable.

Her father refused to talk other than to insist the birth certificate was hers, even thought the ink was faded and smudged by poor storage over the years.

Sara often asked where her mother was now, but all her father would say was that she'd died in an accident, giving both a time and place. There was no death certificate, but a search of the papers around that date had unearthed an article of a freak accident in a ruined church, where it was reported that a cross had splintered and crashed from the altar during a storm, burying itself into the heart of an innocent worshipper. She was a stranger from the city, her identity never discovered. There had been a young child with her. The baby girl had been taken to the city orphanage; the young woman had been buried in a pauper's grave.

Sara had few memories of her early childhood. No matter how hard she tried, her past remained shrouded in the swirling mists of time, giving her only a few tantalizing glimpses of reality. What had happened to her childhood? Where had she been brought up? Who were her friends? Who had looked after her when she was a child? All her father would say was that she had been cared for by friends and that in her teens she'd suffered from amnesia, unable to remember anything until after she reached college.

Sara clenched her hands as she stood staring out of the window of the small flat she called her home. It was attached to the main school building, sharing the facilities that were used by the children during the day. It was sparsely furnished, but she had managed to make it comfortable.

"Why are you so tense, daughter?" a quiet voice said from behind her.

Sara spun around, rushing to throw herself into the arms of her father; he was standing in the doorway leading to the schoolroom.

"I didn't hear you enter," she cried happily. "Gee, it's good to see you, Dad. I wish you'd spend more time with me."

"I would love to," Andrew Barnstable said, a sad note creeping into his voice. "Unfortunately that isn't possible. Certain circumstances must keep us apart, so it's best for you that I'm not seen with you. The locals wouldn't understand."

 Not only the locals , Barnstable thought to himself. Not many people would understand how he could be standing beside his daughter--especially with a grave marked in his memory at the local cemetery. He doubted if even Sara would understand. After all, he was already legally dead when she was conceived. Legally dead, but very much alive in the twilight zone inhabited by the vampires of myth and reality.

Andrew had carried the curse of the Barnstables, a genetic flaw that had plagued the male side of the family for generations. The latent strain of the vampire had dwelt in his veins, bursting forth while he had been touring Europe those many years before. He had faced a terrible choice. He could remain in Europe and be hunted down by the army of vampire hunters who were roaming the countryside, or return to the Barnstable estates. To do so would eventually attract attention. In such an isolated community, one who didn't age would be the subject of much speculation. More to the point, it would be difficult to find a sufficient source of blood, his essential nourishment, from such a small population.

There were several cities in the vicinity of the valley, more than one within the reach of flight. It would be better that he remain hidden, living out the rest of his lonely existence from within the grave. A tomb was erected to Andrew Barnstable; it became his home.

Andrew had been young when the vampire strain affected him. The urges of the flesh were still strong within him. It wasn't enough that he had to seek blood to survive, but he also needed to find sexual release, an urge he had taken to the grave with him. That would have been difficult in the country; it was easier in the cities where rapes and sexual molestations were a nightly happening. His sorties would add to the growing list of unsolved crimes, but the police would be looking in the criminal sub-strata for those responsible, not the graveyard at Barnstable.

He well remembered his first sortie to the nearest city. It had been a dark and windy night, the scurrying black clouds hiding the full moon. He'd wandered along the lonely riverbank, heading toward the taverns that had been built near the wharves. As he approached the first tavern, a young girl staggered out from the door, heavily under the influence of alcohol. She bumped into him, her apology slurred. Her plumb young body pressing against him made him yearn for more than blood.

Quickly Andrew dragged the feebly protesting girl into the shadows of a dark alley. His hands probed and twisted, unfastening and raising her clothing until they reached the bare flesh of her thighs. She gasped as his hands rushed upward, lifting the clothing clear of her body. She shivered as the cold air hit her heated flesh; the effect on her plump breasts was spectacular. Andrew hungrily sucked on the distended nipples, drawing moan after moan from the struggling girl. Strangely she was no longer trying to escape, rather she was trying to draw Andrew closer to her body. Her hand reached down and fastened around him, dragging him forward. He arched his back, driving between her spread thighs.

The young girl fell back, dragging Andrew with her. Locking her legs around his back, she rose to meet his thrusts. She tensed as she reached her first climax, a look of wonder crossing her face as Andrew continued to move. Her body began to respond again, and then again, yet still he continued. The drunken look in her eyes had been replaced by the growing forces of lust. She felt the body driving into her tense, then warmth filled her. She cried aloud in triumph, her cry ending in a gurgling scream as Andrew buried his teeth in her neck and drew her life from her body as he hungrily sucked her dry of blood.

Sated, he rose and looked down at the naked body of the young prostitute lying on her discarded clothes. He smiled grimly. He had filled all his needs at one strike.

Barnstable tensed as a gentle hand touched his cheek.

"What's the matter, Dad?" Sara asked softly. "You appear upset."

"It's nothing," Andrew muttered.

"I don't believe you."

"It's the manor," Andrew said, pretending to be homesick for his inheritance. "I tried to get into it tonight, but they wouldn't let me in."

"That's not fair," Sara muttered. "It belonged to our family before it became theirs."

"But it's theirs now," Andrew said sadly. "What is given freely in sale cannot be reclaimed as inheritance. I cannot enter without an invitation."

"I'll telephone them tomorrow and get an invitation for you," Sara said impetuously.

"It won't be so easy. You'll have to get to know them first."

"But they're all so old," Sara muttered.

"Not all of them," Andrew said slyly. "I think there's a young girl in there, about your age. Maybe if you get to know her, she'll invite you in."

 And then I can follow you and get my hands on her , he added under his breath.How I'd love to get my hands on her and make her squirm. I bet she'd be even better than your mother, and she was the best yet. She had me coming back for more, even after you were conceived. He shuddered silently. That had been a close call. He'd been so enthralled with the slender young girl he'd found wandering alone in the park that he'd almost failed to see the rays of the sun tingeing the distant horizon. As he drove into her in his final tribute, the crowing of a cock disturbed his bite. The girl had lived as he rushed away into the bushes. It'd been too late to fly back to the cemetery. He'd spent the day in the darkest corner of the belfry of a local church, suspended near the bells. Unfortunately, it had been a Sunday and the bells kept him awake as the faithful were summoned to worship, several times!

He hadn't seen the girl again for some months. When he did, he didn't believe his eyes. She'd been pushing a pram through the empty streets. In it was a pretty young baby who bore a strange resemblance to him. He'd visited the young woman many times, each time suppressing the urge to bite as he climaxed into her body. A deep warmth developed between them, yet he had been unable to tell her the truth about his twilight existence. It was a sad day when she visited Barnstable and died in a freak accident at the old church.

"Are you sure about the young girl?" Sara asked, her words bringing him back to the present.

"Yes; I've seen her myself. She's blonde. She must be about your own age or a little bit younger, perhaps. It's so hard to tell. I've only seen her from a distance, so I can't tell you much else about her," he lied.

"Funny, but I've never seen such a young girl in the village."

"Maybe they keep her in seclusion," Andrew Barnstable muttered.Just my luck if they do , he fumed.It will make it that much more difficult to get my hands on her.

"Leave it to me, Dad," Sara muttered. "I'll see what I can do. There must be some way I can get into the manor and meet the young woman."

"Don't take any risks, Sara."

"This is the twentieth century, Dad. What risks can there be at the manor in broad daylight?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm just being stupid."

"It's not stupid to worry about me," Sara said, hugging her father. "I feel flattered that you care about me that much. I promise I'll be careful. Tell you what, I'll even tell old Tarrant at the store where I'm going so he can keep an eye out for me. If I don't get back, he can let the police know where I went."

Andrew Barnstable looked longingly at the slender neck of his daughter where it broke clear of the fluffy sweater she'd slipped on to keep the chill out. He felt the lust for fresh blood well up inside, a hunger he hadn't quenched for almost a week. She was of his own flesh; he must not fall prey to the temptation of an easy target. He couldn't wait until Sara had made contact with the young blonde at the manor. He needed sustenance now. He had to drink this night. It would mean another trip to the city. Which one this time? He'd made so many trips over the years. The routine was growing hazy. Yet it must continue. He couldn't risk drawing attention to the valley, and nothing would be more certain to do that than a sudden flood of bloodless bodies appearing around the village.

Barnstable looked out of the window at the distant hills, their peaks bathed in the weak light of the waning moon. His hands clenched and opened, his feet moved restlessly on the floor.

"It's time I left," he said suddenly, racing to the door.

"Will you be back tomorrow?"

"I'll try, but I can't promise."

Sara sighed as her father moved through the door. She watched his dark shape move silently across the schoolyard and into the shadows near the gate. She strained her eyes, but she'd lost sight of him.

 CHAPTER 5: The Loss Of Innocence

There was something about the solid stone walls towering above her head that caused Sara Barnstable a moment of doubt. Her hand hovered near the bell rope, reluctant to take the action that would let those inside the manor know of her presence. Her eyes strayed to the heavy metal gates, the familiar crest emblazoned on a solid plate that had withstood the ravages of time and weather. It was strange seeing her name on somebody else's property, especially since the land had once belonged to her own ancestors. What had made them sell out when at least one branch of the family was still alive? Why hadn't they left the estate to her father, surely he should have inherited the property as the last remaining Barnstable?

When she left the estate and got back to town she must do some research. There must have been a good reason. If there was, why hadn't her father told her of it? Was it the reason he was reluctant to be seen in the valley? Must have been something traumatic to have driven him into seclusion. Had there been a family scandal that had forced the Barnstables to leave the valley?

She steeled herself, forcing her fingers to close around the rope. She could hear the dull booming of a bell only meters above her head. Her feet wanted to turn and run. She willed them to stay, her mind actively working on the story she'd developed to gain access to the manor.

"Can I help you, young lady?"

Sara spun around at the sound of the voice on the other side of the gates. Her attention had wandered as she waited, her eyes looking blankly back along the road down which she had ridden her 125cc Honda motorcycle.

"I'd like to speak with Mr. Armitage," she said.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No. I didn't know I'd need one."

"Mr. Armitage is a very busy man. He doesn't see visitors without prior arrangement."

"I won't take up very much of his time," Sara protested. "I only want to speak to him about the school."

"I'll have to ask his permission," the old man muttered. "I can't let you into the grounds without his permission."

"Oh, dear. This is most unfortunate. I only want to ask Mr. Armitage a few questions, then I'll leave him in peace."

"I'm sorry, young lady. My instructions are clear. No admission unless you have an appointment."

"Then can I make an appointment now?" Sara asked.

"Not unless you have a telephone on that infernal machine of yours," Perkins muttered in disgust. "There's no telephone here at the gate."

"That means I'll have to go back into the village," Sara muttered. "That's most inconvenient."

"I'm sorry, but my--"

"What's the matter, Perkins?" a soft female voice asked from the shadows of the trees beside the drive. A young woman stepped into the open, her long blonde hair cascading down her back and gleaming in the reflected rays of the bright sunlight.

"This young woman wants to speak with your uncle, Miss Lisa," the old man said. "She hasn't got an appointment."

"Why do you want to see my uncle?" Lisa asked, letting her eyes run over the slender form of the dark-haired girl on the other side of the gate. It was the first time she had seen a female dressed in leather trousers and a jacket, clothes that were strictly forbidden to her. Her uncle insisted his niece dress and act like a demure young woman, always decorously attired in fashionable woman's dresses.

"I want to talk to him about the village school," Sara murmured, her eyes studying the blonde girl with equal interest. She looked so young and innocent, yet there was a powerful sexual aura surrounding her, a great heat that carried through the bars of the gate.

"Will your questions take long?" Lisa asked.

"No more than fifteen minutes, possibly much less time than that."

"What time does Uncle have to leave for the city?" Lisa asked, turning to face the old woman who joined her in the drive.

"Not until four o'clock," her old companion muttered.

"That leaves plenty of time," Lisa said in delight. "Open the gate, Perkins."

"But she has no appointment."

"I'll accept responsibility for that. I'll tell Uncle I forgot to pass the message on to him."

"But she has--"

"Don't argue with Miss Lisa," the old woman snapped. "Can't you see that she's made her mind up? You know how impossible it is to get her to change it when she's set herself on a path to follow. Open the gate."

Mumbling to himself, Perkins eased open the gates, just wide enough to let Sara and her motorbike through. She pushed the machine through the gap, then stood beside it as she appraised the young blonde. She had definitely not seen this young woman around the village. Her beauty would have attracted the admiration of all who saw her, both male and female.

"I'm Sara," she said sticking out her hand.

"My name's Lisa," the other said, slipping her soft warm fingers into the hand held out in greeting.

Reluctantly Sara released Lisa's hand and turned to her motorbike. "Thank you for your help. Can I give you a lift to the manor?"

"Oh… I've never been on such a machine before. Aren't they dangerous?"

"Not if you know how to handle them," Sara said with a grin, climbing on to the saddle. "Come on. Jump on behind me. It'll be a new experience and one I promise you'll enjoy. It's really no more dangerous than riding a horse!"

Lisa frowned, looking down at her long skirt.

"Tuck it up around your knees," Sara said with a smile, noticing her concern. "When you press against me, it will stop it billowing out in the wind."

Lisa clambered awkwardly onto the seat behind her.

Sara tensed as soft arms encircled her waist and Lisa snuggled against her back. She could feel the soft mounds of the blonde's full breasts pressing into her back, the warmth of her thighs penetrating the heavy protective clothing she wore whenever she rode her motorcycle. She caught her breath as Lisa buried her face between her shoulder blades, letting her hands slip down until they were resting on her thighs. The innocent move sent the blood coursing through her body like the flames of a raging forest fire. Forces were stirring within her that had lain dormant since she'd left college. It had been easy to keep them in check at the school; all her energy was channeled between her work and her friend, the local librarian.

This young blonde was different. Even without trying, she was turning up the heat between Sara's thighs, almost to boiling point, and her "friend" wouldn't be home to help extinguish the flames for a couple of frustrating days.

Lisa's uncle was waiting for them at the top of the steps leading up to the front door. He had heard the distant bell, then the sound of voices near the gate, his niece's among them. He frowned at the sight of his Lisa riding up the drive behind the stranger on the motorbike. He breathed a sigh of relief when the rider took of the heavy black helmet and long dark hair cascaded down her back. It had been hard to tell if the rider was male or female from a distance.

"Uncle, I forgot to tell you that Sara wanted to talk to you this afternoon," Lisa gushed. "I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

"You're forgiven," Armitage said, hiding his annoyance at the appearance of an unexpected visitor. "What can I do for you, young woman?"

"I want to talk to you about the village school, Mr. Armitage," Sara said.

"I have to go into the city this afternoon--"

"I'm sure you can spare the time, Uncle," Lisa pouted.

"Well, if Sara is quick, I suppose I can spare her a few minutes. What do you want to ask me?"

"I'm teaching some of my older pupils about local history. The manor is one of the oldest buildings still standing in this area. My research tells me it was actually built at the same time, or maybe before, the village came into existence. I would like your permission to bring these children over for a tour of the buildings and grounds."

"How many?"

"Only about four or five."

"That's a lot for you to control; you will need to control them, you know, I can't have them running free around the estate."

"I could bring two of the parents with me. They could help me to control the children and stop them running riot."

"I can also give you a hand," Lisa offered. "The children will love this place; it's so beautiful at this time of the year."

"I presume you've never been around the manor, so it will also be a learning experience for you as well," Armitage said with a smile that touched his lips but not his eyes.

"And one I'm looking forward to," Sara replied.

"Why don't you stay for a while?" Lisa said. "I can show you around while Uncle goes to the city."

"I don't want to be any trouble," Sara protested.

"It will be no trouble," Lisa said with a smile. "It'll give me a chance to take a good look around some of the areas I don't visit very often. It's such a big house, you know."

"If your uncle doesn't object, I'd love to take you up on your offer."

Lisa looked at her uncle. He nodded, smiling to hide the veiled anger in his eyes.

The grand tour started in the grounds. They'd reached the lake on the edge of the front lawns when they heard Armitage's car start to move down the drive. As the sound of the engine faded into the distance, Lisa led Sara into the shade of the trees.

"Follow me." She giggled. "This is my secret hide-away, when I can escape from the prying eyes of my old nurse."

The secret hide-away was a small pavilion hidden deep within the shelter of the trees. It looked over a small clearing at the edge of the sparkling stream that fed the lake. The clearing was sheltered from any breeze and was bathed in the late afternoon sunshine. It was lovely and warm. Lisa leaned back in one of the armchairs, letting her eyes droop closed as the sun played over her face. Sara sank into the other chair.

"I feel like a swim," Lisa murmured at last, rising to her feet.

"That would be nice," Sara agreed. "Unfortunately I don't have a swimming costume with me."

"Who needs one?" Lisa said with a laugh, letting her fingers work at the fastenings of her clothes. Quickly she let them fall around her feet until she was standing naked and unashamed before her guest. "Come on. I dare you to join me in the water. The sun will soon dry us when we come out."

Sara found her eyes drawn to the lush figure as she stripped off her own leather motorcycle equipment. Her fingers fumbled as they tried to undo the fastenings that held the tight leggings and jacket around her. She wore a thin blouse under her jacket and it slowly parted as her fingers undid the buttons holding it together. Her young breasts, much more compact than Lisa's, came into view, the nipples already hard and pointed. She slipped her other clothes from her body, her eyes drawn like a magnet to the blonde bush nestling between Lisa's thighs. It was soft and sleek, the same color and texture as her hair. She was a true blonde.

"Come on," Lisa said, holding out her hand. "The water's fine at this time of the day."

She drew Sara toward the sparkling stream, then gave her a playful push just as her left foot touched the cool surface. Sara gave a muffled scream and fell face forward into the water, the spray rising to strike Lisa's heated flesh.

"You cow," Sara spluttered as she surfaced and started splashing the water over Lisa. "I should dunk you."

"You've got to catch me first." Lisa giggled, trying to run through the shallow stream.

Sara threw herself forward, her hands locking around Lisa's thighs in a copybook tackle that would have pleased any football coach. Her weight bore Lisa downward below the surface. They both came up spluttering and giggling. They splashed each other playfully, then lay back to float on the surface, two contrasting examples of budding womanhood.

Lisa stirred, the cold making her shiver.

"Time to dry off," Sara said.

"I'll get some towels."

"I thought you said there were none."

"I lied." Lisa giggled delightedly. "Come on, let's go inside and dry off."

As they entered the pavilion, Lisa threw the switch that turned on the electric fan heater set into the wall. The warmth soon filled the small room. Lisa took two large towels from a cupboard and handed one to Sara. Quickly they dried themselves, then sat on the couch in front of the heater. They were still naked, their clothes on the grass outside the building.

"Better go and bring our clothes in," Sara muttered.

"Later," Lisa said. "It feels so nice not to have them constricting my breasts. Uncle's a stickler for body restraints; I think he's a frustrated Victorian at heart and if he could find corsets and bustles, I guess he want me to wear them."

Sara let her eyes pointedly linger over the full white mounds and deep brown nipples that were still hard from the cold. Or was it the cold? Lisa was breathing in ragged gasps, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. It must be her imagination. No. There could be no doubt. The signs were all there. She might be young and innocent, but she was definitely becoming aroused at the proximity of another naked female even if she didn't realize it.

"It would be a pity to hide such lovely breasts," Sara said, reaching out and letting her fingers close gently around the pulsating globes. "They are so beautiful."

"Do you really think so?" Lisa gasped, surprised at the warmth suffusing her body.

"Of course they are," Sara said, letting her fingers settle around the nipples. She kneaded them, feeling the points grow even harder under her skilled ministrations. "Surely your boyfriend has already told you that."

"I have no boyfriend," Lisa muttered. "My uncle will not allow any young men onto the estate unless he has me under observation."

"But they must chase you when you go into the city," Sara said in surprise.

"I haven't been in the city since I was a very little girl."

"Then you don't know what you're missing," Sara said, leaning forward and letting her lips brush the hard nipples.

Lisa gasped, arching her back and forcing her breasts up to meet the questing tongue that was sending such delight through her young body. There was a gleam in Sara's eyes as she looked down on the voluptuous body spread out on the carpet at her feet. She let her hands trace the outlines of thighs and breasts, squeezing and pressing the soft flesh. Lisa started to moan, her hips undulating in a sensuous dance of lust.

Sara's fingers snaked downward. The young blonde gasped, and her eyes closed as she felt new and powerful emotions raging through her body.

Lisa opened her eyes, then she cried out in pain, cringing back against the carpet as she felt something trying to penetrate the opening between her thighs.

"Are you a virgin?" Sara asked in surprise.

"Yes," Lisa whispered.

"My God. I don't believe it. A real virgin, and one who's so beautiful," Sara muttered in surprise. "What a prize. Do you want me to help you?"

"Help me?"

"Yes. Help you to get rid of that obstacle between your thighs."

Lisa smiled shyly, letting her thighs fall apart. She didn't answer, but neither did she complain as Sara examined the problem at close quarters. Sara let her eyes wander around the room, looking for something to make the task quicker. She smiled grimly when she noticed a long black candle in a holder on the mantelpiece. It would be the ideal tool.

Quickly she rose to her feet and took the candle from the holder. Lisa hadn't moved. She smiled lazily up at Sara as she approached, the candle held firmly in one hand.

"Relax," Sara whispered, as she felt the thigh muscles tighten.

Lisa tried to relax, but it was impossible to resist the forces Sara was stirring up inside her. Sara pushed down hard with the end of the candle. Lisa screamed once. Her body seemed to be splitting apart.

Pleasure slowly replaced the pain.

"You're a woman now," Sara whispered softly in Lisa's ear.

Lisa moaned, arching her back as her first orgasm racked her body. She'd never known such pleasure was possible.

"It is wonderful," she moaned softly. "Please show me more."

"I'll teach you everything I know," Sara promised her.

She was as good as her word. Lisa was as limp as a rag doll when Sara left later that evening to drive back to the village. Sara was also satisfied. She'd taught her new friend that it was as pleasurable to give as to receive, and so she had been able to satisfy the yearning of her own body. Maybe she had also found a new convert to the teachings of Saphro.

 CHAPTER 6: A Kidnapping Is Planned

Lisa looked up at her uncle, fear clearly visible in her eyes. She'd never seen him so furious. The pleasure she'd experienced in Sara's arms had long since been replaced by pain. Not just the ache of her penetrated body--that had been bad enough--but the physical hurt that had been administered by Armitage when he had returned from the city.

Sara had long since left the manor when the lights of her uncle's returning car illuminated the drive. Her old nurse, fearing for the young girl's safety, tried to hustle her from the room and into bed, hopeful that the signs of her ravishment would have faded by morning. Lisa had been stubborn, as usual. She refused to leave, rushing to greet her uncle as he came through the door, the way she had always done.

One look at her face, and the stiffness of her movements, made him realize all was not as it should have been.

"What has happened?" he demanded angrily.

"Nothing," Lisa replied.

"Don't lie to me," he thundered. "You've been with a man. The signs are clear."

"There's been no man here, Master," the old nurse murmured, trying to reduce the tension.

"You lie. Take the girl to the temple. I will investigate the truth in your statement."

Lisa looked at him in surprise. What temple? There was no temple in the valley, only the ruined church. Why would he want to take her there? She went to speak. The hate in her uncle's eyes froze the words in her mouth.

The old nurse pulled a chord hanging just inside the front door. Lisa heard a bell chime far in the distance. Perkins shuffled into view.

"Take this child and prepare her for inspection in the Temple," Armitage growled. "Have Molly assist you, if you need help."

Lisa was led away; Perkins on one side, the old woman on the other.

Now she was stretched out on an altar, one that she never knew existed in the manor. She'd been stripped, her legs lashed to metal rings set into the polished wooden surface. Her hands were fastened to similar rings at the other end. She'd been too shocked to struggle as she was forced down on the thick slab of wood. Then it had been too late. Molly had skillfully removed Lisa's clothes, releasing only one limb at a time.

Lisa blushed scarlet when her uncle entered the temple. He had looked down at her naked body with as much compassion as he would have shown a carcass laid out for his inspection in a butcher's shop.

"Is she still a virgin?" he demanded.

"I haven't checked, Master," Molly said.

Lisa winced as her uncle took a long, polished stave with a rounded end and roughly inserted it into the opening between her spread thighs. It slid smoothly in, sending thrills coursing through her body. The action might be bringing her pleasure, but it didn't please her uncle.

"Do you still insist that she's been with no man," he demanded, turning to glare at the old woman.

"That is so, Master. She has been with no man."

"Then where is her hymen?" he demanded. "The Stave of Satan has penetrated her body without any obstruction. This would not be possible if she was still a virgin. Who has been with her since I've been away?"

"Only that female school teacher from the village, Master," Perkins said in a grave voice. "They walked in the grounds, then spent some hours in the library."

"Could there have been a stranger in the grounds, waiting to attack her?" Armitage snarled.

"I don't think so, Master. The alarms on the walls and fences would have alerted us if there'd been any intruder, and the dogs would have soon disposed of any who had made it safely over the walls before they reached the perimeter fence."

"That is true, Perkins. Then who has taken the girl's virginity from her?"

"Could it have been the woman, Master," Molly asked.

Armitage glared down at the helpless young blonde.

"Was it the woman, child?" he demanded.

Lisa nodded, unable to speak because of the humiliation she was feeling.

"Take this slut from my sight," Armitage roared, glaring at Perkins. "She was not raised under this roof to be a plaything for the unnatural lusts of perverted human flesh, but to be a gift to our Master when the time was right. The time approaches. The gift is soiled and can no longer be offered to our Master at the ceremony we have planned."

"What will happen to her, Master?" the old nurse asked sadly. She'd grown fond of Lisa.

"Take her to the basement. She will remain a prisoner until the night the Bride is presented to her Groom, then she will mingle her blood with that of the Virgin Gift, to atone for her sins."

"Where will we find such a Virgin Gift, Master?" Perkins asked.

"One will be found," Armitage growled. "There isn't much time, but one must be found or else the ceremony can't proceed. Summon our followers to gather. We must speed up our preparations. It's almost Walpurgis Eve, and we now have additional tasks to do because of the events of this day."

* * * *

Sara tossed restlessly in her bed, dreaming of her visit to the manor. Lisa had been insatiable; once the gates had been opened to her lust, there'd been no satisfying her. She had been a quick learner, eager to expand her knowledge of the arts of Sapharic sex. As she tossed, the blankets fell to the floor, exposing her lean and naked body to the lustful eyes of the stranger who'd slipped silently into the room.

The shadowy figure moved to the bed, then knelt when level with the small firm breasts topped with hard brown nipples. Slowly the head moved down, the lips fastening over the nearest nipple, teasing and tormenting, while a hand settled over the other breast, cupping the warm pliant flesh.

Sara moaned. Her dreams felt so very real. She arched her hips upward to meet the questing fingers. She gasped. Her eyes shot open as a powerful climax ripped through her body. This was no dream. This was real. Her body had been used with great skill.

"Lisa," she gasped as her eyes focused on the blonde figure lying beside her. "What are you doing here?"

"Making love to you," the girl said, her voice strangely mechanical and lacking in passion.

"I know that, but how did you get here?"

"That doesn't matter. I'm here. I want to use you like you used me."

"What do you mean?"

"I want to bring you pleasure."

"You've already done a bloody good job that." Sara gasped as her body responded to the endless waves of pleasure rippling through her as the skillful fingers continued to tease her body.

"I want to serve you… I want to be like a man."

"No way," Sara said. "That's not my scene. Keep doing what you're doing. I'm a backdoor girl, unless my partner is willing to use her tongue and her fingers."

"Show me," Lisa demanded.

Sara produced a huge gleaming black dildo.

"Push it in," she begged Lisa, her hips writhing in anticipation. "Grab the end and shove it up as far as it will go. You've got me so hot, I must have it up me or I'll go mad."

Lisa let her hands fasten around the end, pushing in the dildo. Sara moaned as Lisa let her fingers wander over her hot and squirming young body. Lisa's fingers reached an obstruction. The hymen was still intact. Sara was still a virgin. An evil smile spread over Lisa's face, unseen by the girl moaning on the bed, her body caught in the throes of lust.

Later that night, leaving Sara exhausted on the bed, the succubus masquerading as Lisa returned to Barnstable Manor to report that the girl Sara was still technically a virgin and therefore a suitable candidate to be the Virgin Gift for the Master. It was not usual for a spirit in female form to be sent to test a woman, but it wasn't for it to question the instructions of those with the authority of the Master.

Armitage was delighted with the news. He had found his virgin. All he had to do now was to get her back to the mansion and into his clutches. She was obviously an easy prey to Lisa's beauty, and she wouldn't know that the girl was now a prisoner at the manor. It should be easy to lure her to the manor with a false invitation.

That would be arranged the next day.

The net must close quickly on this new recruit. They couldn't afford to loose another Virgin Bride because virgins were in reducing supply as sexual freedom grew and old-fashioned virtues disappeared in these promiscuous times. The ceremony demanded that their Master be offered a Virgin as a Bride if they expected him to answer their call, so nothing else but an intact virgin female would be acceptable.

 CHAPTER 7:… And Executed

Sara looked down at the letter she held in her hand. She didn't recognize the writing on the envelope, but the young boy who'd brought it to the school said the old man who gave it to him to deliver had said that it was important, and had to be handed over as quickly as possible. Sara gave the boy twenty cents for his trouble before going back into her flat and slitting open the envelope.

No wonder she didn't recognize the writing. It was from Lisa at Barnstable Manor.

Her eyes scanned the message, a frown crossing her face. Lisa sounded worried about something. She would say little except that she needed to talk with her that evening, urgently and in private! What could've gone wrong? She'd seemed happy enough the previous evening when she'd left Sara's flat. Maybe her uncle had heard about their session beside the lake. He was a man, so he would never understand the attraction that could exist between two women. It would offend his male chauvinistic pride to visualize two women together, especially when one of them was his young niece. He would still be thinking of her as a child in spite of her obvious physical maturity. There was no doubt about it. Lisa was very much a woman. Too bad he still wanted to treat her like a child, controlling her every movement. It wouldn't work. He must allow Lisa more freedom. She'd tell him that. She wasn't afraid of him. After all, what could he do to her, other than order her off the Barnstable estate?

Why was Lisa insisting on a confidential visit? Why insist she tell no one where she was going to be that night? Maybe the uncle was planning another trip to the city and Lisa didn't want him to catch any whisper of her pending visit. Oh, well, she'd better humor the girl. She would leave a note for her father, in case he came again that night, otherwise she'd carry out Lisa's wishes. Lisa had asked her to come at dusk. A strange time for a visit, but it tied in with her suspicions that the girl's uncle was going away on a trip. Maybe Lisa wanted company. That was good. She could do with some company of her own, especially such warm and cuddly company. She was lonely while her friend was away on holiday. Lisa would fill the vacuum and maybe, just maybe, she could be persuaded to join them later and become the filling in a sexy threesome sandwich when she became more involved in their Sapharic world!

That was idle speculation, at this stage. It would have to wait. First she had to go and see what Lisa wanted to speak to her about tonight, but she would take her favorite dildo, just in case they had time for more than talk!

As the afternoon wore on, the weather deteriorated. Heavy clouds hid the golden orb of the sun, driving the brightness from the day. With the light also went the warmth. A sharp wind sprang up from the north, bringing with it a chilly blast off the snow-covered mountains that weren't even visible from the village. The temperature dropped. Sara slipped into heavier clothes.

She had her dinner early. Lisa hadn't mentioned food. It would be better to have to decline a meal, or even eat twice, then to go hungry.

It was almost dark when Sara pulled up outside the gates to the manor. Should she sound the bell? If she did, it would alert those in the manor to her presence. If she didn't, there was no way through.

Or was there.

The heavy metal arm holding the gate closed didn't seem to be sitting properly in the slot. She gave the gates a push. The arm fell clear; the gates slid silently open on their well-oiled hinges. Sara wheeled her motorbike through the gap then closed the gate behind her. Should she walk up to the manor or ride? She rode. Lisa would be expecting her. The light on the bike would let her know Sara was on her way.

The manor was in darkness, except for the lights in the main hall and one light in an upstairs window.That must be Perkins's room , Sara mused. If she knocked at the door, rather than rang the bell, Lisa could let her in without Perkins even knowing she was there.

The door opened immediately to her knock, but it was opened by Perkins, not Lisa.

"Miss Lisa is expecting you," he murmured, a strange glint in his eyes.

Sara followed him into the great hall. It was deserted. Perkins led the way to a door at the back of the hall. It was heavy, made of solid timber and studded with gleaming brass studs. She hadn't noticed it before. The studs seemed to be in the design of an inverted cross. It must be her imagination, or the way the lights reflected from the metallic surfaces.

Perkins swung open the doors.

The room inside was dark, the only light a faint glow at the far end. That end seemed a long way from the entrance.

"Miss Lisa awaits you," Perkins said, his voice suddenly harsh.

Sara noticed a figure huddled in the middle of the beam of light. The pale glow reflected off naked flesh. Surely Lisa wasn't already naked, letting her urges be seen by the servants. Sara hurried forward, her footsteps echoing off the plain wooden floors. There was a muffled sob from the lonely figure, but Lisa made no move to rise and welcome her.

Lisa couldn't have moved, even if she'd wanted to. The plain hemp ropes holding her prisoner became clearly visible as Sara approached.

"What have they done to you?" Sara cried, throwing herself down beside the captive, her fingers trying to undo the cruel knots holding her young lover prisoner.

Lisa didn't reply.

Sara saw the sticking plaster taped across her mouth. That was why she hadn't been able to cry out a warning.

Warning!

What the hell was going on? Why was Lisa tied up like a common criminal? Who had done this to her? She gently peeled the tape from Lisa's lips, trying not to hurt her.

"Who did this to you?" Sara demanded as she managed to pull the tape clear.

"My uncle," Lisa gasped.

"The bastard must be mad," Sara snapped. "Why would he do this to you?"

"You have the honor of being the cause, Miss Barnstable," a harsh voice said from behind her.

Sara spun around, her eyes temporarily blinded by the sudden brightness as all the lights in the room were turned on.

They were no longer alone in the room. Immediately behind her was Louis Armitage, but he was no longer dressed like the suave and successful businessman. He was clad in a long black cloak that covered him from neck to ankle. It was emblazoned with the signs of the Zodiac, as well as other strange symbols. They were all in gold, gleaming in the light from the large globes set high in the ceiling. He was flanked by several other robed figures, but their cloaks were plain and included cowls that covered their faces. She couldn't tell whether they were male or female. Perkins stood in the doorway. He was also cloaked, but he hadn't pulled his cowl over his head. He was watching the proceedings through expressionless eyes.

"What do you mean, I'm the cause?" Sara gasped.

"Lisa was being kept to be a Virgin Bride for the Master, a gift from his followers to welcome Him back among us. You have ensured that this is now impossible, by destroying her virginity with your perverted sexual activities," Armitage told her in an expressionless voice. "She is no longer of any use to us. She will pay for her night of lust with you with her life."

"You can't be serious?" Sara gasped.

"I've never been more serious," Armitage told her grimly. "The time of the Master's visit approaches fast. You have destroyed the welcome which we have spent years preparing for Him."

"But this is the twentieth century," Sara gasped.

"The rule of the Master transcends the frailty of human time. His power is beyond the understanding of mere mortals who think they know everything about the Universe. Their knowledge is puny when compared with that of the Ancients, the knowledge that was lost in the conflict between the Master and Jesus the Pretender. The time is right to correct that wrong and welcome the Master back to his rightful place as Ruler of our world."

"You must be mad," Sara gasped, looking at him in amazement.

"So some would try and claim," Armitage said. "However, the followers of the Master don't think so. We intend to bring back sanity and stability into our world. The Master will rule with a rod of iron."

"What's that got to do with me?" Sara asked, a touch of fear in her voice. "Why have you brought me here? It must have been you who wrote the letter in Lisa's name."

"It was written by Lisa, but under my instructions," Armitage agreed.

"But why bring me here?" Sara demanded.

"You will replace Lisa," Armitage said grimly.

"What!"

"You will replace Lisa as the Virgin Bride to the Master at the ceremony to mark His return to His kingdom on Walpurgis Eve."

Sara paled. She'd heard about Walpurgis Eve. She knew it had something to do with Satanic worship. It was a time for a Black Mass, or something. She'd read an article on the subject, but hadn't taken any great interest in it. She seemed to remember something about a human sacrifice being used in the past to mark the occasion. Surely they weren't going to make a sacrifice of Lisa?

Or maybe herself!

Frantically she looked around the room. It was huge, with a high domed ceiling held up by artificial Gothic pillars and beams to resemble an ancient cathedral. A heavy wooden altar had been constructed at one end, immediately opposite the entrance doors. Behind the altar, attached to the plain black wall was an inverted wooden cross. The altar was draped with a black cloth embroidered with the same type of symbols that covered Armitage's cloak. The altar was on a raised platform, two steps higher than the surrounding floor.

The floor was highly polished and stained a very dark walnut. It matched the dark color of the other woodwork. Heavy black drapes hung from the walls. They must be there to cover the windows.

Several couches spread out in three rows facing the altar. They were also in dark wood with black upholstery. She couldn't clearly see how many there were, but there looked to be more than a dozen.

Two large golden candlesticks stood on either end of the altar, black candles already in place in the holders. They were new, the white wicks standing out against the dark background. It was the only white to be seen in the temple, except for Lisa's soft naked flesh.

Lisa. If she wasn't going to be the Virgin Bride because of her night of lust, then how could they replace Lisa with herself? She'd been through the same night of pleasure, and many more beside!

"You are a Virgin, Miss Barnstable," Armitage said with a grim smile, as if anticipating her next question.

"How do you know that? I was there with Lisa. We made love to each other. How can I still be a virgin if we made love together?"

"Your hymen is intact. You might not be pure of intent, having practiced your perversions on many other females, but you are still technically a virgin. My spy confirmed this last night. Your words, I believe, were ‘I'm a backdoor girl.’"

"How do you know that?" Sara gasped. "Only Lisa was in my bedroom with me."

"Lisa was already my prisoner. You were used by a succubus provided by the Master at my request to test your suitability to replace the one we had raised to occupy the position of honor. You performed well, obviously enjoying the attentions of our Master's messenger; it was as if we were in the room with you, watching your every move."

Sara blushed scarlet.

"Even if your niece is no longer a Virgin, how can you think about giving her to the Devil?" Sara demanded, her fear being replaced by anger. "She is of your blood. Surely you should respect your relatives rather than sacrifice them?"

"Lisa is not my niece. It was just more convenient to call her that to avoid unnecessary gossip, or bureaucratic interference."

Sara sensed Lisa tense as the words penetrated the state of shock in which she had lain since she'd been stripped and imprisoned the previous night.

"If she isn't your nice, who is she?"

"An orphan. I neither know nor care who her parents were. She was a young and innocent child when I saw her in the orphanage, ideal for our purposes. We skillfully wiped her past from her mind, then gave her a new identity and raised her with but one purpose in mind, to be the Virgin Bride for the Master when the time was right. You have ruined that, now you both must pay."

"But she's a human being," Sara protested. "She has a personality. She has rights. She has--"

"She has nothing," Armitage interrupted angrily. "She is my creation. In the orphanage, she had no future. As my niece, she faced a position of historic importance to the human race, but you have destroyed her chance of immortality as a servant of Master. Now you will fulfill her destiny. You will be the Bride of the Master."

"Never," Sara snapped.

"You have no choice."

"My friends will follow me. They will go to the police."

"There will be no trace of you at the manor," Armitage said with a grim smile. "Your motorbike will be sent to the city. It will be found in an isolated alley near the river. Your dress will be found later in the park. Your underwear will be found beside the banks of the river not far from your dress. They will be stained with blood. Some will be yours, the rest will match that of a vagrant who will be found floating in the river not far from the scene of his ‘attack’ on you. It will be assumed he raped you, then threw your naked body into the river. In alcoholic remorse he took his own life."

Sara gasped. "You'll kill an innocent man to hide your own crime?"

"He will be a vagrant, a man without a future or a past. He won't be missed."

"But he's a human," she protested feebly.

"A human whose destiny has crossed the path of the Master. Unknowingly he will serve the plans of the Master."

"You're a fiend."

"If to be a loyal follower of the Master is to be a fiend, then I'm happy to be considered a fiend," Armitage said with a sadistic smile. "That doesn't concern me. My destiny is to pave the path for the Master's return to his rightful position. I'll do what is necessary to ensure that occurs. And your destiny is now intermingled with mine. As the Virgin Bride to the Master, you shall become the High Priestess of our group after the ritual is completed."

"I'll never become a follower of the Devil." Sara sobbed in frustration.

"You will have no option. That which is conceived in your body by the Master at the time of the ritual will ensure that you follow the Master's path."

Sara made a break for the door. The robed figures quickly cut off her escape, dragging her back struggling before Armitage.

"Strip her," he snarled. "Ensure that there is no article with which she can take her own virginity, then place her with the slut in the basement. Let them console each other until the day dawns. Prepare her clothes to be sent to the city. Damion, you will take them and ensure the decoy path is prepared for the police. There must be no further interference to our plans."

 CHAPTER 8: Retribution

Damion Travis crouched in the shadows, his eyes trying to pick up the person his ears had detected. He could still hear the slurred words of the song being sung by the alcoholic who had staggered into the bushes, so he must still be in there somewhere. He was the first one he'd seen wandering the streets on his own. There had been others nearer the riverbank, but they had been in small groups sharing bottles of cheap alcohol. It would be too difficult to lure one away without being seen by the others. His instructions had been clear. He must not be seen trapping his victim. There must be no chance of the crime being pinned on anyone. It had to be made to look like a suicide, not be identified as a murder.

A quick blow to the drunk's head, had been Armitage's orders, but only hard enough to knock him unconscious, followed by a cut on the finger to smear blood on the girl's panties, then a few minutes holding the unconscious man's head under the water until he drowned. The next step was to push the body silently into the river and let it float away with the tide until it was found the next day. Armitage made it sounded so simple, but he always did when he sent others to do his dirty work.

Damion had been stalking alcoholics for nearly an hour, but had been unable to find one in an isolated area near the river. It would have been easier in the dark streets near the wharf. He had stepped over many drunks lying in empty doorways, but they were too far from the park and increased the risk of being seen carrying the body to where it had to be dropped into the water.

The motorbike had been left exactly where Armitage told him to abandon it. It would be found the next morning, if somebody else didn't steal it first. He'd dropped Lisa's dress in a clump of bushes near the bike, partially concealed under the overhanging branches as if she had been dragged into the bushes after being attacked and stripped, but in such a place that it would be quickly found in the harsh light of day. Her panties would be left beside the river after he had stained them with the drunk's blood to indicate that the drunk had staggered away from the scene of the rape with her panties in his hands, and in remorse dropped them on the bank when he threw himself into the water.

That had been the easy part.

The disturbance in the bushes had eventually ceased to be replaced by raucous snores. Damion parted the bushes. He smiled grimly. At last he had found a lone male alcoholic. He reached into his pocket, producing a short length of pipe wrapped in foam plastic to reduce the risk of breaking the skin if he hit the drunk too hard. Stepping quietly forward, he brought the weapon down in a short arc, just behind the prone figure's ear. The snoring stopped. He held his fingers against the man's temple. Good. His heart was still beating. The man would breathe in, inhaling water into his lungs when his head was pushed under the water and that would give the impression that he had died from drowning. If he had already died from the force of the blow, his lungs wouldn't fill with water, a clear indication he'd died of other causes.

Damion produced a pocketknife, nicking the end of the unconscious man's finger. He caught the blood in the pair of cotton panties stripped from Sara's body. It was good she was methodical. Her name was embroidered on the waistband of all her clothing. It would be easy for the police to identify the clothing and link it with the motorbike, which was also registered to a Sara Barnstable. They would spend hours looking for the girl's body in the city, especially when they discovered she was no longer in the village.

Looking carefully around, Damion dragged the body to the edge of the bank and slid it into the water, holding the head below the surface. The drunk struggled feebly as his body automatically tried to reject the water being inhaled into the lungs, but he was no match for Damion's strength. His killer leaned gratefully against the trunk of a tree, breathing hard. He wasn't used to so much physical exercise. It was also the first time he'd taken another human life and that left him drained emotionally, even though he knew that what he'd done was in the interests of the Master.

* * * *

A shadowy figure watched from the bushes at the edge of the stream, clad in a long black cloak.

The stranger had seen Damion strike down the alcoholic. He'd watched in amazement as he nicked the man's finger and smeared blood on something white. While Damion dragged the body to the water, the stranger rushed forward to examine the white material. He frowned when he saw it was a pair of woman's panties. What the hell was going on?

He could feel the raised marks of embroidery on the waistband. They felt like letters. Could be the owner's name. The stranger put the panties into his pocket. He followed Damion to the gates of the park and out into the street.

As they passed under a street light, he drew the panties from his pocket and took a quick look at the name. His blood chilled. The name was clear and easily readable. Sara Barnstable. It had to be his daughter.

Anger surged through Andrew Barnstable. What was this stranger doing with his daughter's panties? Barnstable was an unusual name in this area, so it had to be his Sara. There couldn't be two of them. The note in her room said she was going to the manor. What was this man doing with a pair of her panties in the city? Why go to all the trouble of killing a vagrant and smearing the panties with his blood, then leaving them in the park?

Andrew followed Damion, moving swiftly through the darkened streets as Damion made one last check of the dress and the motorbike. It was his last conscious action.

Andrew recognized the motorbike. The registration number was clearly Sara's. She would have used it to go to the manor. What was it doing here in the city? Why was her dress lying nearby? This young man was clearly up to no good.

"Where is my daughter?" Andrew stepped into the light near the telephone box from which Damion had just called the manor to confirm everything had gone according to plan.

"Who are you?" Damion gasped, surprised by the sinister appearance of the stranger in the long dark cape.

"That does not matter," the stranger said grimly. "Where is Sara Barnstable?"

Damion went white, his fear showing clearly on his face.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he gasped.

"Don't lie to me. You had her panties in your possession when you killed the vagrant in the park. She wouldn't have given them to you, and neither would she have given you her other clothes and her motorbike. The only way you would get them is by killing her."

"She isn't dead," Damion gasped involuntarily. He tried to bite off his words, but they were out before he could stop them.

"Then where is she?" Barnstable demanded.

Damion turned to run. Barnstable landed on his back, bearing him down to the ground.

"Speak, damn you," he said, his anger growing in intensity.

"I know nothing," Damion cried, struggling to shake the stranger from his back. He was too heavy.

"You lie," Barnstable screamed in rage. "You must have killed her, otherwise you wouldn't have her motorbike. Where have you left her body?"

"I don't know anything," Damion cried in fear. "She was still alive when I left the manor. I only did what I was told to do."

"Why is she at the manor?" Barnstable demanded.

"The Master needs her."

"What master? Armitage?"

"No, Armitage is only the High Priest of the Master. The woman is needed by the Master."

Barnstable felt his blood chill. If Armitage was not the Master but a High Priest, it could only mean one thing. Sara was in the hands of Satanists. No wonder he had been unable to gain access to the manor when he'd tried to follow the blonde girl. The manor must be protected by the Powers of Darkness.

"Why does the Master want Sara?"

"I don't know."

"I repeat, why does he want Sara when he has the blonde woman I saw in the manor grounds?"

"I don't know. The High Priest told us that Lisa is no longer acceptable to the Master and she has been replaced by the other young woman for the ritual."

"What ritual?"

"I cannot speak of it. My lips are sealed."

"Then you had better unseal them," Barnstable snarled. "My patience grows thin."

Damion refused to say anything more. He realized he had already said too much. He had let out the secret of the manor. His life would be worthless when the Master found out. He most probably already knew. He knew everything. Damion struggled to throw Barnstable off his back. He felt the weight shift, leaning forward. He screamed as he felt a sharp prick in his neck, then he passed out--permanently!

Barnstable rose from the still body, a trickle of fresh blood dripping down his chin. His eyes gleamed with a strange light as he looked down without compassion at the still body lying at his feet. The energy he'd gained from the follower of Satan would help him survive another week. It would give him time to search for his daughter and to rescue her from the manor, if that was where she was being held a prisoner. There was no doubt in his mind that if Sara was at the manor, she was being held there as a prisoner and not a willing guest.

And it was his fault she'd gone to the manor in the first place. If he hadn't lusted after the blonde girl, Sara wouldn't have made contact with the new owners and fallen into their clutches.

She had better be safe. If anything happened to her, his retribution would be swift and terrible. The Satanists would pay with their lives. He would track them down, one by one, no matter how far they tried to flee. He had immortality on his side; they had the protection of the Devil on theirs.

But first he had to gain access to the manor. He had to know what had happened to Sara.

* * * *

The dark silhouette of Barnstable Manor rose into the night sky as Andrew approached, careful to keep within the shadows of the trees. The bright moonlight illuminated the vast lawns; there would be no chance of slipping in unseen that way. The trees grew close to the back of the buildings, and there were no lights on in that area of the house.

But the defensive screen was still on, working just as effectively as it had on his last visit.

Andrew Barnstable winced with pain, driven back to the shadow of the trees. The pain was unbearable, driving the will from his body. He knew he had to get in, but his mind couldn't force his feet to move forward. The screen was too powerful. There had to be another way in.

He went around to the back of the buildings and silently approached the small door at the rear of the garage. He got within three meters, then encountered the screen again. It was just as strong at the back of the buildings as it had been around the side.

He tried approaching the building from every point of the compass but without success. They were all equally well protected. Maybe the screens were down during the day? They must be, because Sara had got in without any apparent trouble, but daylight was no good to him. It would be fatal for him to try and move around while the sun shone. The rays would kill him, and leave his daughter in the hands of the Satanists to meet whatever the fate they planned for her.

Barnstable saw movement near the manor. A door opened and a solitary figure stepped onto the front terrace. The moonlight gleamed on the barrel of an automatic rifle. He laughed. The weapon would be powerless against him. The only thing effective against a vampire was a wooden stake through the heart, but the Satanists didn't know that he was a vampire and he was after their blood.

The guard stalked around the edge of the terrace, then moved across the lawns to the edge of the lake. His flashlight moved randomly around the gardens. He didn't see the shadowy figure standing in the trees watching him.

Barnstable saw him yawn, then walk to the distant gate.

Silently he followed, waiting for the moment to strike. If he were unable to reach the Satanists inside the manor, he would make the manor's grounds a No-Man's Land at night.

The young guard was the first of his victims, but others would follow. He knew the sudden flush of dead bodies around the manor would attract police attention, especially when they turned up drained of blood, but he suspected the Satanists wouldn't want the police ferreting around the manor in search of clues, so would try and hide the sudden deaths from the authorities.

He left the guard's dead body near the main gate so that Armitage would find it the next morning--a warning of things to come.

 CHAPTER 9: The Press Grows Interested

Louis Armitage tried hard to suppress the news of the sudden spate of deaths around Barnstable Manor, but it was impossible to stop the gossip from reaching the city. He had been able to cover the death of the first guard because that had occurred on the estate. The gardener and his assistant had found the body near the gate early in the morning and taken it back to the manor without calling the police. They knew the police would be the last people Armitage would want snooping around the estate. He was happy they had acted in his interests, then told them to go and dig a hole behind the vegetable garden and dispose of the body. The guard was buried as mysteriously as he had died, without ceremony or advice to the authorities. The guard had been from the city and he seldom visited the village so his absence wasn't noticed. His residential address still showed on the electoral records as the last rooming house he had been in before moving to Barnstable, so there was nothing to link him with the manor.

The second death was impossible to hide.

* * * *

Andrew Barnstable had hidden at the edge of the trees, waiting for the next person to leave the estate. It had been the Armitage chauffeur who had to take a visitor back to the village. Barnstable watched him drive through the gates, then changed into his bat alter ego. The driver hadn't seen the bat following the car. If he had, he wouldn't have appreciated the horrible significance of that creature of the night. There were a lot of bats in the numerous outbuildings at the manor, leaving the buildings in swarms each evening, the ceaseless pinging of their built-in radar drowning out the noises of the insects. Strangely, no bats appeared to live in the main building.

The driver stopped at a large house at the edge of the village. He helped his passenger out of the car and onto her front porch. He didn't see the back door to the car open and a shadowy shape slip in. He drove back toward Barnstable Manor, whistling tunelessly to himself, happy he had made his last trip for the night. All the visitors had now left the manor, so he would be able to lock-up the cars and retire to his room. It was annoying to have to hang around waiting for Armitage's guests to leave. They always came as a group, why couldn't they return home with the people who brought them?

Most of them did that, but there was always the odd uncooperative one who insisted the world revolved around them. His latest passenger was always cantankerous and a pain in the butt. She seemed to deliberately wait until her ride left, then decide it was time for her to leave, usually less then ten minutes later. Tonight had been an exception and she was the last to leave, more than an hour after the others. He wondered what had made her stay, shrugged his shoulders and settled back more comfortably into his seat. If she wanted to stay behind and bore her host to death, that was Armitage's problem, not his. At least she hadn't moaned and groaned all the way into town like she usually did, just remained huddled down in the spacious back seat as they drove through the dark back to her house.

The chauffeur didn't realize he had a new passenger until it was too late. He screamed once as the teeth fastened around his neck, then the car crashed into the ditch a mile short of the manor gates.

The police found it there the next morning, on its roof in a puddle of stagnant water. The driver was very dead, but there was no obvious sign of the cause of the accident. The car didn't seem to have suffered any major mechanical damage or to have been involved in a collision with another vehicle. The tire tracks supported this impression, but raised their own questions. They were driving in a straight line, then there was a sudden wobble for a few meters and the course changed as the car drove for a short while along the edge of the ditch before rolling over on to its roof. There didn't appear to be any attempt to correct the car's hazardous course.

There was nothing Armitage could do other than to admit that the driver was an employee of his and had been taking a visitor home. The police asked no other questions, the death reported as "unexplained, pending further investigation." They refused to release the body for burial until it had been cleared by the Coroner's Office and that, they estimated, would take about four days.

* * * *

The incident report passed over Alex Anderson's desk at theWestern Chronicle . He was mildly interested. A motor accident in Barnstable was unusual, but hardly front page. It was relegated to a small paragraph with other rural news items, to be read avidly by the rural population, but ignored by the vast majority of city readers.

The next morning there was another incident report, a bit more unusual.

An elderly woman had been found dead inside her own home, the same woman who had visited the manor the previous night, but this wasn't known or recorded in the incident report. There was no evidence of a break-in, yet she had been killed after an obvious struggle. She had been found on the floor beside her bed, entangled in the bedclothes. There was a look of horror on her face, her own blood splattered over her nightdress but insufficient to account for her death. There were no apparent traumatic injuries or external causes of death. All the entrances to the house were secured from the inside, with double locks and security chains on the front and back doors. The only thing open had been a fanlight in an upstairs window and that had been secured by a safety catch that held it no more than fifteen centimeters open, nowhere near big enough to admit an intruder.

This was more like the news the editor was looking for to run in theChronicle . It had the makings of a sensational story that would make the national papers.

"Get out there immediately," the editor told Anderson when he placed the incident report on his desk. "I want to be first with this one. It's in our own back yard and I don't want to be beaten to it by the smart-ass city media. Dig up all you can on the old woman. I want to know her contacts, her interests, and her position in the community. I want to know where she was in the hours before she died. Find out if she had gone to visit anybody that evening or had she spent the night at home. Speak to her neighbors and find out who her visitors were and then try and talk to them. See if they can dish up any dirt on her."

"But the police--" Anderson started to protest.

"To hell with the police. I know they'll do an investigation, but I want you to be first. Maybe somebody had a key to her flat and, if that is so, then that person could be the potential killer. Find out."

Anderson was glad to carry out the editor's instructions. Any excuse to return to Barnstable was good news.

The incident was near Barnstable Manor. That would give him a chance to talk again with Lisa. Her blonde beauty still haunted him. He had made love to her in his dreams many times since he'd last seen her, but that would never be as good as actually seeing her again.

The village was a hotbed of gossip by the time Anderson got there. He stopped again at the store to fill up with gas. Old man Tarrant had to serve him himself this time.

"Where's your assistant?" Anderson offered by way of conversation.

"I don't know," Tarrant said grumpily. "He left me just after you were here last time, to take a job at the manor. I haven't seen him since."

"What is his name?"

"Damion Travis."

"My God," Anderson muttered, aghast. "There was a Damion Travis killed in the city earlier this week. He was found dead near the wharves. The police suspect murder, but have been unable to find the cause of death or the location of the actual murder. He appeared to have bled to death, but there was no pool of blood around the body when it was found, so they suspect he was killed somewhere else and his body was dumped where he was found."

"If that had occurred around here, then I would say that the Curse of the Barnstables had returned to haunt us again," Tarrant muttered.

He would say no more, no matter how Anderson tried to pump him for information.

"Anything else strange been happening around here?" Anderson eventually asked in exasperation.

"Local school teacher has disappeared. Her friend came back from her holiday to find their flat empty at the schoolhouse. No note, no clothes taken. The only thing missing is her motorbike."

"What was her name?"

"Sara Barnstable."

"Christ, I don't believe it," Anderson gasped. "This is too much of a coincidence."

"What is?" Tarrant demanded.

"A motorbike and clothes belonging to a Sara Barnstable were found not far from where Damion Travis's body was found."

"I think you had better speak to the police."

"I intend to. There are just too many coincidences."

"Even more than you think," Tarrant said sadly. "The woman who was found murdered in her house--"

"Which is the reason I'm here this time," Anderson interrupted.

"--has been seen going to and from Barnstable Manor on several occasions in the past. It could be a coincident, but the accident to the Barnstable vehicle happened between her house and the manor on the night before she was found dead," Tarrant finished, as if he hadn't heard Anderson's interjection.

"Surly you're not suggesting they're linked?" Anderson gasped.

"I'm suggesting nothing, but they seem too close together to be unrelated." Tarrant hurried back into the store.

* * * *

Sergeant Bertram, the head of the local police, agreed. There were too many coincidences for comfort. The motor accident could possibly be explained away, the other death couldn't. Now this pesky reporter was suggesting linking the body found in the city with the manor. It was possible Damion Travis was involved with Sara Barnstable, but if so, how did her gear get to be in the city next to where the body of the dead man had been found, and where the hell was she now?

Speaking with Sara's friend did little to clarify the issue. If anything, the muddy waters became even muddier.

"There were no close personal links between Damion and Sara, Sergeant, I'm willing to stake my life on that," Janice Newlove insisted.

"How can you be so sure, Miss Newlove?" Sergeant Bertram asked, surprised at the passion in the young woman's voice.

"Sara was not into boys, Sergeant. Never had been and swore she never would be."

"How can you be so sure?"

"We were not only flat-mates, Sergeant, we were also lovers. She had no time for men and neither did I. We were enough for each other. We needed no other satisfaction."

"Then what the hell were her things doing in the city?"

"I don't know. She hardly ever went there unless it was related to her work, and those trips were always during the day. She would drive there early in the morning and always returned at night. She didn't like spending time away from the flat."

"Because of you?"

"I suppose that was part of her reason, but I think there was something else. I had a feeling she was meeting somebody else some evenings, but always in private and she never talked about them."

"Another lover, perhaps?" the sergeant asked sarcastically.

Janice ignored the innuendo.

"I don't think so. She never seemed sexually excited or fulfilled after these meetings, just happy."

"Surely a session with another lover would make her happy?" Anderson chipped in.

"It wasn't that sort of happiness," Janice said with a sad smile. "It was more like she had been with somebody she loved, but in a platonic way, like a relative or old friend. I should have been more interested and tried to get more information from her about these meetings, but I didn't want her to think I was jealous."

"What exactly did they find in the city, Sergeant?" Anderson asked, changing the subject back to Damion Travis. The incident report had not been too specific about the items found near the dead man's body.

"Her motorcycle was in the street outside the park where Travis was killed, Miss Barnstable's clothes were in the bushes nearby. Her panties had slight bloodstains on them, but we're waiting to see if the blood was from her or not. They were found some distance away as if they had been tossed aside as a person walked away from the scene."

"The blood can't be from Travis, if the report is correct. It sounded like he had no blood left to splatter over her clothes," Anderson muttered.

"Sara would not be likely to drop her clothes in the park and go wandering around the city buck naked," Janice added. "Even if she had taken a change of clothes with her, why would she leave the old ones in the park?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea," the sergeant said. "It isn't logical, but then neither are two bodies without blood. Are you sure Miss Barnstable wouldn't have gone into the city for any reason?"

"I don't know, but it would be most unlikely. Sara knew when I would be back. I was concerned not to find her here when I got home."

"Why concerned?"

"I'd rather not say, Sergeant," she murmured.

"I think you should tell me everything you know, Miss Newlove. It might help us find your friend. Why were you concerned?"

Janice looked at him, doubt showing in her eyes. Should she tell the sergeant everything she knew, or should she be more circumspect? She decided to talk.

"There were a couple of young jail-bait aged girls in her school who thought they were lesbians. They were only twelve years old, just mature enough to feel the growing demands of their budding young bodies. They didn't know enough about growing up to know what was causing these changes, but they wanted to find out. They suspected there was more going on between us than appeared on the surface. They wanted to join us, openly hinting that they wanted to try new experiences. She agreed with me that it was far too dangerous. We were consenting adults and, while people might frown at us in disapproval, we weren't breaking the law. If we encouraged the young girls to join us, we would be at their mercy. One squeal from them and we would be history. One was from a very church-orientated family. She worried me more than the other."

"Why?"

"Her father is very hot-tempered. You know him, he's already been in trouble with the law for beating up a young teenage boy he found sitting beside his daughter in their darkened lounge when he and his wife returned home early from choir practice. The girl's blouse was open and the boy was toying with her naked breasts. I hear her skirt was hitched up to her waist, but at least she still had her panties on. God knows what would have happened if the girl had been naked."

"I remember the case and I can see why you didn't want to get involved. He would be even less understanding if he found his daughter being abused by her female teacher. Not many people would accept that, I suppose," the sergeant muttered.

"I was concerned that, given enough provocation, he might be driven into taking the law into his own hands," Janice muttered. "He's hot-tempered enough to kill somebody if he flies into a real rage."

"I agree, and that assault charge was not his first. He has others related with excess use of alcohol, which was unusual for a church elder."

"Why?" Anderson asked. "Righteousness doesn't always equate with sobriety."

"Was he any relative of Damion Travis?" the sergeant asked.

"I don't think so. I've heard Sara speak of Travis. She told me he was not a local but had moved out from the city less than two years ago. Sounded a bit of a creep. Talks openly of Devil worship, and that sort of trash. Likes to try and impress people that he has an important future in Barnstable, when really he'll never be anything other than a common laborer. Sara didn't like calling in at the store if Travis was on duty and would try to wait until old Mr. Tarrant was there on his own. At least you got service and civility from him, which is something Damion didn't know about."

"Do you know if any of that Devil worship sort of thing goes on around here?" Sergeant Bertram asked her, his curiosity aroused.

"Not that I know off. We kept pretty much to ourselves, it's safer that way. Didn't have much time for dabbling with the Devil, we had other things on our minds. That sort of garbage leaves me cold."

* * * *

Alex Anderson looked at the barman in surprise. Sara's first visit to the manor was common knowledge in the village, although it hadn't yet come to the Inspector's ears. She had been seen entering the manor by a hunter stalking quail in the trees opposite the front gates. Later he had followed the quail into the bushes that grew against the western boundary of the manor. The poacher had heard the giggles and squeals in the pavilion, but he'd been too scared to approach any closer for a look. The last time he'd got on the wrong side of the Barnstable walls he'd been trapped up a tree by the vicious guard dogs that constantly roamed loose at night between the wall and the perimeter fence. Now he set his snares during the day, making sure his presence wasn't detected and he was well clear before the sun set.

He'd heard two different voices inside the building, but he wasn't sure who they were. There was only one thing of which he was certain, the voices belonged to two young women, and they were enjoying themselves with each other. That much was obvious from the giggles and squeals coming from the building.

"Of course, the teacher would be one of them," the barman said confidently.

"How can you be so sure?" Anderson asked.

"She's as butch as they come," the barman avowed solemnly. "She's living with another lesbian, and their affair is the talk of the school. I hope for her sake she doesn't try it on with any of the kids."

Anderson's reporters training took over completely.

He could smell a story, even though he didn't like the idea that Lisa could be a part of it. Still, he had sensed her suppressed sexuality and had hoped he would be able to help he widen her horizons. Maybe the Barnstable girl had got there first, and opened the gates far wider than he would have liked to do. It didn't effect the growing attraction he felt toward Lisa. It just meant he would have to work harder to bring her back into the fold of heterosexuality. Maybe she was just bisexual, not totally into lesbianism. Maybe he would have to start off sharing her with another woman, but only time would tell.

What about Sara Barnstable, and where did she fit into the picture?

Janice Newlove reiterated what she'd told Sergeant Bertram. There had been no mention of Lisa Armitage or of Barnstable Manor before she went on holiday. Anderson questioned these omissions.

"She never mentioned any girl called Lisa," Janice insisted. "Up to the time I left, and that was only two weeks ago, there was no indication there might be another woman in her life, except for the two young school girls I told you about earlier. If there had been another woman involved, I'm sure I would have known. Sara might have been tempted to bring her into the fold for a threesome. I'm equally sure I never heard her mention the manor, other than in passing. We'd driven past it often together, yet she had never shown any interest in it, or in the occupants."

"A bit of a coincidence in names," Anderson muttered.

"Yes, I've mentioned that before, but she always clamed up when I spoke of the Barnstable name. I asked her, jokingly, once if she was related to the original family that opened up this valley, and she damned near bit my head off. I got the impression she was proud of being a Barnstable, but refused to think about any links with the former owners of the estate."

"Then why would she be visiting it at night?" Anderson mused.

"Especially if her motorbike was found the next morning abandoned in the city…"

"With some items of her clothing," Anderson interrupted. "There's something very strange going on here. Barnstable is such an isolated place. Three deaths and a missing person within a week are more than a coincidence. There has to be a common denominator, I must try and find it."

"Isn't that what the police are being paid to do?" Janice said.

"True, and I'm being paid to get a story. If I can get into print before my competitors get a sniff of what's happening, the more my editor will like it. If he's impressed enough, I might get a bonus."

"Capitalist," Janice snorted in disgust. "You're only interested in the money. You don't care about the people involved. What about Sara?"

"And Lisa," Anderson answered. "I want to find them both."

"But Lisa isn't missing, is she?"

"The inspector never noticed any young blonde woman at the manor when he went to tell Armitage his visitor had been killed under mysterious circumstances in her own bedroom inside her locked house. The poacher who heard the two women in the pavilion also mentioned to the barman he hasn't seen the young blonde wandering around the grounds since that day. He's seen the old woman who had been her constant companion wandering about on her own, but no sign of Lisa."

"That sounds strange. I wonder where she could be."

"That's what I intend to find out," Anderson said grimly.

 CHAPTER 10: A Disturbing Idea

The village was abuzz with excitement. The normal tranquility had been shattered by a series of events more traumatic than most residents could remember, no matter how far their links with Barnstable went back in time. First there had been the car accident and the death of the driver from Barnstable Manor. Few people knew him personally, but everybody knew he worked for the manor. That unexpected event had been followed almost instantly by the murder of the old recluse who lived in a rambling old house on the outskirts of the village.

That had been surprise enough, but now they had a new mystery--that surrounding the young school teacher. She had vanished at the same time Damion Travis had been found murdered in the city. Surely the two events must be linked because her discarded clothes had been found near his body. To most the link was inexplicable because they knew the young women preferred others of her own sex rather than male companions, so she would not have gone with Travis willingly to the city. But if not willingly, then why had she been there at all? Was it just a coincident or was there something more sinister behind her disappearance?

The last few days had stirred up so much interest from the outside world that it had put them on the national stage, the first time any of the present inhabitants of Barnstable could remember being in the limelight, and for some that memory went back a long, long time.

Fortunately, the news hadn't yet brought in the flood of reporters and photographers who usually followed sensational events around the country. They'd followed the ritual before on television when it affected other towns; the endless snooping by the reporters and the prying cameras delving into where they weren't wanted. So far there had been only one reporter, and he was really a local boy who had come home. After all, Alex Anderson had been born in the village, and that gave him a right to be here. He was also more circumspect than the pushy journalists they had watched on TV.

Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to hush it all up and take some of the heat out of the situation.

Alex Anderson wasn't so sure.

He had heard the hope that the news could be played down, but he could promise nothing. The deeper he delved into the string of events, the more concerned he became at some of the implications.

Dr. Gilberthorpe, the local physician, had been the first to sow the seeds of doubt in his mind. He'd tried to act blasé when Anderson spoke with him, but it had been obvious he was worried. He didn't want to expand on his short statement that all the dead had died of natural causes.

"Then why are you holding their bodies for postmortem examinations, doctor?" Anderson asked.

"It's the law, young man."

"I beg to differ, doctor," Anderson said quietly. "It's only the law if the deceased died in suspicious circumstances. I would agree with that applying to the old woman, but surely the same couldn't be said of the chauffeur from Barnstable Manor. Wasn't his death the result of a motor accident?"

"It was a traumatic death, and as such qualifies for a postmortem."

"Are you sure that's the only reason?"

"Of course I am," Dr. Gilberthorpe blustered.

"Then you would have no objection if I viewed the bodies?" Anderson asked quickly.

"What are you, young man?" the doctor snapped back. "A ghoul?"

"No. A reporter, and my gut feeling is telling me you're trying to hide something important, maybe something that links all these strange events together."

It was only a shot in the dark, but it appeared to thrown the doctor off his stride.

"What utter nonsense…" he started to bluster, trying to regain his equilibrium.

"Then let me see the bodies, before they are sent to the city for the postmortems," Anderson interrupted, his voice trying to remain calm, as if what he was asking was a normal request from a reporter to a doctor.

Anderson could see the old doctor was wavering.

"I won't tell anyone I have seen the bodies," Anderson muttered, pressing home his advantage. "I promise I won't make any mention of anything I see in my articles."

"Can I trust you?"

"Of course you can."

"Then come with me," Dr. Gilberthorpe murmured, heading for the back of his surgery where the bodies were being held pending the arrival of the ambulance to take them to the city morgue.

The bodies lay side by side, covered by plain white sheets. The doctor pulled the sheets back. Two still white shapes stared blankly upward.

"They look very pale," Anderson muttered. "I never knew bodies went so white in death."

"They don't," the doctor snapped tensely. "These two are different. I've done a preliminary examination on both of them. They have been bled dry."

"What," Anderson gasped. "There was no mention of that in the police incident reports I saw. If they had bled so much, surely the death scene would've been awash with gore. Don't human bodies have several pints of blood in their veins?"

"Yes, they do, and with that much blood missing the two sites should have been awash, but they weren't," Dr. Gilberthorpe muttered. "There was hardly any blood around. A few stains on the clothing of the car accident victim and a fair bit on the clothes of the old woman, but nowhere near enough to account for her totally drained body."

"The water could have washed the blood from the motor accident scene, but wasn't the other death inside?"

"Yes, inside a locked house. And in a room with a plush pile carpet so the killer would not have been able to remove all traces of the gore unless he had time to lift and shampoo the whole carpet."

"And he wouldn't have had time for that, if the police prognostications are correct," Alex muttered.

"No time at all," the doctor agreed. "If he had tried to wash them on site, they would have still been soaking wet, but they were dry and fluffy. They had not been shampooed for a long time. There should have been huge bloodstains in that room, not the just minor ones found on the woman's clothes."

"Any suggestions, doctor?" Anderson muttered, a bewildered look on his face.

"None."

"Any sign of other wounds that could have caused the extensive bleeding necessary to drain the bodies?"

"None."

"Would you mind having another look, just to satisfy my curiosity," Anderson asked.

Dr. Gilberthorpe glared at him, then moved reluctantly back to the table. Starting at the feet, he worked his way up each body until he reached the head. Anderson's younger eyes noticed slight matting of the hair at the side of the old woman's neck, just below her ear that had been missed by the doctor.

"What caused that matting of the hair, doctor?" he asked, pointing to the affected area.

"Damned if I know," the doctor muttered, letting his fingers gently part the hair. He gasped. Immediately below the matted hair were two neat puncture holes, set about seventy-five millimeters apart and two millimeters in diameter.

"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered in surprise, staring down at them.

"What are they?" Anderson asked.

"I don't know. If they were closer together, they could almost pass as a snake bite, but we don't have any poisonous snakes in this area."

"And snakes don't drink blood," Anderson said. "How about the other body?"

There were identical marks on the other body, almost in the same place.

"Most unusual," Dr. Gilberthorpe muttered, scratching his head.

"I think those puncture wounds need further investigation," Anderson muttered. "Mind if I take some photographs and take them back to the city?"

"You can't print such pictures in your paper," the doctor gasped, a horrified look spreading rapidly across his face.

"I don't intend to. I just want to get them compared to any wounds that may have been found on Damion Travis's body. Maybe the city police have some idea of what could cause wounds like these. They attend many more traumatic deaths than our local constabulary."

Reluctantly the doctor agreed to his strange request. He even helped him by holding the lights so he could get better pictures of the unusual wounds.

* * * *

Superintendent Murchison shook his head as he looked down at the prints laid across his desk. Anderson had blown them up into twenty-five-by-twenty-centimeter enlargements, the wounds showing clearly, and life size. They were like nothing he'd ever seen before. The enlargements showed the wounds were circular in shape and had been punched deep into the flesh, the edges smoothly indented. Whatever had been used to penetrate the skin had been clean and sharp, without any jagged edges. Both wounds were exactly the same circumferences and, in each victim, identical distances apart. It was too much of a coincidence for it not to have been administered by the same weapon.

But what was that weapon, and why wasn't there a flood of blood around the neck? There should have been because both injuries had been inflicted right above the aortic artery. The blood should have pounded through the opening, yet there was little sign of any dried blood around the wounds or in the clothing worn by the victims.

"What do you make of it, Superintendent?" Anderson asked.

"I don't know, Alex," he muttered. "They're most unusual wounds. I must ask the pathologist for his comments."

"Then how about asking him if Damion Travis was injured the same way?" Anderson asked quietly.

"Why?"

"Just suspicious, I guess," Anderson muttered. "There have been too many strange coincidences already linked to Barnstable, and I wouldn't be surprised if there were more still to be revealed. After all, Travis did come from Barnstable. The motorbike and clothing found not far from his body also came from Barnstable and earlier that night they had still been in Barnstable. A bit much to have been a casual train of events, don't you think?"

Superintendent Murchison looked at him for a long time without speaking. Silently he reached for a telephone, dialing an internal number and waiting for a reply, still without speaking.

"Get me the morgue," he barked into the receiver when the ringing tone stopped.

"Murchison here, Dr. Polanski," he said when he was put through to the morgue. "Have you done the autopsy on the body of Damion Travis?"

"Not yet, super," a voice carried to Anderson through the handset held away from Murchison's ear.

"Don't go anywhere. I'm on the way. I want you to have a look at some photographs."

* * * *

Jim Polanski stared in bewilderment at the photographs handed to him.

"What are they?" he asked.

"Wounds on the two recent deaths at Barnstable, both being treated as homicide."

"Cause of death?"

"Unknown, but could these wounds have been a contributory cause?"

"What do you mean?"

"According to Dr. Gilberthorpe, both the bodies were drained of blood. There were no other wounds that penetrated the skin. So these puncture wounds were the only way for the blood to escape from the bodies."

"But there's no trace of blood on the skin surrounding the wound," Polanski objected.

"Dr. Gilberthorpe also raised that point," Anderson muttered. "He felt there should have been a large puddle of blood beside each body."

"Not necessarily where they were found, but definitely where they were killed." Polanski muttered.

"One was found dead inside a locked house. There were insufficient blood stains anywhere in the house that would account for the total loss of blood," Anderson told him.

"Impossible, but true," Murchison added grimly.

"You mentioned Travis," Polanski muttered. "What's the link?"

"He also came from Barnstable, and we know he was still in the village several hours before his body was found in the city. The motorbike and woman's clothing found near the body belonged to a young woman missing from Barnstable, and she had been seen in the village earlier in the afternoon that Travis died, so she must have been in the village for at least a good part of that day. I want you to check his body for similar wounds."

"I'll do a quick check of the surface while you're here, then do the internal organs later," Polanski said, walking to the neat rows of draws that held the dead waiting investigation.

Anderson breathed a sigh of relief. He was glad the cutting was to wait until after they had gone. He could see the neat rows of saws and knifes in their stainless steel trays. They looked harmless there. He wasn't sure how he would react if he had been expected to stand by while they were used to dissect Travis before his eyes. The room was painted a pale shade of green; he suspected his complexion would have more than matched it as the postmortem continued.

"My God," Polanski muttered, looking down at the body under the harsh lights of the theatre table. "This man's too pale. I'd be willing to gamble he has no blood either."

"Are you sure?" Murchison asked.

Polanski reached down with a scalpel and cut a blood vessel in the back of Travis's arm, pressing the flesh around the cut to try and force blood from the severed vein.. No fluid seeped from the wound.

"Satisfied!"

"Check his neck," Anderson suggested.

Polanski moved the longish dark hair aside. Under the left ear were two puncture wounds identical to those showing in the photographs he had brought from Barnstable.

"Well, I'll be damned," the doctor muttered.

"Suggestions?" Murchison snapped.

"None. This is totally outside the scope of my knowledge and experience, super. I would suggest you send tissue samples and photographs to the forensic laboratory at the University."

"Can I take them for you?" Anderson offered. "I'd like to take the opportunity to discuss the case with Professor Hazzler. He's dabbled with a few strange things in the past. Professor Hazzler is an old friend of our family."

"Hazzler," Murchison mused. "I've heard that name recently. I think he wrote an article for the Police Gazette. What's his department?"

"Parapsychology."

"That's him. Propounded an interesting theory of parallel dimensions of thought and action that occasionally touched to provide a violent reaction if the conditions were not in perfect alignment. What would he know about sudden, violent death?"

"He has many other interests, outside his work," Anderson said with a smile. "As a child, I can remember him speaking of strange rituals practiced by ancient peoples that had been carried forward into the present time. I seem to recall him speaking of one sect which, in a time of extreme drought, reverted to the draining of blood from corpses as sustenance for the living."

"Strange rituals indeed, but hardly applicable in the twentieth century," Superintendent Murchison muttered.

"I don't know. Remember… we now have three bodies that have been totally drained of their blood," Polanski reminded the superintendent. "Something or someone drained them. There was no major blood deposit at any of the crime scenes, so it has to have gone somewhere."

"You check it scientifically, Polanski," Murchison growled. "There has to be a scientific basis to all of this. You check it out with the professor, Alex. I hope the doctor finds an answer before you do."

 At least it would keep the press off my back , he mused, as he watched Anderson hurry from the morgue. It would be a red herring, but it would keep him busy for a few hours while the police carried on with their work of tracking down the killer, or most probably killers!

 CHAPTER 11: The Circle Of Death

Professor Hazzler was not at the University when Alex Anderson called to see him the next day. He had been called away to a conference in the Capital, and the receptionist didn't expect him back until later that evening. Still, she called the department and told them the professor had a visitor with an important message from the police. His assistant came down to reception and collected the sealed envelope Anderson had brought containing the photographs. He promised to hand them to the professor as soon as he returned to his office. Anderson knew the Professor's home address, but he decided against calling him there. He would need time to get home and look at the pictures first, but it would be a long and frustrating wait. The information he sought was important, but it wasn't that urgent that it couldn't wait a few more hours, and he didn't want to be driving back to the village in the middle of the night.

He could have stayed overnight at his own flat, but he wanted time to think. What better place to do that than back in Barnstable, surrounded by the weird vibes and tensions that were building around the story? The drive back to Barnstable was long and lonely, but it gave Anderson time to think. He should have been concentrating on how he would present his final draft to his editor, but his mind kept wandering back to the blonde and beautiful Lisa.

He was concerned for the safety of the Barnstable girl, and much more so than he would have been for any other missing person. His worry about Lisa was much more personal. He was strongly attracted to her. She was beautiful and he couldn't even think about her without a stirring between his thighs. He'd never felt this way about any other girl. There had been many casual relationships in the past, with some ending between the sheets, but all stopped before there was any mention of walking up the aisle.

Lisa was different. There was something about her that tugged at his heart even though he knew nothing about her. Armitage claimed she was his niece, yet she bore little resemblance to him. If she really was related, the links must be very remote, possibly several generations apart. Not that he ever really worried about families. If he ever got married, he wouldn't be interested in the woman's family, just the woman herself.

 Damn it, I must control this yearning , he growled to himself. The young and lovely blonde Lisa was becoming a fixation, and he mustn't let his growing feelings for her affect his handling of the Barnstable story. It was the biggest thing that had fallen on his plate, especially if the half-images floating through his mind turned out to be correct. He hoped he was wrong, but Professor Hazzler was the only person he knew who could either confirm or deny his suspicions.

They were confirmed sooner than he expected.

The telephone rang in his room while the moon was still rising over the distant hills. The professor was on his way to Barnstable. He was bringing his assistant, and they would be there first thing the next morning. Surprisingly, he was also bringing Superintendent Murchison.

* * * *

It was a very serious Professor Hazzler who faced his audience at the local police station. The men from the city had been joined by Sergeant Bertram and Dr. Gilberthorpe, the last two looking a trifle bemused. Why this sudden influx of people from the city? What could be so interesting about the two deaths, even if they were rather close together and one was very obviously a murder?

Ian Burrows busied himself pinning photographs to the blackboard behind them, while the professor rapped the table to get their attention.

"You are most probably wondering why I'm here," he said, his voice very serious. "So am I. Alex Anderson left me some pictures. When I opened the envelope, I didn't believe my eyes. I was seeing things I had hoped never to see again, especially in this country. I hoped he was wrong and that there was some simple scientific cause for what had occurred, both here and in the city. Unfortunately, I could find no scientific explanation, simple or complex, or anything else that could logically explain the sudden and mysterious deaths. I visited the morgue and did a personal examination of Damion Travis's body. I hoped I would find the pictures were wrong, maybe I was even hoping they were forgeries, but my results confirmed those of Dr. Polanski."

"Dr. Gilberthorpe confirms the pictures of the bodies in Barnstable were taken in his presence. There can be no doubting their veracity. Not that I doubted your integrity, Alex," he added, turning to look at Anderson. "But I had to be sure you had taken them yourself, and not received them from some other person who could have tampered with them to make them show what wasn't, in reality, there. There can be no doubt that what was photographed had actually happened."

"Please take a careful look at the photographs," the professor invited his silent audience.

They turned to stare at the photographs pinned to the notice board. Under each photo was an enlargement showing just the puncture wounds and the immediate area of the neck around them. They had all been blown up to the same size.

"Each of the enlargements have been increased to three times the actual size of the wounds," Hazzler said, his voice grim. "You will see they are all exactly the same diameter and the gap between the puncture marks is identical."

His silent watchers nodded.

"There can be no doubt that all three victims were attacked by the same killer; the bites are identical."

Anderson paled. His suspicions had been right.

"Bites, what bites?" Murchison spluttered.

"The bites that killed the three victims," Hazzler said grimly.

"Nothing has a bite that large," Gilberthorpe muttered. "Not even the largest snake… and where was the blood? If they had been killed by those bites, there would have been blood, and a hell of a lot of it to drain their bodies."

"Not necessarily," Hazzler said sadly. "Not if the blood was drained from their bodies at the same time as the bite. A vampire leaves no blood."

"A vampire," Murchison gasped. "But they are things from horror stories; this is the twentieth century. You don't have vampires in our modern world."

"So I had thought and hoped, but some research I did after seeing the photographs indicated that this is not so," Hazzler said. "Those are the classic marks of a vampire's bite, as recorded down through the pages of history. I hope I'm proved wrong, but all the signs point to the presence of an active vampire around Barnstable."

"Ha," Sergeant Bertram said triumphantly. "In that case, you must be wrong. You also have photographs of Damion Travis. He was killed in the city. He can't have been the victim of the same killer."

"Vampires have the power of flight," Hazzler said softly. "They can change into the body of a bat, flying many miles in search of prey. The city would be well within the killer's reach."

The superintendent looked at him, refusing to accept the evidence that had been presented. There was no scientific proof, no eyewitnesses, to indicate the three deaths were anything other than a weird and unexplained series of murders. They could be related, but that still didn't take them out of the real world and into the realms of fantasy.

"If you're right, and I don't believe you are," Murchison muttered, "why the sudden appearance of three attacks in such a short space of time? None have been recorded before the date of the car accident."

"Maybe there have been others, but the cause of death was simply put down as an unexplained accident," Hazzler suggested.

"I've been here for over thirty years," Dr. Gilberthorpe muttered. "I would have noticed something, especially if bodies brought to me for death certificates had been turning up drained of their blood. I might be a country GP, but I'm not a moron. I would have noticed the unusual aspects of the accidents and alerted the appropriate authorities."

"Have there been any new arrivals in the village--say in the last few weeks--that would account for these attacks?" Hazzler asked.

"None," Bertram muttered. "Not in the last three years, anyhow, and that is how long I've been stationed at Barnstable. We get young people leaving in search of work in the city, but we don't get many new people coming to live in Barnstable."

"How far could a vampire travel during the night, professor?" Anderson asked, a strange glint in his eyes.

"I don't know the exact distance, but I should imagine he could travel many kilometers as a bat. Why do you ask?"

"I have a theory, but I need more facts before I make a total fool of myself. Superintendent, would it be possible to access the police computer records from here?"

"It should be possible. Why?"

"I would appreciate it if you could find out how many deaths there have been with similar indicators--unexplained, violent, yet without the scene afloat with gore."

"How far afield?"

"I don't know. How about all, then we can plot them and see if there's a pattern."

"Over what period of time?" the inspector asked.

"How about twenty years," Anderson suggested. "That should give us enough data to establish a pattern, if one really exists."

The computer report took several hours to reach Barnstable, but when it arrived, the list covered several pages. A series of maps had been pinned to the wall, over-lapping so that they fanned out with Barnstable at the center. The series of little red pins that were used to mark the locations of the unexplained deaths within the parameters they had set were scattered randomly around the country, never very many in any one place. Those from the same area were separated by several months, so there would be little to attract the attention of the local authorities.

Barnstable was the first to have multiple deaths so close together. The three deaths were also the first within twenty kilometers of the village.

"Can we remove the three Barnstable pins, for just a moment?" Anderson asked.

Bertram frowned, but did as he was asked.

"I thought so," Anderson said triumphantly. "It's been a blank area over the years. Nothing unusual has ever happened in or around the village. I wonder why?"

"A hunter in the wild never attracts attention to its lair," Hazzler said grimly.

"What do you mean?" Murchison asked, a note of surprise in his voice.

Hazzler pointed to the red pins. They radiated outwards from the village like the spokes of a wheel, with Barnstable the hub.

"I wonder why there have never been any deaths at Barnstable." Bertram pondered.

"I'm willing to bet that has been a deliberate ploy by the vampire to distract the attention away from his lair, in case anyone became suspicious," Hazzler muttered.

"Then why start now?" Anderson muttered.

"I don't know, and that worries me. There must have been some unusual series of events to make the vampire change his pattern. If you look at the details of those killed, most have been either prostitutes or down-and-outs. There could be others who have simply not been found, vanishing without trace in the larger cities, or written off as victims of maniacal killers. One thing that appears clear is that the vampire can reach outwards in a radius of up to two-hundred-fifty kilometers. Which means he can either fly that far in one night, or he has had to hide out during the day on some occasions."

"You keep referring to the vampire as a he. Surely it could be a woman?" Anderson muttered.

"That is possible, but unlikely, if you check some of the other details," Hazzler said grimly. "In most cases, the female victims were raped just before they were killed. This would indicate a male vampire."

"And a randy bastard, at that," Bertram muttered irreverently.

"I would still like to know what made him suddenly kill in his own back yard," Anderson muttered. "The dates of the other attacks go back for years, then suddenly he throws a wobbly and starts to kill in Barnstable. Why?"

"I wish I knew," Hazzler told him. "Do you know of anything that links the three victims to each other?"

"The two local victims were at Barnstable Manor the night of the first attack, the one on the chauffeur. He had been driving the woman home, she died later that night also. Damion was killed the night before after he traveled to the city for some unknown reason," Murchison told him. "And we still have concerns about the young school teacher who has been missing since the afternoon of the night Damion died."

"I'd like to know what happened at the manor that caused him to flip his lid," Anderson muttered.

"I doubt if we'll ever find out," Hazzler told him. "It's unlikely the vampire will hang around to talk with us, especially when he sees I am determined to end his life."

"You plan to kill him?" Murchison gasped.

"Of course," Hazzler said simply. "He cannot be allowed to live; as long as he does, others will die so that he can feed."

"But it's illegal to commit murder," Bertram muttered in surprise.

"Human law applies to humans, Sergeant, and you can hardly bind a vampire by the constrictions of human justice. Can you imagine trying to hold him a captive in any prison? He would simply switch to his alter ego and fly through the bars before you left his cell. If you kept him in a normal cell during the hours of daylight, exposure to the sun would kill him. No, he must be killed in the traditional way, so that his soul can find eternal peace in death."

"And how do you intend to that?" Murchison asked. "How do you kill something that you claim is unkillable?"

"The same way they did in the old days," Hazzler told him grimly. "A wooden stake driven through his evil heart."

"That could be easier said than done," Murchison mused. "First, you would have to find him; then he would have to hang around while you pinned him down with your wooden stake and drove it into his body. Can't see him hanging around while you do that."

"When we find him, and we must or others will die, we will have to dispose of him during daylight, otherwise he would easily escape from us. However, the most important thing is finding him, and doing that soon before he kills again."

"And we must not feel sorry for him" Anderson muttered. "We have to remember that, in reality, he is already dead to the human race."

"And could have been so for many, many years," Hazzler added grimly. "Vampires have been known to live for hundreds of years in Europe."

 CHAPTER 12: Strange Memories

"It's all very well looking at maps and arriving at decisions," Anderson said, looking around at the group gathered in the police station. "But this is all theory. It's not giving us the answers we need if we're to find the missing women."

"Patience, my young friend," Professor Hazzler. "All will be revealed in good time."

"That's all very well for you to say, but do we have time? Lisa and Sara haven't been seen for several days. They might be dead."

"If they are already dead, then time will make little difference to them," Hazzler said patiently. "If they're not, then a few more hours spent planning might make finding them that much easier and safer. We must be sure of our facts before we act because, if we make any mistake, it could alert our quarry and their lives would be in even greater danger. If my understanding of the situation is correct, we know we have a vampire operating in this area, but just finding and destroying him will not necessarily mean we will find the women."

"I agree, because I don't believe this vampire you speak of could be holding the young women prisoner," Murchison said, looking at the map. "If Barnstable is the center of his patch, as it would appear from these plots on the maps, I can see no place for him to keep them hidden."

"Don't vampires inhabit cemeteries?" Bertram asked.

"In most modern books and stories, that is usually so," Hazzler agreed. "However, they can move freely and cover great distances at night, so I see no reason why the young women couldn't be held in some other locality. From the time of Vlad the Impaler, traditional vampires inhabited castles, with their coffins kept in the castle crypt by their descendants. We don't have castles, and the only building large enough to class as a castle is Barnstable Manor, but I'm sure that is not the correct place to look. Many of these unexplained deaths date back to before the present owner moved into the manor, so I doubt if he has any links with our quarry."

"Bloody wonderful," Murchison muttered. "If he can be as mobile as you suggest, he could have the young women hidden anywhere within two hundred kilometers of here."

"Not really. While the vampire can become a bat and fly, his captives would not have that ability; neither can he lift them in his talons and carry them off because he is no bigger than a fruit bat when he changes to his alter ego, not some gigantic creature from the pen of a fantasy writer. His human captives would be constrained by the limitations of their human bodies unless they have already been changed into vampires themselves, in which case we would be too late to help them. I suggest, if they are still in normal human form, they would have to be within a night's travel from here," Hazzler said, a thoughtful look on his face.

"That could still be many kilometers, especially if the vampire was able to force them to drive him where he wanted to go," Anderson growled. "Could they already be contaminated from his bite?" he added, a worried look on his face at the thought that Lisa could have been changed into a female version of Dracula.

"It is possible, but I hope it hasn't happened yet," Hazzler said. "It has not occurred with his victims in the past. They have been drained dry and killed, not just partly drained and infected. I think we still have to work with the expectation that the two young women are alive, but hidden somewhere around this area within driving distance of the manor."

"That's all we need," Murchison muttered. "A bloody vampire on wheels, but who can also take to the air when he wants to. If he has a car, he could be anywhere."

Hazzler nodded glumly. The search circle would be a very large area, in many areas desolate and not very well traveled. That could be hundreds of caves in the mountains where prisoners could be held undetected for months, and many were also big enough in which to hide a car. It would be a massive task to comb the hills and forests, beyond the scope of the few police available to Superintendent Murchison. It would be easier with the help of the Army, but he could imagine the reaction of the army commander if he was asked for troops to help search for two women kidnapped by a vampire. The superintendent would be laughed off the camp.

"What do we know about the young women?" Hazzler asked.

"Not a lot," Murchison muttered. "I had Records check out the details of all those involved. The girl Sara Barnstable has her father listed as an Andrew Barnstable, whereabouts unknown. Her mother is dead, killed in a freak accident many years ago. Finding out the details of the girl at the manor was more difficult, but we got there eventually. It appears Lisa was an orphan who was adopted by Louis Armitage, the present owner of Barnstable Manor. She was adopted as a very young child and her address was given as the manor. As a point of interest, no school, medical, or welfare records exist for anybody of this name anywhere in the state. The computer threw up a complete blank. It would seem she's never been off the estate since she came here."

"Then that would account for her frustration," Anderson muttered.

"Frustration?" Hazzler asked in surprise.

"I met her once; she was like a powder keg with a slow burning fuse. It would be just a matter of time before she rebelled and fled from the manor."

"Maybe that's what she's done," Bertram suggested.

"Possible, but unlikely," Murchison agreed. "However, we must still presume her missing until we can find evidence to prove otherwise. Interesting point about her birth records at the orphanage. They show her mother's name, but there was no record of a father."

"Is her mother still alive?" Anderson asked.

"Yes, she's at the city psychiatric hospital. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious. I want to know as much as I can about Lisa. She interests me."

"That's obvious," Hazzler murmured. "And I warrant your interest is not just professional."

"I would also like to talk with Lisa's mother," Hazzler said, turning to Murchison. "Can it be arranged?"

"If you think it's important."

"I think it could be. I have a strange feeling about that young woman. I would like to find out more about her past to see if it's having any impact on her present. Why was she suddenly adopted, then whipped into seclusion at the manor? It doesn't seem the normal act of a couple seeking a child."

"It wasn't," Murchison said quietly. "Armitage was unmarried. He paid the former managers of the orphanage a vast sum of money to alter the adoption records. These don't agree with the original application. That first application had been stamped REJECTED, but within a week of the transfer of the funds into their private bank account, the adoption went through. The clerk in the Government Adoption Agency must have felt something was wrong. The original application was not purged during the ten-year review of old records but retained, and filed with the dead records for further investigation. It was found only twelve months ago during another purge of old records. It's now been added to Lisa's file, still waiting to be investigated in more detail."

"Why the hell would he want to forge records to get a child?" Anderson mused.

"There could have been many reasons," Hazzler said. "I just hope that he wasn't a pedophile."

"I'll kill the bastard if he was," Anderson growled angrily.

"We'll worry about that later, Alex," Hazzler told him gently. "First I must speak with the girl's mother. We need to know about Lisa and her background. It is too late to change anything that happened in the past, but we need as much information about her as we can get."

* * * *

Lisa's mother stared at them with fear in her eyes. How did they know about her daughter? How had they tracked her down to the asylum? The orphanage had told her the new parents had demanded complete anonymity. She'd never met them; she'd never even been told their names. Yet now these strangers were here, asking questions about the adoption.

Memories of her past flooded back into her mind, driving back the years of sorrow that had followed the loss of her daughter. The temporary insanity that had followed Lisa's conception had lasted many months after her birth. The authorities had confined her in the institution, then taken her daughter from her "for the girl's own good." Maybe they were right. Maybe she wouldn't have been a good mother, but maybe she would have been. These were only theoretical arguments because she had never had a chance to try and rear her own child.

"How is my daughter?" she asked, her eyes filling with tears as she tried to visualize a young woman she had never seen since she had been taken from her still in diapers.

"She has grown into a very beautiful young woman," Anderson told her, a far-away look in his eyes. "She is a credit to her parents. You will be proud of her. She is a blonde, with fair skin and beautiful blue eyes."

"You're in love with her," Lisa's mother said, more a statement of fact than a question.

"I've only met her once," Anderson protested.

"That doesn't matter, young man," the woman said softly. "I can read your love for her in your eyes. If you didn't feel strongly for her, you wouldn't be here trying to trace her past. Don't try to hide your feelings. I give you my blessings, for what they're worth. Take good care of her, and don't let any harm befall her."

"I'm sure he will do his best to look after Lisa, and we will do everything we can to help him," Hazzler told her gently. "But you're right, we must know her past; it could be an important key to her safety."

"Safety. What has happened? Is she sick… Is she--"

"Please don't disturb yourself," Hazzler said, reaching out a comforting and reassuring hand. "It's just that there have been certain strange events in the valley where she's living. I'm here to try and sort them out."

Lisa's mother went pale and a look of fear crossed her face.

"It's not her fault," she stammered. "She's innocent. You can't blame her for anything that's happened in the valley. She--"

"We don't want to blame her; we want to help her," Anderson interrupted. "Please tell the professor what you know. It could be important."

"Can you tell me who the father is?" Hazzler asked gently.

"No," the woman said, sadly shaking her head.

"Why not?"

"I don't know."

"You must have some idea who you had been associating with at the time," Murchison urged, trying to get the woman to talk.

"I had never seen him before. He was waiting in an alley at night. He dragged me into the dark and raped me. I never saw his face. We were disturbed, and he flew away."

"I'm sorry," Hazzler said, seeing the hurt in the woman's eyes. "Did you see which way he went?"

"He just flew away," she said, pointing upward. "He was disturbed by another couple entering the alley. He swore, then he just flew away."

"Into the sky?" Hazzler said, ignoring the incredulous looks on the faces of the other men.

"Yes. I thought at first I was imagining it, but the picture has never changed. It's haunted me in my dreams, but it's always been the same. He flew away into the early morning sky. The doctors wouldn't believe me. They said I was mad. They have tried to make me change my story, but I will not lie just to please them. I'm not imagining it. The man who raped me flew away."

"I believe you," Hazzler said, his voice suddenly growing calm and determined. "I'll speak to them when this is all over and I'll arrange for your release. You aren't mad. You have spoken the truth about what you saw, but it doesn't surprise me no one would believe you. It is hard to accept as truth something you don't believe in, even if you are wrong in those beliefs."

"What do you mean?" Murchison demanded. "How could her rapist have flown away?"

"The vampire," Anderson interrupted, his voice filled with excitement.

"Yes, our friend the vampire." Hazzler nodded.

"But why rape his victim?" Anderson demanded angrily.

"Most of the female victims marked on the chart had also been raped before their deaths," Murchison reminded him softly so that the woman wouldn't hear him. "Many had been totally striped, others partially, but nearly all of them had been raped."

"Then Mary was both lucky and unlucky," Anderson muttered.

Murchison looked at him quizzically.

"Lucky they were disturbed, so that she lived, but unlucky that the disturbance wasn't earlier so that she could have been saved from her pregnancy," Anderson said. "Mind you, if they had been disturbed earlier, maybe there would have been no Lisa."

Anderson stiffened as a worried look crossed his face. He spun around to face Professor Hazzler.

"If Lisa is the vampire's daughter, could she also become a vampire?" he demanded.

"I don't know for sure, but that would seem highly unlikely," Hazzler told him. "Despite the myths to the contrary, all the written records speak of the curse of vampirism being passed on by the bite of a vampire. Lisa wasn't contaminated by her father's bite. She had only just been conceived, and nowhere is it recorded what happens if a vampire conceives a child. If it has happened in the past, the event has been hushed up. I should think in the old days any child conceived by a vampire would have been put to death from fear and revulsion."

"But what about his genes? Could they have passed on the addiction, or whatever you like to call vampirism? Could it be hereditary?"

"That is a possibility, but it's outside the scope of my knowledge, young man. I know of no research that has been done on this subject. Maybe it's a good topic to follow up when we find the young woman."

"I'll be damned if I'll let you use Lisa as a guinea pig. She's been through enough already. I won't let you put her through any more trauma," Anderson told him, his voice grim.

"Unless we find her soon, we might be too late to stop her captors doing her greater harm," Hazzler muttered.

"Surely you mean captor, professor," Murchison said. "There's only one vampire that we know about."

"True, but I really wonder if he is responsible for kidnapping his own daughter."

"Unless he doesn't know she is his child," Anderson suggested.

"If that's the case, Alex, she would still be in serious danger," Hazzler said.

"Then what are we waiting for. Let's get to hell out of here and start looking for her," Anderson muttered impatiently.

"And where do you intend to start looking?" Murchison asked quietly.

"I don't know, but we can't hang around doing nothing. Why don't we start our search at the manor? That's the last place she was seen, so it seems a logical place to start."

"A good idea," Murchison agreed. "I suggest we get over to Barnstable Manor. It could be a wild goose chase, but at least it will give us an indication if the people in the manor are involved."

"They must be," Alex protested. "There are too many links between what's happened and the manor."

"That is true, but why would Armitage kidnap the young woman he claimed was his own niece?" Murchison muttered. "She was already in his control. It doesn't make any sense."

"Not much about this sorry train of events makes sense," Hazzler said. "I can detect little logic in the way events are unfolding."

"Murders are seldom logical," Murchison said, his voice sounding worried. "These murders are even more illogical than most. At least I'm usually looking for a human cause, not something from the other side of the grave."

 CHAPTER 13: A Truce

Louis Armitage stood with his back to the window, watching his visitors with an expressionless face. He didn't seem to be at all concerned about the death of his chauffeur or the old woman who had been his guest on the night she was killed. News of the death of his employee Damion Travis elicited little response other than a shrug of his shoulders and a wry smile, as if to say "what more can you expect from the youth of today."

When Superintendent Murchison asked him about Sara Barnstable, he simply shrugged his shoulders.

"Yes," he admitted. "The school teacher was here that night. She didn't stay long, just had a few questions she wanted to ask me about the manor."

"What sort of questions?" Murchison asked.

"I can't see what that has to do with you, but I'll tell you anyway. The young woman wanted to bring some of her older students to the manor to, as she put it, ‘get a taste of their local history.’ I wasn't happy with the idea, but agreed to keep my niece happy. For some strange reason she seemed to think it would be a good idea and would lift our profile in the community."

"When did she leave?" Murchison asked.

"Just on dusk, I think. Why do you want to know that?"

"Did she have her bike with her?"

"Of course. She came on that infernal machine and I was glad to see the back of the foul-smelling contraption when she left. Why?"

"Sara Barnstable's motorbike and her clothes were found in the city, not far from where they found Travis's body. There has been no recorded sighting of the young woman since," Murchison told him.

"Most unfortunate, but I'm not responsible for what my staff might get up to in their own time. I presume that you suspect Travis of having something to do with her disappearance?"

"The signs seem to point that way," Murchison agreed.

"Then I suggest you get your men searching in the city until you find her, or what's left of her," Armitage said. "I'm sure her female friends will miss her, even if nobody else does."

"And how is your niece, Mr. Armitage?" Anderson asked, as Armitage turned as if to leave the library.

Armitage tried to ignore the questions, but Alex repeated it, louder the second time.

"My niece is fine, thank you, Mr. Anderson," he said, turning back to face his guests. "She was a bit queasy earlier so her old nurse recommended she rest."

"I would like to talk with her, if that is at all possible," Murchison chimed in. "I understand that she knew Miss Barnstable. She might be able to give us some ideas on where the young woman could have gone."

"I doubt that very much, Inspector," Armitage snapped, his composure slipping slightly for just a few seconds. "While they have met once, they really didn't move in the same social circles. I don't think Lisa would have anything valuable to add to your investigations."

"Nevertheless, I would like to speak to her. You never know what information might have come out during their conversations."

Murchison failed to see the flash of anger that passed over Armitage's face, to be quickly brought under control, but Anderson saw it. He had no way of knowing what had happened between the two young women during Sara's first visit to the manor, or that the reason Sara was missing was her close and intimate sudden friendship with Armitage's niece, but the question had clearly annoyed Armitage.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," Armitage said firmly, his voice and demeanor booking no argument. "Her nurse says she needs to rest, and so she will rest. I'm not going to get her woken up just so you can ask her some stupid questions which she won't be able to answer. Her health must come first, so you will just have to wait until she feels better."

"How long will that be?" Murchison asked politely, inwardly fuming at Armitage's obstructive tactics.

"As long as necessary," Armitage told him, refusing to give any inclination of when he would be prepared to let them talk with his niece. "A day, two days, I don't know. We will just have to wait and see how her illness progresses. I am not a doctor."

At Superintendent Murchison's claim that it was important and a police matter, he laughed openly. If it was such an important police matter, then the superintendent had better go and get a court warrant to subpoena the girl as a witness because until then, he would not let her be disturbed.

Anderson could feel the frustration growing inside him, but it had been joined by other feelings he found much more disturbing. They were deep in his subconscious, but strong enough to make him very worried. Something didn't feel right in the manor. Behind Armitage's apparently calm manner, he could sense much greater tension that had been apparent when he first visited the manor. His voice sounded more strained than it had been when he had talked with him in the library, and there were little tension lines puckering the sides of his mouth and eyes. There was no doubt something was causing Armitage concern, but what was denting the veneer of his confidant and overbearing manner and allowing the cracks to show? Could it just be the presence of the police at the manor, or was there something else behind the bland façade he presented to the outside world? If so, what could that be, because only the guilty dreaded the appearance of police on their doorsteps?

Was Armitage guilty?

If he was, what was the cause of his guilt? Could it have anything to do with Lisa?

And where was Lisa? He didn't believe she was so unwell that Armitage would refuse to call her down to see the Inspector, unless she was no longer in the mansion and he didn't want to admit he didn't know where she was. Had the vampire managed to kidnap her from under Armitage's nose?

Hazzler said nothing until they were in the police car and outside the gates of the manor.

"I don't like this place," he muttered grimly. "All is not as it seems on the surface. I'm alert to psychic vibrations, and the manor is vibrating like the taut strings of an over-tuned violin. They are not good vibrations. There is a sense of great evil emanating from deep within the walls. The whole place reeks of evil, far greater than anything I have been in contact with for many years. I wouldn't like to live in that building."

"Never mind the vibrations," Anderson snapped. "What about Lisa? I don't trust her uncle."

"Neither do I. I think he's hiding something," Murchison agreed.

"Then we are all in agreement," Hazzler said, his brow furrowed in thought. "Armitage isn't what he appears to be on the surface. There's a strange authority about him."

"He's the lord of the manor," Bertram muttered. "He's used to bossing people around. He does it all the time."

"It's an authority far stronger than that of normal temporal command," Hazzler said. "I must think about what my mind is telling me, but which I don't as yet fully comprehend. There is something very wrong at the manor."

"The vampire," Anderson asked.

"No. I don't think so. It's something else, something much worse. I'd forgotten about the vampire, but I'm willing to guarantee he doesn't hide anywhere within those ancient buildings. We must look at the maps again; find another place to start our search."

* * * *

"There," Hazzler said excitedly, as he stood looking at the maps on the wall of the police station. His finger stabbed at a small sign on the map. Anderson squinted, trying to see what was written alongside the symbol in very small print. "Well, young man, what does it say, my eyes aren't as good as they used to be?" Hazzler demanded impatiently.

"It says ‘Ruined Church and Cemetery.’ It's marked as ‘Historic Site,'" Anderson muttered.

"What do you know about that church, Sergeant?" Hazzler asked.

"Not a hell of a lot," Bertram said. "I have heard talk that there's a very ancient church further up the valley. I haven't been there, but they tell me it was abandoned many years ago and is now never visited by the locals and only seldom by visitors."

"An ideal location for a vampire to spend his days," Hazzler muttered. "We must go there tonight, but we must be there before the light has completely faded. I want to have a look around first."

"Surely we should go there in daylight if you want to find the vampire's hiding place and kill him before he escapes," Anderson muttered in surprise.

"That would appear the logical thing to do, I agree," Hazzler said calmly. "But this isn't the time for logic, but the time to take a gamble. I have my reasons, which you will understand better when we arrive there."

"All of us," Murchison asked.

"Not at this time. I'll only take Anderson and my assistant Burrows with me on this journey. It's best that we don't frighten away our vampire."

"Won't he attack us?" Anderson asked nervously.

"We'll be prepared, in case I'm wrong in my ideas, but I don't think we'll be in any danger from the vampire."

* * * *

Anderson wrinkled his nose in disgust. He stunk of garlic. He hated garlic, never touching food that included it in its preparation. Now he was crouching behind a pile of fallen masonry blocks in the old church with a garland of garlic festooned around his neck. The smell was overpowering. It was a funny way to conceal your presence when anybody with even the weakest sense of smell would know you were there, and from many meters away!

He wasn't alone.

Hazzler and Burrows were crouched beside him. They were also wearing garlic garlands, the smell wafting over the lonely graveyard with a greater intensity than an Italian restaurant.

Garlic wasn't the only protection Hazzler had insisted they carry, just in case the vampire acted differently to the way he secretly hoped he would. Each of the three men carried a large silver cross and a small phial of clear water. The professor still hadn't told his companions why he wanted to meet with the vampire, rather than kill him in the traditional way. He hadn't even brought a pointed stake with him, but that was the weapon the vampire hunter's of old always used to dispose of their blood-sucking enemies. This was all very strange and confusing.

Hazzler had walked around the cemetery when they arrived, checking the names on all the graves. He'd smiled grimly, but said nothing. He'd refused to answer any questions. All he would say was that now he was ninety-nine percent certain he'd been right all along. That was most frustrating for Anderson; Burrows seemed to accept it as normal behavior.

The professor had selected a position from which he could watch the graves within the fence surrounding the plot reserved for the ancestors of the Barnstables. While the encroaching weeds strangled the other parts of the cemetery, this area was still neat and tidy considering that the last burial had taken place many years before. Maybe the Barnstables still had admirers in the village, admirers who were prepared to come and keep the family plot tidy. Perhaps some were even distant relations. Was it coincidental that one of the missing girls was a Sara Barnstable? Could she have tenuous family links to the founders of the manor?

The tombs in the Barnstable plot reached to within three meters of the fallen walls of the old church, and were much more imposing structures than those in the other parts of the cemetery, an indication of the family's wealth and status in the community those many years ago. There had been an entry door through the old walls that opened directly into the chancel. The blocks had fallen clear years before, leaving a path that opened directly beside the altar. The path was clear of dust and cobwebs, yet the rocks on either side were gray with a dense wall of webs. Hazzler looked down at his watch, the luminous dial showing it was almost ten o'clock. The last rays of the sun had long since departed, to be replaced by the pale light of a moon not yet out of the first quarter.

"If he's still here, he should be appearing any time now," he whispered. "Take your positions; remember to copy my actions instantly. If you fail to act immediately, our quarry could escape, and we will have lost valuable time in our search for the young women. I'm worried that time is something we don't have a lot of on our side."

The other two men moved silently away, taking up hidden positions at the far side of the fenced area. They effectively formed a triangle around the tomb that had interested Hazzler so much.

The quiet of the night was disturbed by a soft grinding sound, as if two stones were gently rubbing against each other. Anderson wanted to raise his head to see what was happening, but the instructions had been explicit. Keep their heads down until they heard Hazzler's voice.

"Now," Hazzler called suddenly.

Anderson jumped out from his hiding place, holding his cross out in front of him. A tall cloaked figure was facing Hazzler, held at bay by the moonlight reflecting off the silver cross. Burrows had also appeared suddenly, completing the triangle of silver crosses and garlic-festooned figures. The lone figure in the middle of their triangle turned from one to the other, his face showing his anger. He appeared to be held helplessly within the triangle formed by the crosses.

"Where are the women?" Hazzler demanded, advancing toward the cloaked figure, the cross held in front of him.

There was no answer.

"I know you have them. Don't try to deny it. Where have you hidden them?"

"I have no captives," the vampire said, his voice deep and strong, not what Anderson was expecting from something that had been dead for years.

"Then why have you killed your own daughter and her friend?"

"Sara isn't dead," the vampire hissed. "I haven't killed her, but I will kill those who intend to harm her."

"I refer to Lisa," Hazzler said. "I didn't know Sara was also your daughter."

"Nor I that Lisa was mine, as you claim."

"You are Andrew Barnstable, aren't you?" Hazzler asked.

The vampire nodded his head in agreement.

"Then Lisa is indeed your daughter, the result of your interrupted rape of her mother. Her mother is still alive, but her story of her conception has resulted in her incarceration in a mental hospital all these years."

"Two daughters," the vampire whispered. "I did not know. Now they are both in serious danger."

"Surely you won't kill your own children?" Hazzler gasped.

"They are in no danger from me, but from those who hold them captive for their only evil ends."

"Then you don't have them as your prisoners?" Anderson muttered.

"No. I don't hold them captive."

"Do you know where they are?" Hazzler asked.

"Yes. I--"

"Then why don't you rescue them?" Anderson interrupted.

"I would, if I could, but I've been unable to penetrate the psychic screen that surrounds them. It's powerful, protecting the protagonists within by the power of Evil."

"The manor," Hazzler said.

"Yes. They are held within Barnstable Manor."

"I knew it," Hazzler said triumphantly. "I detected strange vibrations when we were there. I wasn't sure of their source, but they appeared to originate from within the building, and they radiated more intense evil then I have ever encountered."

"But why would they want to hold the girls prisoner?" Anderson demanded.

"Their reasons are simple--they seek the power that Evil can bring through their Lord and Master Satan."

"A coven," Hazzler muttered. "I should have suspected something like that, it makes sense."

"Not to me, it doesn't," Anderson growled. "What the hell is a coven?"

"A group of the followers of Satan, gathered together to worship their Master in a perversion of the rites of Christianity. They will number thirteen--"

"Less now," the vampire interrupted. "I have helped break their infernal circle."

"The three mysterious deaths," Hazzler muttered. "Then you weren't feeding that night."

"I feed when I must, but those deaths were revenge for the capture of my daughter Sara."

"It wouldn't work," Hazzler said sadly. "The coven would have had potential neophytes waiting in the wings, ready to take the place of any who left the group for any reason. The circle must never be broken."

"But why would they want captives?" Anderson demanded, his voice harsh as he imagined Lisa in the grip of the forces of the Devil.

"One will be the Bride of Satan…"

"And the other?"

"A blood sacrifice to the Devil," the vampire said grimly. "I don't know which one will fill which position at the ritual, but both will suffer and pay the ultimate price with their young lives. The Bride must be a virgin."

"Then that must surely be Lisa," Hazzler gasped. "She's been held in seclusion in the manor since she was adopted, free from all contact with males in order to preserve her virginity."

"Then Sara will be the sacrifice," the vampire snarled.

"Not if we can help it," Anderson said firmly. "We came seeking your life, now we seem to be on the same side."

"It will not be easy," Hazzler said gently. "We aren't playing a game. The forces of Evil are in a position of strength, within their own stronghold. It--"

"But we must try," Anderson interrupted. "If you won't go in, then I will. I'll--"

"You'll do nothing on your own, my impetuous young friend," Hazzler said with a smile. "You would be easy prey for the forces of Evil. We must act together. It's the only chance we have. The Satanists must be defeated."

"And the vampire?" the vampire asked grimly. "Wasn't that the reason you came to this grave yard?"

"Yes and no. I had my suspicions that all wasn't well at the manor. Your demise was high on my agenda at the start, but it is now secondary to our plans. We must rescue the young women first, then worry about your future. But we will need your help if we are to succeed. The two young women must be rescued. That must remain our paramount aim."

"A truce," the vampire murmured.

"A truce, until the women are safe."

"I never thought I would ever be accepted as an equal by a living human again," Barnstable said. "It is a strange quirk of fate that throws us into this unusual alliance, but I agree with you that the two young women must be saved from the manor. I have kept an eye on Sara for many years. It is because of me she went to the manor in the first place."

"Because of you?" Hazzler asked in surprise. "How was that?"

"I had seen the young blonde woman at the manor and decided to add her to my list of victims, but I was unable to penetrate the screen around the old buildings. I tricked Sara into going in to make friends with her in the hope I could get the young woman outside the protection of the screen."

"But she was your daughter," Anderson protested.

"Remember he didn't know that fact at the time, Alex, otherwise I'm sure our friend would have protected her as much as he did his Sara," Hazzler said.

"I would have, and I shall," Barnstable growled.

Professor Hazzler held out his hand. Andrew Barnstable, the vampire, took it in his in a strange gesture of friendship--hunter and hunted combining in a battle far graver than either had expected to be facing in the tranquil mountains around Barnstable.

 CHAPTER 14: A Strange Visitor

Superintendent Murchison was disturbed by the implications of the news Professor Hazzler brought back from the ruined church. It had been a big enough shock when the professor had spoken about vampires, but now he was talking about Satanists and the powers of Evil. What the hell would he come up with next? True, he had brought back an explanation for the three unexplained deaths, but how could he explained that to his superiors, or to the coroner who would have to include it in his verdict? He could imagine the shock when the report was made public. Cause of Death--vampire attack.

It would put Barnstable on the map, and he would take his place on the rack of public ridicule in the media frenzy that would certainly follow the announcement. It wouldn't do his prospects on the force much good and he would become known as the Vampire Cop--or worse! Maybe some television producer would do a parody of Buffy the Vampire Slayer with him in the staring role!

Hazzler had been far from understanding about his predicament.

The professor had smiled quietly and suggested the worst was yet to come. The worst, indeed! What could be worse than a vampire flitting around the country feeding on an unsuspecting population? Then the professor had packed his bags and returned to the city. He'd promised to return later the next day, after he'd done some more research at the university. But he wouldn't tell the superintendent what the research was about other than to suggest it could be instrumental in bringing the strange events at Barnstable to an end. Could be? What had happened to the confident professor who'd come to the village promising an end to the vampire attacks? Worry lines were etched deep into his face, a strange tenseness clearly apparent in his eyes. That didn't give the superintendent confidence for the future.

Anderson was evasive when questioned.

"Not much I can tell you, Superintendent," he muttered. "I'm not sure I have really grasped what is happening around here. All I can say is that we've seen the vampire, and we've spoken with him. Other than that, I would be guessing, and it could be dangerous if the wrong information got out. It could create panic in the village or, at the worst, a flood of media from outside our region."

"You just want a scoop," Murchison growled.

"That would be nice--a feather in my cap--but nothing is further from my thoughts at the moment. First, we have to rescue Lisa and Sara. After that, I'll start worrying about my story."

"Then they're not dead?"

"Not yet, but their future hangs by a very slender thread. One wrong move and they'll be history. One thing we have found out is they aren't being held prisoner by the vampire. Another is that they're both his daughters, although from separate mothers. Other than that, I can tell you nothing."

"Surely you can tell me where they're being held prisoner, so that we can rescue them."

"I wish I really knew. The professor has his suspicions, but is not one hundred percent sure. That's why he's had to return to the city. He wants to check some facts, and bring back some defensive weapons that would be effective against our new enemy."

"We have guns here. Surely they would be enough? If the professor thought it necessary, I could call in the Armed Offenders Squad for backup and--"

"The professor doesn't think guns will be effective against the power of our new adversaries," Anderson interrupted him. "I also suggested the use of weapons. He merely smiled and shook his head sadly."

"I hope he knows what he's doing," Murchison muttered. "If anything goes wrong, it's my head on the block. The Commissioner rang while you were away. I've been put in charge of the case, and the coordination of the other investigations if a link is shown to exist between Barnstable and the other unexplained deaths that fall within the same modus operandi."

"Then you will certainly have a full case book," Anderson muttered. "I'm afraid there are dozens of unexplained deaths linked to the Barnstable phenomena, and they go back over many years, far further back than the twenty-year case histories you got from the police computer. In fact, they go back to the time of the mysterious death of Andrew Barnstable, and possibly even earlier than that."

"If they are all traced back to the same killer, it would make him the most notorious mass murderer in the history of our country," Murchison said as the enormity of the situation sank in. "I'm nervous putting our fate in the professor's hands, but there doesn't appear to be any other choice. I really do hope he knows what he's doing."

* * * *

Sitting in his small room in Barnstable later that evening, Anderson added his fervent hopes to those of the Superintendent until a timid knocking on the door disturbed his train of thought.

"Who's there?" he called.

"Sandra. I need to talk to you about Lisa."

Quickly Anderson unlocked the door and ushered the young woman into the room. He had never heard of a Sandra, but if she had news about Lisa, he was prepared to talk with her. He would talk with anyone who could help him find Lisa. Sandra was covered from head to foot in a dark cloak, the top of her head just level with his shoulders. Tearful eyes looked up at him, big and round and timid. She'd been crying, and not so long before she knocked on his door.

"What's the matter?" he asked gently.

"I'm worried about Lisa," she said softly, a catch in her voice. "She was supposed to meet me tonight, but she didn't come. I heard you were looking for her so I thought you might be able to help me find her."

"I though Lisa wasn't allowed to leave the manor on her own?" Anderson said in surprise.

"Only if her uncle knows," Sandra said with a smile. "She often gives her old nurse the slip, then comes to meet me. We've been very good friends for a long time."

 Just how good? Anderson mused. Was this the tip of another lesbian relationship? Maybe the beautiful Lisa wasn't as innocent as she appeared on the surface. So what? She was still beautiful and desirable. If she had really strong lesbian leanings, it would be an even greater challenge to wean her from them and into his arms.

"How long since you last saw her?" he asked, keeping his curiosity in check.

"About a week," Sandra told him shyly. "Will you help me find her?"

"I'll try. Let's talk. Take a seat. Here, let me take your cloak."

His eyes nearly popped out of his head as Sandra slipped her cloak from around her shoulders. She might have been small in height, but there was no shortage of other physical attributes designed to turn heads in a crowd. Her skin was white, almost like alabaster in color. Her eyes were green, watching his movements with a strange intensity. He watched the pink tip of her tongue lick the deep red lips that tantalizingly parted. Her long hair was as red as her lips, cascading down over her shoulders and falling freely over her breasts.

Anderson couldn't help drooling as his eyes traveled over the two huge white globes held in the tenuous grasp of the flimsy bra he could see through the transparent material of her blouse. He could see the shadow of the large brown nipples, already stiffening under his gaze. Sandra's breasts rose and fell steadily with each breath she took, and they weren't the only things that were rising in the room. The temperature was one; the other was of a much more personal nature, and it needed greater room for expansion as he gazed into the deep valley of pulsating flesh.

Sandra leaned back and crossed her legs. Anderson hadn't seen so brief a mini-skirt for many years. In the city, he would have expected such a vision among the social elite who had money to squander on their appearance. Deep in the country, such a fashion spectacle seemed to be out of place.

Sandra moved slightly. The mini rose until the hemline reached new heights, stretching tautly across her upper thighs. Her long legs were covered in sheer silk stockings, a deeper shade of tan than the color of her light brown shirt. Anderson loved girls who wore stockings, he found them so much sexier than those in panty hose. The gap between her transparent white panties and the top of her stockings held his eyes like a magnet. She moved again. He got a glimpse of the deep red hair between her thighs. There was no doubt she was a true redhead, and a very desirable one, at that!

"Can I have a drink?" Sandra asked softly.

"I'm sorry," Anderson muttered. "I've nothing in the room right now. What would you like? I'll see if I can get it for you."

"It doesn't matter," Sandra said, taking a cigarette from her bag.

Anderson hurried forward to offer her a light. Her cool fingers closed around his wrist to hold it steady. In spite of his efforts at self-control, his hand was shaking as Sandra reached forward, letting the tip of her cigarette meet the flame of his cigarette lighter. She inhaled deeply, then blew out a cloud of blue smoke that wafted lazily past his nose and eyes. He didn't notice it because his eyes were glued to the deep cleavage between her breasts. Her blouse was low cut; her forward movement had almost let the globes fall free of the bra struggling to contain them.

"Thank you," she breathed, leaning back again. She didn't release her grip on his wrist. Rather she turned in the seat until she was facing him as he leaned down before her. Her thighs had parted, giving a clear view down the track into paradise. The material was so thin it might as well not have been there at all.

"Eh… You… er… wanted to… er… know about Lisa," Anderson stammered like a teenage boy trapped by his first experienced woman.

"Yes," Sandra breathed, her voice suddenly deeper and sexier. "I miss her. I want her back."

"Why?" Anderson gasped.

"We're good friends," Sandra said, placing a heavy emphasis on the word "good." "I miss her. No, it's more than that. I need her, most probably as much as she needs me."

"What do you mean?" Anderson muttered, realizing his worst fears could be about to be confirmed.

"She's such a lovely girl," Sandra said, letting her other hand slid up her thigh. "We had so many good times together. There's so little else to do in this valley."

"You were lovers?" Anderson gasped.

"Are you surprised?" Sandra asked softly.

"I suppose not. After all, it sounds like she also had the hots for Sara Barnstable."

"Are you jealous?" Sandra asked with a smile.

"No… Yes, damn it, I suppose I am."

"Don't be," Sandra said with a laugh. "We're not selfish. We would have so much to share together if we were all friends. We're not selfish, you know."

Anderson looked at her blankly.

Sandra giggled, dragging his hand forward until it rested in the valley between her breasts. Anderson gulped. He moaned deep in his throat, trying hard not to respond to this blatant seduction, but unable to resist the open encouragement. The aura of raw sex surrounding Sandra was driving his thoughts and concerns about Lisa into the background no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on her plight.

"You also have much to share," she whispered, leaning forward until her lips were only millimeters from his, the tip of her tongue lashing out like the tongue of a viper.

He reached forward, letting his lips touch hers, and lost his battle to remain aloof. His resolve melted as her tongue forced its way between his lips and touched his, drawing it forward into her mouth. He groaned deeply. She moaned in answer and he was lost.

His fingers closed over her breasts. The blouse fell away at his touch. The brown nipples were already hard, pressing against him like hard acorns. Sandra fell back, drawing him with her. Her legs had parted as she fell back; Anderson landed cushioned on her soft hips. Sandra wriggled, locking her legs behind his back.

"Don't keep me waiting, you bastard," she moaned. "I'm so hot I could come without your help."

Anderson rose to his knees, tearing his clothes from his body. While he struggled with them, Sandra slipped with practiced ease from what remained of hers. She was a vision of temptation. Her full breasts heaved with suppressed passion. He let his lips move over the white skin, tracing the delicate pattern of pale blood vessels.

His teeth closed over the engorged nipples. Sandra screamed softly, arching her back as she tried to force more of her breasts into his mouth.

"Come on, you bastard," she moaned. "Don't keep me waiting."

Slowly he slid downward, his tongue tracing tantalizing patterns over her exposed body. She tossed and turned, driven into a frenzy of frustrated need.

"Bastard," she moaned. "Don't tease me, give me… oh-h-h-h."

Her hips thrashed around and she stopped trying to speak. No words came out between her moans as Anderson took her to the edge and held her there.

Suddenly she drove upward. He was surprised at the ease with which she took him. This was no confirmed lesbian, restricting her pleasures to the soft bodies of other women. She had been with men before. Often, by the skills she was displaying. It was his turn to moan as she moved relentlessly against him. As he subsided for the third time, he tried to roll free.

"Enough," he cried.

"Chicken." Sandra giggled, letting him slip from between her thighs. "Now do you see why I want Lisa back? I need her to keep me satisfied."

"I don't think anybody could keep you satisfied. You would need more than just Lisa to keep you satisfied."

"At least she doesn't tire as quickly as you." Sandra giggled. "She can keep going until I'm satisfied. Mind you, there's nothing to match a real live man. Rubber is okay, but it has its limitations. You should come and join us. You'd never forget the experiences we'd give you."

Sandra stretched languidly, looking up at Anderson through partly hooded eyes.

"Will you help me find Lisa?" she asked.

"Yes," he muttered. "I've already started to look for her. At least I know she's still alive."

His gaze was still riveted on her anatomy, making it hard to concentrate on what she was saying.

"Do you know where is she?" Sandra asked innocently.

"I don't really know," he muttered. "I have my suspicions, but I could be wrong."

"Where do you think she is?"

"I can't say. I've promised not to tell anybody what we suspect."

"Even after what we've been through. Surely you can let me into the secret."

He moaned. "No, her safety depends on me keeping my mouth shut."

"I won't tell anyone," Sandra murmured, turning until her lips could follow the path already traced by her hands.

Anderson tensed. He was responding. This was unreal. The words started to form on his lips until he remembered the professor's admonition about walls having ears. He had to beware of spies. For all he knew, his room could've been bugged by the Satanists while he was absent at the ruined church. They knew he was working with the professor, so they would certainly be monitoring his movements. They could even be outside now, waiting to track him when he left the building in case he could lead them to the others with whom he was working for their downfall.

"I can't say," he groaned.

"You can tell me," Sandra whispered. "I won't tell anyone."

"No," he gasped. "I can't tell you. I won't tell you. Damn it, I won't tell anyone."

"If you don't tell me, I'll tell Lisa about us. She might never speak to you again," Sandra threatened him.

"That's a risk I'll have to take," Anderson muttered, falling back exhausted. "I won't tell you."

Sandra rose to her feet, her eyes flashing angrily. Suddenly she didn't seem so attractive. This was no longer the beautiful and desirable young women he'd held in his arms. Her body was still exquisite, but her passion had been replaced by a strange hardness. Ignoring her clothes, she stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her.

 CHAPTER 15: The Enemy Flexes Its Muscles

"I'm not surprised the landlord didn't know who your visitor was," Professor Hazzler said grimly when he heard about Anderson's visitor after his return from the city. "Not many people would have seen her arrive, and fewer still would have seen her leave."

"But she was naked when she left the room," Anderson protested. "Even if she didn't have such a spectacular figure, a naked female wandering around the building would be sure to attract attention."

"She wouldn't be wandering far," Hazzler muttered. "If I'm not mistaken, she wouldn't have wandered any further than the other side of your door. I'm surprised she even went that far on foot."

"Then where did she go?" Anderson challenged him. "Into one of the other rooms, perhaps?"

"I doubt that very much, my randy young friend. There was nothing to keep her there once her work was done."

"Work… what work?"

"Trying to find out just how much you knew about Lisa's whereabouts," Hazzler told him. "Surely you suspected something?"

"You mean she was a spy?"

"In a way I suppose you could call her a spy, sent by the forces aligned against us. Tell me, have you ever fantasized about a buxom red-head?"

"Yeah," Anderson muttered, looking embarrassed.

"When?"

"Many times. Such a woman often flits through my mind since I saw a porno movie with Stephanie Rage and Veronica Dahl. They were both fabulous in that video, a voyeur's dream come true, especially when they were on the screen together. I often fantasize about being cradled between Veronica's luscious breasts while Stephanie serviced us both. My dream woman is sort of a combination of them both, the slim figure of Stephanie coupled with the busty beauty of Veronica."

"Your visitor… how did she compare?" Hazzler asked grimly.

"Good God," Anderson gasped. "The match was perfect. She had the full breasts and long dark red hair of Veronica, as well as her beauty, coupled with the slender frame and taut thighs of Stephanie. It was my dream combination, but where did they find such a young woman and why? I've never seen anybody quite like her around the village, or even in the city, for that matter."

"And you most probably never will, because the person you saw was built in your mind, then taken from there and converted into flesh and blood to distract your suspicions."

"She was no hallucination," Anderson muttered. "She was too real; there was no doubting what my body experienced. I was still exhausted this morning."

"Your seduction was real enough, my friend, but your seducer adapted itself to match the image it had seen in your mind. If you had been thinking about Lisa at the time, it would have adjusted its shape to mimic Lisa, or any other woman you were dreaming about last night. Just as well you weren't having an orgy!"

"What the hell was it?" Anderson muttered, not happy with his dream becoming a reality, and then seducing him in his own room.

"Unless I'm very much mistaken, you were visited by a succubus sent by the Satanists to trick you into giving them details of our plans."

"A succubus," Anderson muttered. "I've heard about them. Aren't they some sort of an evil spirit sent by the Devil in the form of a woman to seduce his enemies--and usually the male ones, if I remember right!"

"Close enough," Hazzler said grimly.

"It didn't succeed," Anderson said triumphantly. "I didn't tell it that we suspected where Lisa and Sara were being held captive."

"True, but you did tell it that we knew that she was still alive. That will be enough to alert them, and they will be on their guard."

"Damn," Anderson swore. "I should have been more carefully."

"We will all have to be more careful, especially after dark tonight. Your friend will be back, but not in the form of a succubus seeking to seduce you. I'm afraid they won't be so friendly on their next visit. I was suspicious something like this would happen, so I have brought back some things to help us protect ourselves against the attack our enemies will surely launch, and that attack will be soon! Tonight, I suspect! We had better start preparing the room; it will have to be our fortress during the hours of darkness and we don't have much time before the sun sets."

While Burrows and Anderson removed the furniture from the room, Hazzler busied himself sorting out the contents of the various plastic bags he'd brought back with him from the city. It hadn't been easy obtaining many of the articles, but the reference books he'd studied had been adamant they were necessary to protect those threatened by psychic forces.

"Roll up the carpet and remove it from the room," he told Burrows. "It's easier to mark the pentagram on the bare boards."

"But it's tacked down," Anderson protested.

"Then we will have to remove the tacks," Hazzler said calmly. "We need the room devoid of furniture and the floor clean. I wonder when it was last cleaned?"

"By the look of the carpet, never," Anderson said, looking down at the dirty and stained timber that was revealed as the carpet was rolled up.

"Then we will have to wash it and remove all the embedded dirt. You do that, while we prepare the other items. Make sure you also mop it as dry as you can so we don't have to wait too long for it to dry."

The room was large. It had once been the main lounge, but it had been converted to a guestroom as the landlord's family grew up and moved away from home. The windows opened out on to a sheltered courtyard facing the direction of the rising sun. It would be the first part of the house to feel the warmth of the new day. That could be to their advantage. It would reduce the hours of darkness during which their enemies could operate with impunity.

With the furniture removed and the carpets rolled up and dragged into a nearby corridor, the room looked even larger.

"Good," Hazzler muttered to himself. "It will give us more space to prepare our pentagram."

"Pentagram?" Anderson asked in surprise. "What's a pentagram?"

"The best protection against the forces of evil that is known to man, provided it's drawn with great accuracy and the exorcism is written in the right order. If it's drawn incorrectly, it's a thing of danger, attracting rather than repelling the forces of Evil."

"Then I hope you know what you're doing," Anderson muttered.

"So do I," Hazzler added under his breath as he drew string and chalk from his pocket.

Marking a spot in the center of the room, Hazzler told Anderson to hold the end of the string securely to it. It mustn't move, otherwise the drawing would be out of proportion. The professor measured off exactly 2.16 meters, then, using Anderson as a pivot, he drew a large chalk circle on the floor.

Next, Hazzler lengthened the string and drew an outer circle. Then the most difficult part of the operation began. They had to draw a five-pointed star, with the points touching the outer circle, but with the valleys ending at the inner rim. It had to be geometrically accurate. If the angles or distances varied to any extent, no matter how small, the protection of the pentagram would be lost. It could even attract those forces it was designed to repel. For over an hour they measured and checked with string, ruler and marking chalk; then they checked it all again. At last the lines were drawn to the professor's satisfaction. He stood back to admire the pentagram that would be their haven during the coming night.

Picking up the chalk again, he began to draw in the exorcism with careful precision, ensuring the letters were evenly spaced around the rim of the inner circle. He had photocopied the words and necessary diagrams from an ancient book in his library; now he duplicated them with great care.

 In nomina Pa * tris et Fi * lii et Spiritus * Sancti! * El * Elohym * Sother * Emmanuel * Sabaoth * Agia * Tetragammaton * Agyos * Otheos * Ischiros *

When the skeleton of their psychic fortress was completed, clean cushions were laid out inside it for them to rest on during the hours of darkness.

Professor Hazzler now produced other impedimenta from his plastic bags. With lengths of asafetida grass and blue wax, both that had proved difficult to obtain, he sealed the window and the door all round, making the sign of the cross over each seal as he completed it.

It was starting to get dark, the shadows lengthening across the courtyard.

"Into the pentagram," he instructed his companions. "It is the last time you'll see the outside of the circle until morning."

Hazzler turned on all the lights in the room, then switched on both bars of the electric heater that was built into the wall. He stepped into the circle, bringing the last bag with him. Crouching down, he produced five little silver cups, no bigger than eggcups, which he filled with Holy Water. He placed one in each valley of the pentagram. Next he took five long white candles, similar to those used in votive offerings to the saints in Catholic churches, which he lit using old-fashioned wooden matches. He set them upright, one at each apex of the five-pointed star. Behind them, but still within the circle, he placed five brand new horseshoes he'd been able to obtain in the farm hardware store.

Now that he had completed the complicated formulas for the erection of the outward barriers, he turned his attention to the individual protection of his companions. Garlands of garlic were strung around their necks. He gave each of them a rosary with a little golden crucifix attached, a medal of St. Benedict holding the Cross in his right hand and the Holy Rule in his left, as well as small phials of salt and mercury.

"You must have had to scour the city for these things," Anderson muttered in disbelief.

"Not as hard as it might seem," Hazzler said with a smile. "There are small specialty shops that stock many strange items for those who follow the alternative religions. You just have to know where to look."

"What do we do now?" Anderson asked.

"We wait for the dawn."

Outside the window, Anderson could see clouds scudding across the sky, then they faded from view as the feeble light from the moon was masked by a dense blanket of black clouds. The wind sprang up, beating against the house. Sheets of rain rattled against the windows.

It felt as if they'd been there for days. Anderson muttered to himself as the pangs of hunger replaced the dinner they'd eaten many hours before. He became drowsy and his eyelids were becoming difficult to hold open. Burrows had already dozed off, his head resting on his chest. Only the professor remained alert. He knew this long period of inactivity could be a ploy to lull them into a false sense of security. Their enemy had the benefit of surprise. He could launch his attack when it suited him. They had to stay alert, unable to drop their defenses for even an instant.

He changed his position slightly, letting his eyes play around the room. It seemed to have grown darker. It must be his imagination. All the lights were still on. It couldn't be any darker. No, there was no doubt. It was definitely much darker than when they'd entered the pentagram. He could hardly see the handle of the door. He reached out and shook both his companions awake.

The action was so slow that at first they thought their eyes were deceiving them, yet they knew this wasn't so. Shadows had appeared where no shadows had been before. Slowly but surely the current was being drained from the lights. They were growing dimmer as they sat and watched.

There was something strangely terrifying about the quietness in the room. It was too quiet. They could see the rain still pounding against the window, but there was no noise. No ghost-like figures jumped from the walls to challenge their sanity, but this was far more insidious. It preyed on their minds, letting them develop their own horrors. Only one fact was indisputable. The lights had faded to a dull orange glow, doing little to brighten the room.

Gradually, as they watched in fear and amazement, the room was being plunged into darkness. Soundless and stealthy, a black shadow grew around the light hanging from the center of the room, hiding it from their view. The wall lights were no brighter than a dull torch, the twin bars of the heater scarcely any brighter. Only the five candles burned steadily at the apexes of the star.

"God, it's cold," Anderson muttered, turning to face the door. His back had been to it when he felt a sudden chilly draught playing around the back of his neck. He'd expected to find that the door had blown open. It wasn't.

The flames of the candles were now bent at a sharp angle away from the door, flickering in the wind that had started to blow. The professor began to pray. The wind dropped as suddenly as it began, but then it started from another quarter. The professor turned to face it, still praying. It stopped. It moved again, increasing in velocity.

They heard a low moaning as the wind began to encircle the pentagram. Round and round it swirled with ever-increasing strength and violence, beating out of the shadows in sudden wild gusts of arctic iciness. It tore at their clothing with chill, invisible fingers almost as if they were standing in the vortex of a cyclone. The candles flickered wildly, then went out.

Burrows sprung forward. He lit one. It flickered as he desperately tried to light the next. The match died in his fingers. So did the flame on the burning candle. The whole room was plunged into darkness.

"We must join hands," the professor whispered. "It'll increase our strength to resist. Quickly, back to back."

They struggled to their feet, linking arms in the dark.

The whirling cyclone ceased as suddenly as it had begun. An unnatural stillness descended on them, as oppressive and threatening in its own way as had been the wind. For what seemed an immeasurable time they stood in silent apprehension, praying silently.

They had survived the first onslaught from the Satanists. It hadn't been as powerful as Hazzler had expected. These were no beginners in the world of the occult, but they had only just flexed their muscles, testing the resolve of their enemies. The night would heat up as they threw more of their minions into the fray.

 CHAPTER 16:… And Sends In The Heavies

There was a sharp knocking at the door.

"The landlord," Anderson gasped.

"I doubt it," Hazzler muttered. "Ignore it."

A soft female voice broke the silence. It sounded like Lisa. She begged them to open the door and let her in. Anderson struggled to his feet. Hazzler held him back.

"It's Lisa," Anderson said excitedly. "She must have succeeded in getting away from the manor. Let me go. I must let her in."

"It can't be Lisa, and even if it was, she wouldn't know you were here. The only one who knows you are here is the succubus and her masters."

"But that voice sounds just like Lisa's."

"And the succubus looked like the composite girl you had built in your mind," Hazzler reminded him.

"Hurry up and let me in, Alex," the voice called again. "I know you're in there. Don't keep me waiting in the cold."

Anderson shivered. The voice sounded so much like Lisa. Just how powerful were the Satanists that they could get their minions to perform such perfect imitations of human beings?

"Alex. It's me, Lisa. Stop this fooling and let me in. I'm sure the professor won't mind."

"Now are you satisfied?" Hazzler said grimly. "Lisa has never met me. How can she know I'm in this room with you?"

"Are you sure?" Anderson asked, still unsure if the person outside the door was who she claimed to be.

"I'm certain. Where did you stay on the night you first met Lisa?"

"At the manor."

"Have you ever stayed here before?"

"Never." Anderson muttered.

"Then if you have never stayed here before, how would Lisa know where to find you?"

"I don't know; maybe she just got lucky or decided to try the accommodation places in the village."

"All of them?" Hazzler asked.

"Well, there can't be many. It wouldn't take her long."

"At this hour of night?" Hazzler said grimly. "I can't imagine her being very popular knocking on doors and asking if they had an Alex Anderson was staying with them."

Anderson glared at the door. Hazzler was talking sense. It couldn't possibly be Lisa on the other side of the door.

"Go back to your master in Hell," Anderson called out. "You aren't Lisa. I will not open that door for you."

"But, Alex, you know how much we mean to each other. I miss you as much as you miss me. Come on, open the door."

"Bugger off," Anderson said, his anger growing at the deception. "There's no way I'm going to open the door for you. If you miss me that much, come back in the morning and we'll talk. Otherwise, bugger off."

There was a screech of frustrated anger and the smell of burning sulfur carried to them through the door.

Then there was just silence. A long silence and unnatural silence that suppressed all the noises they would have normally expected to hear at night.

Hazzler was worried. What were the Satanists planning next? There were still some hours of darkness left. The holy water, garlic, horseshoes might only prove to be a partial defense if the forces gathering around them launched an open and determined assault. Perhaps he'd underestimated the power of the coven. Their High Priest must be high on the ladder through the spheres, not just a novice dabbling in the occult for his pleasure and sexual satisfaction.

They didn't have long to wait for their answer.

The shadows were massing into a deeper blackness in one corner of the room. Something was moving there.

A dim phosphorescent blob began to glow in the darkness, shimmering and spreading into a great hummock. Gradually its outline became clearer. It didn't resemble a man, but then neither did it look like an animal. It just lay heaving on the floor like a large jellyfish. It had no face or eyes, no mouth that they could see, yet it radiated a terrible malefic intelligence.

Suddenly there ceased to be anything ghost-like about it. It had a whitish pimply skin, leprous and unclean. It now looked like a huge silver slug. Waves of Satanic power rippled through its spineless body, causing it to throb and work continually like a great mass of new dough with the yeast still working actively within it. A horrible stench of decay and death filled the room. As the thing writhed on the floor, it left in its wake a slimy poisonous moisture that trickled in tiny rivulets across the plain wooden boards toward the edge of the pentagram. It was solid, terribly real, a living thing from the depths of Hell. They could even see long, single, golden hairs, separated from each other by ulcerous patches of skin quivering and waving as they rose on end from its flabby body.

Then it started to laugh at them--a low, horrible chuckling laugh that echoed back from the walls. As suddenly as it started, the laughter stopped. The silence returned, more oppressive than before. The thing crouched against the wall. They could sense it watching them through the eyes it didn't have.

Suddenly it moved, with the rapidity of a feline hunter, yet they could hear the squelching sound as it leapt along the floor, leaving a wet slimy trail in its wake that poisoned the air like the foul gasses given off by rotting animal remains.

They spun around to face it. It laughed again--the same evil sound echoing around the room, mocking them with that quiet diabolic chuckled that had filled them with such utter dread. It lay for a moment near the window, pulsating with demonic energy like some enormous livid heart suffused with putrid bile. Then it leapt again back to the place from where it had started. Shuddering at the thought of that ghastliness springing on to their backs, they turned with lightning speed to meet it, but it only lay there wobbling and pulsating with unholy glee.

"Pray," Hazzler muttered. "Pray like you've never prayed before. That thing is gathering its strength. If it penetrates the pentagram, we're lost."

"I thought the pentagram would protect us," Anderson gasped.

"It's one of the most powerful protections known," Hazzler muttered, his eyes fixed on the pulsating mass gathered against the wall of the room. "It will protect those inside from most attacks, but it depends on the intensity of the source which launches them. The source of these attacks is obviously skilled in the art of conversing with his Master. We need the added protection that the power of prayer can bring. With our arms linked we can concentrate the power of our prayers. We'll need all the power we can generate. Our demoniacal friend hasn't finished with us yet."

The three men linked arms, with Hazzler facing the apparition. They prayed as they had never prayed before, dredging up fragmented images from their past religious activities.

Slowly the nameless thing became transparent and faded. The silent heavy darkness settled around them again, undisturbed by sound or movement.

"Thank God," Anderson said. "It's gone. We've won."

There was no time to reply. The next attack began almost immediately.

Indistinct at first, but certain after a moment, there was a stirring in the darkness near the door. Some new horror was forming out there in the shadows beyond the points of the pentagram--just on a level with their heads.

Anderson felt his scalp began to tingle, his breath coming in short gasps. The Thing was forming into a long, beast-like face. Two tiny points of light appeared in it just above the level of his eyes. He felt the short hairs at the back of his skull lift like the hackles of a dog at bay.

The points of light grew in intensity and size. They were eyes. Round, prominent and burning with a fiery glow, they bored into his, watching him with a horrible unwinking stare. He wanted to break from the pentagram and make a run for the door. The others retained a firm grip on his arms, holding him between them.

The head of the Beast merged into powerful shoulders and the blackness below solidified into strong thick legs.

"It's a horse," Burrows gasped. "A rider-less horse."

Hazzler groaned.

It was indeed a horse. A great black stallion and it had no rider that was visible to them, but he knew of its terrible significance. Their adversary, despairing of breaking through the pentagram before dawn, had abandoned his attempts and, in savage revenge, had sent the Angel of Death himself to claim them for his own.

A saddle of crimson leather was strapped on the stallion's back, the pressure of invisible feet held the long stirrup leathers rigid to its flanks, and unseen hands held the reins taut a few centimeters above the animal's withers. Hazzler knew well enough the legends of the Black Horseman, the fact that no human who has beheld that dread rider in all his somber glory had ever lived to tell of it. If that dark Presence broke into the pentagram, they would see him all too certainly, but at the price of their own deaths.

With sweat streaming down his face and back in the sudden heat, Anderson held his ground, staring with fascinated horror at the beast's muzzle. The fleshy nose wrinkled, the lips drew back, barring two rows of yellowish teeth. It champed its silver bit. Flecks of foam, white and real, dripped from its loose mouth to lie bubbling on the wooden floor.

It snorted violently and its heated breath came like two clouds of steam from its quivering nostrils warm and damp on his face. He heard Hazzler praying frantically, unceasingly, and he tried to follow suit. The stallion whinnied, tossed its head and backed to the wall, drawn by the power of those unseen hands, its mighty hooves ringing loudly on the bare wooden boards. Then, as though rowelled by knife-edged spurs, it launched itself upon them.

Anderson stood rigid, waiting for the pain of the steel-shod hooves. Burrows was still praying, his face white with fear. Hazzler cried his prayers aloud, tossing a small phial of Holy Water in the direction of the approaching horse. There was a flash of light as the water hit the floor and a cloud of mist enveloped the huge beast. When the mist cleared, the beast had vanished.

After the glaring flash of the explosion, the dim glow from the wall lights faded completely from view. They could no longer see each other as they crouched within the circle of the pentagram.

How long they remained there, tense with horror, peering into those awful shadows, they never knew. Yet each became suddenly aware that the steed of the Dark Angel, who had been sent from the Underworld to bring about their destruction, was steadily reforming.

The red eyes began to glow again in the long dark face. The body lengthened. The stallion's hoof-beats rang upon the floor as it stamped with impatience to be unleashed. The very smell of the stable was in the room. The gleaming harness stood out plain and clear. The reins rose sharply from the polished bit to bend uncannily in that invisible grip above the saddlebow. The dark beast snorted, reared high in the air, and then the crouching humans faced that terrifying charge again.

The stallion balked at the edge of the pentagram, its fore hooves slithering on the wooden floor, its back legs crashing under it as though faced with some invisible barrier.

With a neigh of fright and pain it flung up its powerful head as though its face had been brought into contact with a red-hot bar. It backed away champing and whinnying until its steaming hindquarters pressed back against the wall.

Hazzler reached into his pocket. He had three phials of Holy Water left. He mustn't touch those around the pentagram for fear of reducing the effectiveness of the psychic barrier.

He drew two phials out, then tossed one with unerring accuracy in the direction of the beast. It hit the animal on the hindquarters. The stallion screamed in pain. The second phial hit it on the chest as it turned to face those responsible for the attack on it. A dense cloud of white mist engulfed both horse and unseen rider. They could hear the whinnies of pain from within the misty shroud. Slowly the noise died and the mist cleared.

The stallion was no longer there.

A beam of bright sunlight penetrated the gloom within the room. They could hear the distant crow of a cock.

"Thank God," Hazzler whispered. "It's morning."

"Then we're safe?" Anderson muttered in disbelief.

"We're safe, but some poor unfortunate will pay for tonight's debacle. I don't think that it will be the High Priest at the manor, but somebody will most certainly have to pay."

"Why?" Anderson muttered.

"It's the law," Burrows muttered.

"The law," Anderson muttered in surprise. "What law?"

"Satan's Law. The Angel of Death was sent against us tonight, but he failed to penetrate the pentagram and claim our souls for his Master. He will never return empty-handed to Satan's dark kingdom, so the person who summoned him must pay the penalty."

"Are you sure of that?" Anderson muttered.

"I am certain. The age-old law of retaliation can't fail to operate. He who summoned the Angel of Death will pay with his life for a failed mission. There can be no other way," Hazzler assured him.

"Then surely that must be the High Priest," Anderson protested. "He would be unlikely to have others in the coven with the powers displayed this night."

"I don't think the High Priest is likely to take the risk of carrying out his dirty work himself, especially when stirring up the forces of Satan in the temporal world. He would know the dire consequences of a failed mission, and while not expecting failure, he would not be prepared to risk his own safety and the successful conclusion of his plans, whatever these happen to be. I should imagine he would place one of his followers into a trance and then make him carry out this devilish business for him. One of the poor fools who are in his power will have to pay for this night's work without ever realizing what he's done. There will undoubtedly have been a death overnight from those in the coven."

 CHAPTER 17: Preparations

Louis Armitage stared down silently at Molly's body curled up at the foot of the altar in the temple at Barnstable Manor. Her face was peaceful in death, but it hadn't been so earlier when the Dark Angel appeared suddenly to them in the midst of their rituals that had summoned Him to carry out the sentence of Death on those seeking to thwart their attempts to summon the Master. The coven had cowered in fear at the sudden appearance of the Black Stallion, never expecting it to pay them a visit. It had ignored them, its venom concentrated on the person who had summoned it from the underworld, the hapless Molly.

She had been in a trance, carrying out the pre-issued commands of the High Priest, Louis Armitage.

In the grip of his own fear, Armitage had released his psychic hold on Molly. Her mind had broken clear of the shackles in time to see the huge black beast towering over her, front hooves poised over her head. The last thing she saw in this life was the fearful figure of Death poised over her ready to claim her for his Master, her visions in the next would be no happier when she found herself a slave in the Devil's domain for eternity.

With her soul on the way to His kingdom, the Angel of Death had vanished in a puff of evil-smelling sulfurous smoke, leaving no trace of His passing other than a coven of cowering disciples of Satan who had tasted the fear they sought to inflict on those who opposed them.

The coven had only seen the Black Stallion rearing up on its hooves, ready to strike Molly down.

"What happened?" one of the members gasped as their shock and horror slowly subsided with the coming of daylight.

"The Dark Angel must have been thwarted," Armitage muttered in disbelief. "It came seeking retribution. Once summoned, it can never return to the underworld without a soul in payment."

"But I saw no rider, only the horse," another gasped, still not believing what he had seen.

"Then you are lucky," Armitage told him. "If you had seen the Dark Rider, enveloped in his black cloak with his skeletal arm poised to strike you down, you would have joined our sister in the Master's domain. Nobody who sees the gleaming white skull staring out at them from under the black cowl, red eyes flashing, lives to tell others about it. The Rider only appears to those on their way to our Master's kingdom."

"Why Sister Molly?"

"She summoned it, on our behalf. She has paid our debt for the failed attack. Our enemies are still alive."

"What do we do now?" another asked.

"We continue with our preparations for the ritual to welcome our Master. It is too near to St. Walpurgis Eve to change our plans. We have less than two days to complete our preparations. The Master will protect us. When He has joined us, then we will turn his wrath again against those who have tried to meddle with our most sacred ritual."

"Will we launch another attack on our enemies tonight?" Perkins asked, dreading the answer. He had grown to like Molly, the sight of her lying dead at the base of the altar disturbed him.

"No," Armitage said. "Our enemies now know what to expect. They were prepared to defend themselves last night, they will be even more wary in the future. We cannot risk loosing more members just to silence them. As I said, our Master will protect us while we are in the manor and on the way to the Ceremony so they cannot reach us, but we must concentrate on our own plans until after the Ceremony. Then those who caused the Dark Angel to turn against us will face the full might of the Master's wrath."

Armitage turned to face a member of the coven, short and slender. In her fear, the hood had slipped from her head, showing a young and very scared face, framed by thick curly black hair. The red lips stood out in sharp contrast to the almost white skin.

"Come with me, Sister Circe," he said. "We must see the prisoners are still safe. We don't want to loose them; there is insufficient time to find another replacement virgin at this late stage."

He turned to face the remaining members of the coven.

"We have other important business to do before this day is out--we must replace Sister Molly to ensure our circle is complete. Do not leave here until I return."

The young woman followed Armitage from the temple. Sara and Lisa were being held in a small dark room in the basement. A small and narrow vented opening high in the wall was their only contact with the outside world. It let in air and a very small amount of light. One wall was against the outside wall of the basement while the other walls were internal partitions. It was damp from the water that seeped through the brickwork, covered with green mold where the water formed small puddles on the floor, which eventually seeped out through the concrete that had been laid over the old timber flooring.

It was cool in their cell, a factor made worse because they had been held naked since their capture. Armitage was taking no risk of his second potential bride loosing her virginity. Everything that could be used to forcibly remove her hymen had been taken from the room. Both girls had their fingers taped together so that they couldn't penetrate each other's bodies or their own. There was only a remote chance that the hymen could be ruptured this way, but Armitage was giving them no opportunity of proving him wrong. He had seen what Sara's unnatural lust had done to Lisa, he didn't want to see them used to achieve the same result with Sara.

He had left them one mattress on the floor, but this was his only concession to their comfort.

The two young women had spent the night in each other's arms, both from fear and in an effort to keep warm. Even the close proximity of Sara's naked flesh did nothing to stir the flames in Lisa's body during the night. Sure, she could remember their time together in the pavilion, but that felt so far away it seemed more like a dream than reality. She had been happy then, thrilled to be shown how to ignite the delights that had lain suppressed in her young body. But now the thrills were suppressed, extinguished by the physical danger they found themselves in.

There was no doubt her uncle was mad.

She still couldn't bring herself to think of him as anything but her uncle. It would take a long time to break the habit, and time didn't seem to be something she would have a lot off.

Lisa heard the sounds of footsteps approaching down the stairs that led to the basement. The stairs ended beside the door. They had been placed in the first room in the basement. The heavy bolt on the outside of the door slid open, then the door swung back on creaking hinges. Light flooded the room, causing them to squint. Two cowled figures stood just inside the opening.

One was Armitage. He was easy to identify, standing there with the cowl thrown back from his head. The other's head was covered.

"I trust you had a pleasant night?" Armitage said sarcastically, looking from one prisoner to the other.

They didn't answer.

"It doesn't really matter," he said with a sneer. "It is too late to undo what you have already done. It's just a pity that our Master will not get to enjoy your blonde beauty, Lisa. Still, his loss is our gain. Sara will have the honor of the nuptial rituals."

"I won't do it," Sara snapped, her fear giving place to anger. "You're mad if you think I'll do what you want."

"You will have no option, young lady," Armitage snarled. "You seem to forget you are my prisoner. You will do as I tell you."

"I won't," she said defiantly.

"We'll see about that," Armitage said, his voice suddenly calm and in control again. "Circe, go and bring the other witches of our coven. It's time to start preparing our guests for their part in the great plan."

Sara sprang to her feet as Circe left the room. She tried to follow, but Armitage reached out with a single hand, grabbed her arm and sent her flying back into the room. She cannoned into Lisa. They both fell to the floor in a tangle of naked limbs. By the time they'd sorted themselves out, the door to their prison was locked and the door bolted from the outside.

They weren't kept waiting long.

Within minutes the door opened a second time and several hooded figures filed into the room. They grabbed the two young women and dragged them roughly up the stairs. At the top, Lisa was led into the temple while Sara was taken down the corridor and into Lisa's old room. Lisa's nurse, also cowled but not hooded, was waiting inside the door. They dragged the struggling girl into the bathroom and threw her into the bath. Ignoring her protests, they scrubbed her until her skin gleamed. She must look presentable for her moment in history and from now until the ceremony there would be a coven member constantly with her to ensure she remained intact until her date with Destiny..

Meanwhile Lisa was dragged roughly into the temple and stretched out naked on the altar. Her wrists and ankles were fasted by ropes to rings set into the side of the altar, then the ropes were tightened until she was no longer able to struggle.

Armitage stepped forward. The others gathered in a circle behind him.

"This sacrifice is no longer a virgin," he intoned. "Shall she be made to pay for the time we spent keeping her pure for the Master?"

"Yes," the coven cried.

"Is this the wish of all our members here present?"

"Yes," the voices replied in unison.

"How shall we make her pay her debt?"

"Let her turn our sorrow into pleasure," a quavering old female voice cried, her voice dripping frustrated lust.

"Yes," another agreed. "It will fill in the time until the ritual."

"She has tempted and teased my eyes for many years," another growled. "Her purity was defiled. Let us use her before she is sacrificed to the Master."

Armitage stood close to the altar, letting his hands run over Lisa's young body. His eyes gleamed as he prodded and caressed the tender young flesh that had always been near yet so far out of reach. He had often felt the urge to use her young body even when she'd been a young child, but he had controlled his lust because of the specific reason for which he was raising her, but now he would have the chance to try her for himself.

Lisa lay helplessly, unable to move her limbs because of the ropes holding her down. Her eyes were filled with fear, flicking from side to side as she tried to see what was going on. She could hear the voices and the words they spoke, but her mind refused to accept the message it was getting.

Armitage moved from her sight, yet she could still feel his hands as they caressed her and she could hear the sound of rustling. It sounded like clothing being discarded. Her eyes filled with tears as Armitage came into view again. She could see his naked torso as he placed his hands on either side of her chest, lowering his face to hers as he cruelly pressed his lips against her mouth. She tried to scream, but was blocked by the tongue raping her mouth.

The pain subsided as Armitage raised his body from hers. It was just the start of experiences she'd never known existed--the first time a male had invaded the privacy of her young and virginal body. Instead of a tender and gentle introduction to the experience of becoming a woman, she had been brutally and publicly used and humiliated by a man she had known and respected since a child. Her love and respect for her uncle turned to hatred and loathing as he showed her his true nature. She wished him dead, yet she was not in a position to be able to carry out her wish. The feelings raised in her young body were traumatic, but the shock desensitized her for the ordeals that followed.

The members of the coven made good use of her while they waited the time to depart for the ritual. Lisa had never expected that such a variety of couplings could exist between two naked bodies. She had learnt about Saphro from Sara, but their moments together barely touched the tip of the many different ways the women of the coven made use of her helpless body. The men were no less creative but far more brutal in their demands.

Her bonds were released and she was dragged down to the floor. She fainted, but that didn't slow the abuse that was being inflicted on her. The coven didn't even notice that their plaything was nothing but a limp and lifeless doll, responding from some deep and dark hidden instinct.

* * * *

Andrew Barnstable was frustrated, knowing that his two daughters were inside the manor but that he was unable to reach them. He had arrived outside the manor with the arrival of night, determined to stop the Satanists from achieving their target, the sacrificing of the two young women.

At their last meeting, Professor Hazzler had been adamant that both the young women would be killed during the ritual, but he had been uncertain as to where that ritual would be held. The humans suspected that ceremony would be carried out in the manor, but their vampire colleague wasn't so sure. Over the years there had been strange goings-on at the ruined church, but he had never hung around to see what these were. He didn't want to attract attention to his hiding place, and to kill one member of a group would certainly attract attention to the church. He made sure he left as soon as the sun sank below the horizon on the days he knew the people would gather, which always seemed to coincide with the rising of a full moon.

He had never attached any great significance to this, but the professor had smiled grimly when he mentioned it during their planning.

"Did they gather at the church at every full moon?" he asked

"Yes, they were as regular as clockwork, always arriving at least two hours before midnight, and leaving before dawn."

"Are you sure it was the same group each time?"

"I think so, but I would not like to stake my life on it."

"Not a good choice of words, my friend," Hazzler said with a laugh.

"That's true, but you know what I mean. I never got to see who they were because they always arrived cloaked and masked, and I didn't stay around to see what they got up to."

"Maybe that was just as well," Hazzler told him grimly. "If your visitors were the Satanists, there would have been a chance that they might have detected your vibrations, and that would have alerted them to a presence from the other side as dark as their own."

"But why go all the way to the ruined church if they have a temple in the manor?" Murchison asked, a worried expression on his face. "Could we have two such groups operating in Barnstable, not just the one based at the manor?"

"I doubt it, the area is too small for two covens to operate successfully. There could have been a conflict of interests between them," Hazzler muttered.

"That still doesn't explain why they would travel all the way to the church once a month," Anderson said. "Could the church have links with the past?"

"It has many links with the past," Sergeant Bertram muttered, thinking back to what he had learned about the area when he first arrived in Barnstable. "From what I can remember, the church was built by the Barnstable family not long after the manor was completed. They provided the total funding for both projects, with the only local involvement being the provision of some laborers. All the craftsmen for both projects came from the city, and returned to it when the building was completed."

"Yes, there were links," Andrew Barnstable agreed. "We attended the church for service every Sunday, even though there was a church incorporated into the manor. I was raised there, but I can never remember attending any services in our private church. I was always taken with the family to mingle with the locals at the public Sunday service."

"Why?" Hazzler asked in surprise.

"I don't know, that was never explained to me. I was a child, I did what my elders told me to. Even the deceased members of the family were all interred at the old church, none were buried in the grounds of the manor."

"There must be something that attracts these people to the church," Burrows suggested. "What caused the destruction?"

"That's a long story…" Bertram started to say when he was interrupted by Barnstable.

"And totally irrelevant to the problem about the missing young women. What are we going to do about them?"

"I would suggest we watch both areas," Murchison said.

"Do not worry about the church, leave that to us," Hazzler said. "However, we need to keep an eye on the manor to ensure we know if and when the Satanists make a move to leave. We need somebody who can hide and has the patience to wait, but also the speed to get in contact with us when the action starts."

"I'll watch the manor," the vampire said. "I have the patience of the grave and the speed of the bat to reach you when anything happens around here."

"That will be excellent," Hazzler said. "The Satanists will not want to attract attention to themselves if they do move from the manor as a group to a different site for their ritual, so I think they will move under the cover of darkness."

"Why would they bother?" Murchison asked.

"Because they know that we know about their existence and they will want to keep their movements secret until they feel secure under the power wielded by their Master," Hazzler said. "If they are successful with summoning the Devil, they will move openly under his mantle."

"And we must make sure that never happens," Anderson muttered.

* * * *

The vampire had been waiting outside the manor, almost convinced that the sacrifice would occur inside the manor, when he noticed a flurry of activity around the garage as the doors opened and two the vehicles drove out. He changed into his alter ego and swooped down to the trailing vehicle. He would start with them first, maybe he could slow them down. He didn't have much time because the first rays of the sun were starting to tinge the eastern skyline.

The furry body was thrown back as if it had hit a solid wall. The vampire landed beside a tree, shaking his head as he resumed human shape. He swore softly to himself. He should have expected the coven wouldn't move outside the manor unless they first surrounded themselves with a psychic screen.

The mobile screen was just as impenetrable as that surrounding the manor. However, he'd seen the naked young woman in the back of the vehicle. It wasn't Sara. She must have been in the other sedan. He must warn his human allies the Satanists were on the move--even if their final target was his own eventual destruction!

But first he would have to find somewhere close by to hide for the day. He wouldn't have time to reach the cemetery before it was bathed in bright sunshine.

 CHAPTER 18: Stephanie

Stephanie Ramsone looked down without pity at the naked body crouched beside her in the back seat of the vehicle. She felt no trace of sympathy for the girl who had once been the daughter of Barnstable. Her grandmother had spoken of the honor that was to be bestowed on Lisa at some unspecified date in the future, and that had made her envious. Why should the blonde bimbo at the manor be earmarked for fame? Why not she, herself? She was just as beautiful, and even younger? Her grandmother had smiled mysteriously and refused to be drawn any further on the subject.

"It's her destiny," she murmured.

 Destiny be damned , Stephanie muttered under her breath, fuming at the injustices of life. It was only because Lisa was Armitage's niece, so why should that give her a privileged position? She supposed that could be seen as destiny, but it wasn't fair Lisa should gain the honor because of an accident of birth. She had done nothing around the manor, just wander around looking ornamental and bored. She had even looked disinterested when attending any function in the manor and never bothered to speak with any of the guests, adopting an aloof attitude as if she considered herself a level above them.

But that was all in the past now.

* * * *

Stephanie had been shocked to find out Lisa wasn't really Armitage's niece. It had been but only one of a series of shocks that had flowed on from her grandmother's mysterious death and her own elevation to a member of the coven.

Stephanie let her mind wander back to that traumatic period. She had been in the city when the police contacted her parents. She had broken down and cried. She had always been close to the old lady; much closer than she had been to her own family. They had been kindred spirits, scorning the conventions of a staid society. Stephanie wanted freedom; even at her age she hated the restrictions that constrained her sexuality and her rebellious spirit. It wasn't that her grandmother agreed with her, well, not in so many words, but she didn't scold her every time she disagreed with the harsh rulings of the family priest. He was always holding up her young sister, Shona, as an example of what she should be. How boring! Shona was a goody-goody who never put a foot wrong. She was so sweet and polite it was nauseous. She even went to Sunday school and sang in the church choir every Sunday without fail.

Shona was too good to be true.

Stephanie's eyes became misty as she visualized her younger sister. The slender naked body floated in her mind, virginal but strangely exciting. She could never think of Shona without seeing her naked and desirable. She had dropped enough hints, veiled invitations to share her bed--and more--but Shona had been too naïve or innocent to realize what she was hinting at. Pity. She would dearly love to get at Shona, or at least the tender delights that her slender young body offered.

Maybe that would be an achievable goal, now that she was on the path to power with the coven.

Stephanie looked down at the naked figure at her feet and remembered the time she had been naked in this same vehicle. She had been a "willing" victim to Armitage's blandishments not a prisoner facing certain death. Armitage had treated her as a woman, not as a spoilt young child. She'd been too naïve to realize this was a part of a practiced routine, and a very successful one at that. Armitage enjoyed the challenge of pursuing and trapping virginal young girls, and he wasn't averse to trapping the occasional young boy as well, provided that the boy was young and tender like a girl. Her grandmother had frowned when Armitage offered to take her into the city with him to save her the bus fare, but she hadn't voiced any objection. She didn't see the warning glance sent by Armitage as the old woman opened her mouth to protest. The words had died unuttered in the woman's mouth and Stephanie's fate was sealed.

Stephanie had never ridden in a chauffeur driven car before, or in one so spacious. She relaxed against the deep plush upholstery, sinking into a dream world. The rear compartment was separated from the driver by a clear glass screen with tiny little curtains. Armitage drew them across when he entered the vehicle. A perfume pervaded the vehicle that was strangely exciting, yet at the same time soothing. She let her eyes close, listening to the soft music that wafted out from the two speakers. It was very relaxing, soft tones just audible above the sound of waves crashing against the shore. She stirred. Her nipples hardened, pressing against the soft material of her bra. The material felt so rough and uncomfortable. Stephanie groaned softly, then automatically reached up and undid the buttons of her blouse. She opened the clasp holding the two bra cups together. The painful pressure on her nipples eased as the cool air reached the heated tips.

Some strange compulsion drove her to quickly wriggle out of the rest of her clothes, dropping them to the floor between the seats. She was oblivious to the fact she was lying exposed to the gaze of a stranger, and didn't care that the man was old enough to be her father. Her mind was no longer hers but totally under Armitage's control. The powerful drug in the perfume had removed all self-control from her. She was Armitage's plaything, to do with as he wished.

Armitage smiled triumphantly, leaning forward to tap on the glass screen behind the driver. The vehicle turned until it was heading back to the manor. Her trip to the city wouldn't happen that night.

Stephanie didn't return to the city for two days. Armitage found her eager to please him, even after the effect of the drug wore off.

No longer a virgin, Stephanie returned to the city even more frustrated at being unable to have her way with her sister. It became an obsession, and one she freely admitted to Armitage. He merely smiled, telling her there might be a way he could help, but it would depend on other things that still had to happen.

Unknown to her grandmother, Armitage invited Stephanie to the manor the day the coven was next to meet. He swore her to secrecy, then had Molly smuggle her into a small room that looked into the Temple.

"Under no circumstances are you to leave this room until I come back for you," Molly told her. "What you will see tonight is not seen by many who aren't already members of our group. It is a privilege, so don't abuse it, or you'll never be invited back to the manor."

"Unless it's to entertain the members as their sex slave," Molly muttered under her breath as she let her fingers trail over Stephanie's thighs as she left the room.

Stephanie crouched in the shadows behind the one-way glass window, her eyes glued to the opening. The blood pounded through her veins at the approach of the coven as they entered the darkened room, walking in pairs behind their leader. She couldn't recognize anyone behind the masks they wore.

The leader made an impressive sight, his heavily ornate goat's head mask gleaming in the lights shining down on the altar.

Altar!

Stephanie gasped. The lights were shining on an altar, but one unlike any she'd seen before. It was long and low, covered by a single black cloth embroidered with many golden symbols. None of them resembled anything she had seen on the few occasions she'd visited the church that her parents attended. Strange, too, that the cross was upside down, and the candles were black.

The priest raised his arms and turned to face the other hooded figures.

Stephanie felt a thrill run through her body. She was sure the priest had looked straight through the glass window and into her eyes, almost as if he knew she was there. How could he? Only Armitage and Molly knew she was hiding in the darkened room. Could the priest be Armitage? Her parents had never mentioned Armitage was a priest. But, then, they had never mentioned there was a temple in the manor.

"Brethren of the Brotherhood of the Ram," the priest intoned. Itwas Armitage. Stephanie gasped as she recognized his voice. "I have called you together this night so that we may prepare for the ritual to welcome our Master at St. Walpurgis Eve. It will be a time of great joy. Our offering will be accepted and the ritual coupling consummated. However, we are one member short; the circle is broken. In three nights we will meet again to initiate a new member into our midst so that the strength of the circle can be renewed. We make no offering to the Master this night other than that of our own bodies."

He raised his arms again. A slow chanting started, gradually growing in both volume and pitch. It was hypnotic, the coven swaying in time with it. Stephanie found she also moved helplessly in its grip, trapped and unable to escape. She could hear moans of lust, and it wasn't only her voice making them. The temple floor was a tangle of naked limbs, both male and female. Cloaks had been cast aside as the coven became involved in a dance of lust and depravity. Her body responded to the scene as if she was a participant, until she was unable to stand any more. Her knees gave under her as she slid to the floor, surrounded by her discarded clothing.

She didn't know how long she lay there, but the temple was deserted when she opened her eyes. Armitage, clad again in his black cloak but without the mask, was standing over her, a smile on his lips.

"I see you were unable to resist the power of the Temple," he said. "That power could be yours one day, to cast around your sister and draw her into your web. As you were unable to resist the power of the Master, so she will be unable to disobey your commands. She will do as you wish, becoming your willing and eager slave. You will be able to use and abuse her in any way you want, whenever you want. She will be your slave."

"Do you really mean that?" Stephanie asked, an excited gleam in her eye.

"I do not make promises I cannot keep," Armitage told her sternly.

"When can I join?" she demanded eagerly.

"There is as yet no vacancy. I will call you when the time is right."

"But I heard you say you were a member short," Stephanie said, her voice eager. "I want to be that new member."

"You have not been taught what we expect from our members, you will need time to learn about us and decide if you really want to join us."

"I don't care. I want to join now," Stephanie insisted.

"You are not ready yet. I will call you when the time is right for you to join us."

"You can't keep me waiting. I want to join now. I don't want to wait."

"You must learn to be patient," Armitage told her with a smile, which frustrated her even more. "We will decide when you are ready, not you. When we summon you, then you must come, immediately and without delay. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Stephanie replied, her frustration still obvious in her voice.

The call came sooner than Stephanie expected. It had followed within hours of her grandmother's murder. She had been given no time to grieve. The ritual of initiation was to be the next night. She had protested at the lack of warning. The answer had been simple--now or never!

Holding the telephone receiver, she'd been deep in thought when Shona walked out of their bedroom and into the bathroom. She held her towel in one hand and wore only a tiny pair of virginal white panties, totally transparent and as thin as tissue paper. Her bouncing bare breasts drew Stephanie's eyes like a magnet, her gaze concentrating on the large soft nipples surrounded by brown aureoles as big as silver dollars. She licked her lips in anticipation of what the future could hold. She could almost feel Shona squirming under her, caught in the throes of uncontrollable lust as she worked on those tempting brown buds.

"I'll be there," she promised.

* * * *

Now she was an integral member of the coven and no longer the youngest member. That dubious honor belonged to the young man selected to replace Molly, a replacement that had to be done immediately to keep the circle complete for the welcoming ritual.

Stephanie looked out of the vehicle window, her eyes misty as she thought back to her ceremony. It had been a momentous day in her young life, longer than that of the one held earlier that day to welcome the new member.

She could clearly remember being led into Armitage's study when she arrived at the manor. Gone was the long black cloak and mask. He was dressed formally in a business suit like any successful businessman. He held out his hand in greeting. Stephanie took it, feeling the strength and power course through her body.

"Are you sure you want to go through with the initiation?" Armitage asked her.

"I'm certain," she replied.

"There will be no going back, once you have been admitted to our group," he told her, a serious expression on his face.

"I don't want to change my mind."

"That is good," Armitage said with a smile. "If you had said no, you wouldn't have been allowed to leave the manor until after St. Walpurgis Eve, and maybe not even then if we had found you enjoyable to use and the other members wanted to keep you here as a temple whore. It's better that you join us so you can gain the power to influence others and bend their wills to carry out your commands. Why do you really want to join us?"

"I've told you. I want my sister. I want to control her body and soul."

"Is that the only reason?"

"That, and power."

"Would you be prepared to share your sister with the other members of the coven, both male and female, as part of your price of admission?"

"If that's necessary, then yes, as long as I get fair time with her," Stephanie said without a moment's hesitation. She was more than happy to share her sister with all who wanted to use her, if that was the price to gain control of her sister's mind and bend her will to do what she wanted.

Armitage reached for the bell push beside his desk and pressed it twice.

"If I had pressed it only once, you would now be on your way to the basement to await your fate as a temple offering," he told her with a smile. "However, this time you go to be prepared for your initiation."

 CHAPTER 19: The Initiation

Two women entered the room to take Stephanie away to prepare her for her initiation; one was young and attractive, the other much older and heavily wrinkled. They were both clad in ankle-length cloaks. They each took an arm and led Stephanie from the room. She looked around as they hurried down a long corridor to the back of the manor. She had never seen such opulence. Her grandmother, not short of financial assets of her own, had always spoken in awe about the manor. Whatever work Armitage might be involved with, poverty was certainly not part of his make-up.

The two women showed her into a small room. It was sparsely furnished with just a table, a chair and a small radiant heater.

"Strip," the older woman told her curtly.

"What?" Stephanie gasped in surprise.

"Take off all your clothes," the other woman told her gently.

"But--"

"Don't argue, child," the old woman snapped impatiently. "Get those clothes off. We haven't got all night."

"I don't want to," Stephanie said, a defiant note creeping into her voice. She wasn't going to let two strangers tell her what to do. She would show them she wasn't some puppet ready to dance when they pulled her strings.

"If the High Priestess tells you to do something, you have to obey," the younger woman said softly. "It is our Master's command that we obey those He places in authority over us. If we don't obey, we don't belong. I'm sure you wouldn't want your initiation to be cancelled. After all, that's what this is all about, isn't it? The start of your journey down the path to Power."

Reluctantly Stephanie let her fingers move to the buttons and zips holding her clothing in place. She dropped each piece defiantly on the floor, letting the women know by every line of her body she wasn't willingly obeying their commands.

* * * *

They smiled sadly. It would be a hard lesson for their new acolyte to learn, but nothing less than total obedience was acceptable from the members of the coven. There was no room for a rebellious attitude in such a close-knit group. Many of the members would take great delight in finding as many unpleasant ways they could to break her defiant spirit until they had her totally compliant to the will of the Coven. There was no going back. This young girl had burnt her bridges. She was now one of them. She would accept the authority of the High Priest and Priestess, or she would pay a very high price for her refusal to obey the dictates of the Master.They let their eyes wander over her naked body. She really was quiet lovely, a tasty morsel to add to their menu during the chill winter nights to come. As the youngest and newest member, she would be at the beck and call of all members, no matter the time of day or night. There was no doubt she would be in demand, especially by the elderly males who enjoyed the ego trip of coupling with a beautiful girl young enough to be their own daughter.

The two women dragged forward a collection of clanking chains and shackles. These consisted of a rusty set of ancient gyves and manacles. Quickly they adjusted them, then slipped them around her ankles, fastening them so that she couldn't move her feet more than three hundred millimeters at a step. Then they strapped a heavy pair of leather sandals to her feet. They had thick soles and were fastened around her ankles with leather straps.

Stephanie tried to move; her feet remained glued to the floor. The sandals must have weighed a ton.

A filmy tunic, transparent and in pure white, was slipped over her head, after which her arms were manacled behind her back. A long cloak made of coarse dark materials was slipped over her head. It fastened around her shoulders by two metal clasps. Her long hair was drawn back and tied with a bow made from black ribbon. A shapeless black hood without eyeholes was slipped over her head. She disappeared into a world of darkness, but she could still hear the outside world.

Stephanie heard a gong boom in the distance.

"It's time to go," the older woman muttered. "Come."

"Take my hand," the other said kindly. "Slide your feet along the floor. It'll be easier than trying to lift those sandals and walk normally. They weigh over twenty kilograms each."

They led Stephanie along a corridor that, in the dark solitude of her mask, seemed to go for hundreds of meters.At least it's flat , she muttered to herself.

"Wait here," the older woman told her.

There was a thunderous knocking, as if someone was trying to break down a door.

"Who seeks entrance to the Temple of the Brotherhood of the Ram?" a muffled voice cried.

"The penitent and her guides," the younger woman called.

There was the sound of a door swinging open.

"Enter, penitent."

Stephanie slid her feet cautiously forward.

"It's all right; it's a level floor," the young woman murmured, guiding her with a hand gripping her at the elbow.

"Who brings this stranger into our midst?" a voice she recognized as Armitage asked.

"We do, Master," the two women replied in perfect unison.

"Why do you bring her forth amongst us?"

"She wishes to follow in the ways of our Lord and Master."

"Is this true, penitent?"

"Yes," Stephanie gasped as a finger prodded her ribs to make her aware that the question was being addressed at her.

"Remove the hood, so that the penitent may see the Light," Armitage ordered.

The mask was removed. Stephanie blinked as her eyes adjusted to a world of brightness. She was standing in front of the altar she had seen earlier. Armitage, resplendent in his robes, stood facing her.

"You stand in the Temple of the rightful Lord and Master of this World, who was driven from his Kingdom by Jesus the Pretender. No one may approach the altar unless they are prepared to acknowledge His rightful position of preeminence and denounce the false prophets who have usurped His rightful place. Do you denounce all false Gods, including the God of Christianity, promising to follow the commands of our Lord and Master Satan?"

"I do," Stephanie stammered, her voice just reaching the High Priest at the altar. This was heavier than anything else she had done; these people were not playing games, they were deadly serious.

"Answer clearly and with conviction, child, so that all may hear your vow," Armitage told her.

"I do," Stephanie repeated, her voice much stronger at the second attempt.

"You have been brought before the followers of our Lord and Master, a neophyte seeking admission to the most powerful community within the nations of the world, yet you are as nothing compared to even the meanest of these followers. Do you promise to faithfully obey the commands of those set in authority over you, never questioning their instructions and carrying out each command to the letter, no matter what inconvenience it might cause you?"

Stephanie hesitated.

"There is no room for hesitation," Armitage snapped, his voice growing harsh and demanding. "We are waiting for your answer."

"I do," Stephanie said nervously.

"Step forward," Armitage commanded.

Stephanie moved forward until her feet were at the bottom of the two steps leading to the altar.

Armitage reached out and released the clasps holding Stephanie's rough cloak in place. It fell around her ankles, the flimsy tunic doing nothing to hide her body from the admiring glances of the other members of the coven.

"There is no room for false modesty between the members who follow our Lord and Master," Armitage intoned. "We came naked and helpless into this world as children, and so we shall come naked before the Master to offer Him our souls. Remove the tunic."

The two women roughly ripped the tunic from Stephanie. She stood proudly and defiantly naked before the coven, a blush on her cheeks but her shoulders held back, forcing her firm young breasts outward. She was breathing quickly, the taut nipples swaying in time with the rise and fall of her chest.

"As a follower of the false prophet, you have been shackled by the conventions that have deterred many from following the path of Wisdom and Truth. You have come to us of your own free will. Do you wish to be released from the shackles that bind you to your past life?"

"I do," Stephanie said, her voice clear and no longer nervous, growing in confidence as the ritual continued.

Armitage raised his arms outstretched. The two women fell to their knees beside Stephanie and released the shackles that bound her arms and ankles. The heavy metal chains clanked to the floor.

"The shackles that held you to your past have gone and you are free of the restraints that held you back, but the road you have selected will be long and hard; the sandals you wear will remind you others will strive to drag you back from your chosen path. You may remove them now, but never forget that you must always go forward regardless of the forces that strive to hinder your progress."

Stephanie stepped from the sandals.

"Face your brothers and sisters of the Brotherhood of the Ram," Armitage instructed her.

Stephanie turned to face the coven. Her hands moved to cover her breasts and the junction of her thighs. The two guides held them back.

"Don't be modest," the younger one whispered in her ear. "You are very beautiful. Let them feast their eyes on you. Soon it will be their lips that taste what their eyes have seen and admired."

"Let us welcome our new sister," Armitage said, stepping forward until his arms encircled Stephanie from behind. He cupped her breasts, then slid his hands down to rest on her softly rounded hips.

One by one the brothers and sisters of the Brotherhood filed forward to pay their tribute, each in their own way. Some drew Stephanie into their arms and sought her lips, forcing their tongues deep down her throat and forcing hers to fence with theirs; others fell to their knees and made their greeting in a far more intimate manner. She wriggled, but was unable to escape their attentions, held firmly by the two women at her sides. By the time it was their turn, Stephanie was moaning with scarcely concealed passion. The two women worked in unison until the young girl tensed as a bolt of fire exploded deep within her body.

Armitage reached out. Stephanie took his hand, unsure what was to happen next. She was led up the final two steps to the altar. The two women raised her off her feet and stretched her out on the black velvet, her head beneath the cross, her legs facing the coven. They spread her thighs apart as Armitage knelt between them and introduced her to the power of the Master.

* * * *

He was the first that night, but not the last. All Stephanie knew was that she had experienced more sex in a single night than she'd ever dreamed was possible even in her wildest dreams. Yet throughout her experiences, the image of the naked body of her young sister never left her mind. The quicker she learned the ways of the Ram, the sooner she would have Shona in her power, unless Armitage had lied. Somehow, she knew that he hadn't. She must work harder to learn the rituals of the Temple so she could reach her hidden targets. She felt sorry for the new recruit, his initiation had been cut short because of the need to leave for the welcoming ritual, so he had missed the orgy that had followed her initiation.

Now she was on her way to some secret ritual to welcome the Master. Surely this would give her sufficient power to trap Shona.

It was too bad about Lisa. She had a great body, and Stephanie had enjoyed using it when the blonde had been handed to the coven for their enjoyment. Lisa had been too shocked to fight, lying there as if in a coma. Stephanie had enjoyed the brief session, but it was Shona she lusted for and it was Shone she was determined she would have!

 CHAPTER 20: The Gathering Storm

Alex Anderson was worried. Had his mind cracked at last? There had been no trace of any of the damage that had occurred in the bedroom overnight when the sun's rays washed the floor with their golden fingers of light that morning. How on earth could that much damage vanish with the rising of the sun? He couldn't have imagined the attacks. They had been too real to have been in his mind. Professor Hazzler and his assistant were still in the room with him and the pentagram was still chalked on the floor. No, there was no doubt their ordeal had been frighteningly real.

So where was the evidence?

"You're worried about the lack of any signs of last evening, aren't you, Alex?" Hazzler said, reading his mind.

"Yes, I am. Surely there should have been something to show what we've been through."

"You would have expected that, but it doesn't really surprise me."

"Why?" Anderson asked.

"We were invaded by the forces of the Underworld. They're the forces of the night. With the coming of the dawn, they would recall their minions back to their dark kingdom. There would be nothing left to show they've been here, except that which was affected in the temporal world."

"The pentagram."

"And the candles and all the paraphernalia I brought from the city because they belong to our world. And, of course, there will also be the body of the person who summoned the Dark Angel. There will be one body at the manor, unless I'm very much mistaken, one less member of the Coven."

"What do we do now?" Anderson asked. "We can't just wait around for another attack."

"I don't intend to, even though I think that is most unlikely," Hazzler said grimly. "They fired their most powerful shots last night and would have little left for a second round. They could repeat the earlier attacks, but they know we had effective defense against those. They are unlikely to summon the Dark Angel again in case it costs them another member of their coven. We have a lot of preparations to make before the welcoming ceremony, so I don't intend to wait around. I have to return to the city to replenish my supplies and I'll be back this evening. We will rebuild the pentagram for tonight and tomorrow night we will face the final battle."

"What about the girls?" Anderson asked.

"They will be safe with the coven until the ceremony starts."

"And we still don't know where that's going to be," Murchison muttered. "How can we plan our attack if we don't know where the ceremony will be held?"

"We can't," Hazzler agreed. "While I'm in the city I would suggest you search the local ruins for any sign of recent activity. I don't think you'll find anything, but at least it will keep you busy."

"What about the manor?" Anderson asked.

"We'll go there tomorrow. I want to talk with Louis Armitage. I have no intention of visiting them at night--it would be like stepping into a lion's den to go to the manor in the dark when their unearthly forces move freely."

"Are you planning on taking Superintendent Murchison with us?" Anderson asked.

"Wouldn't hurt to, in case Armitage wants to get obstructive," Hazzler agreed.

* * * *

Armitage didn't get obstructive. Armitage wasn't there. No one was there. The manor was deserted when they visited it the next morning after an undisturbed night crouched in the pentagram.

The heavy entrance gates had swung open as Anderson leaned on them to reach the bell chain. Murchison shrugged his shoulders.

"I think the birds have flown," he muttered. "Pull the chain, anyhow, just in case anyone's still in the manor."

"It will let them know we're on our way," Anderson objected.

"The sound of the car will have already done that," Murchison reminded him.

"They'll hide the girls," Anderson muttered.

"If they're still here, they'll be hidden somewhere already and we can't break in without a search warrant… which is something we don't have."

"Armitage won't let us into the manor if there's any evidence here to connect him with the abduction," Hazzler added.

"Abduction?" Anderson asked in surprise.

"What else," Murchison said grimly. "Lisa belongs to the manor, but Sara doesn't. If she is being held here against her will, that's abduction, and that's illegal and an enforceable crime with which Armitage can be charged. No, if the girls had still been here, we wouldn't have gotten one foot inside the front gate, let alone the front door. I agree with the inspector, Armitage and his friends have already left the manor."

The manorwas deserted.

Anderson walked around the side of the building while Hazzler continued to press the bell and beat his fist against the wooden surface of the heavy doors. He could hear the echoes running through the empty building, but they solicited no response. The doors to the double garage were open. No cars were inside, but fresh oil stains on the concrete floor showed where at least two had been parked recently. Fresh marks in the area outside the doors indicated the cars had been driven out and down the gravel drive not many hours before. The back door between the garage and the manor was swinging open on its hinges. It hadn't been pulled shut. Whoever had left last had been in a hurry.

Anderson stuck his head through the opening.

"Anybody home?" he called, sticking his head through the opening.

The only answer he got was the echo of his own voice, thrown back at him down the empty corridor that led to the main hall. Should he go in or wait for a reply?

"What the hell," he muttered. "Might as well get hung for a sheep as for a lamb."

Lisa was, or might be, inside. To hell with legal conventions, her safety was more important to him than any criminal prosecution that might follow if there was anyone inside the manor. He hurried down the corridor.

* * * *

Hazzler stopped beating against the door. He'd heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Somebody's coming," he said softly.

"About bloody time," Murchison muttered. "The noise you've been making would awaken the dead. Wonder why it took them so long to answer."

"Because I had to get inside first," Anderson interrupted as he swung the huge doors open.

"How the hell did you get in there?" Murchison spluttered.

"Simple. The back door was open," Anderson told him with a grin.

"What if somebody saw you?" Hazzler asked in concern.

"I don't think that there's anybody left to see anything. The garage is empty, it looks like all the vehicles have gone. I called out before I went inside, but got no answer."

"Then they've already gone to where they are going to hold their evil ritual," Hazzler muttered, a worried look on his face. "I'd hoped they would hold it here, but this obviously isn't the site for the welcome to their Master."

"Are you saying we're too late?" Anderson gasped, his face growing pale.

"No, we aren't too late. St. Walpurgis Eve isn't until tonight. We'll have time to find them, but it would help if we knew exactly where they have gone. There must be another site of evil around here even more powerful than the manor. I think it could be the ruined church, but it would be a bit far to go out there and wait for them, and then find out we were at the wrong site."

"I thought Barnstable was watching the manor," Murchison muttered angrily.

"Remember, he can only watch it during the hours of darkness," Hazzler told him. "Don't forget he's a vampire and sunlight would be fatal to him. Even if he saw them leave, and they did that earlier this morning, he would now be hiding somewhere waiting for the sun to set before he can tell us what he saw."

"Some bloody spy," Anderson muttered in disgust.

"Vampires are creatures of the night, Alex," Hazzler said. "That is what Fate has decreed for them and so they must exist within the parameters of darkness and secrecy on the fringes of our temporal world. To try and do anything else would be asking for trouble. If Barnstable has news about the two women, he will come to us as soon as he can. In the meantime the frustration must be killing him."

"And if it got the better of him and he tried to move, the sun would finish the job," Anderson muttered. "I don't suppose he has much choice."

"Could they have taken the women to another house?" Murchison asked, ignoring Andrew's interruption.

"They could have, but not necessarily. They could hold the ritual in anything big enough to house an altar to Satan, and the thirteen members of the coven, like a barn or a shed."

"Where do we start looking?" Anderson asked.

"I don't know. It could be anywhere."

"Why don't we have a look around here first?" Burrows suggested. "There might be something that could point us in the right direction."

* * * *

Superintendent Murchison was reluctant, but bowed to the combined pressure of his fellow conspirators. He had to admit they should take the opportunity of searching the manor while the occupants were away, they'd never get another chance like this. If they found anything to connect Armitage with the missing Sara Barnstable, his protestations would come to nothing. It would be a different story if the manor were clean. Under those circumstances, their visit would take some explaining if Armitage lodged a complaint with the authorities.

The lounge and the library, both of which Anderson had been inside, revealed nothing out of the ordinary. True, the books showed a strange and sinister emphasis on the occult, but that wasn't a crime. The dining room was deserted, but the table had been laid ready for the next meal, this time with fourteen places.

"The Satanists are gone, but they are obviously planning to return to the manor at some stage in the very near future," Anderson muttered.

"But with an additional member over and above the thirteen members of the coven," Hazzler remarked, counting the places set around the table.

"The girls?" Anderson asked.

"Well, at least one of them," Hazzler said, his voice grim.

"Then maybe they aren't going to kill them," Murchison said, a tone of relief in his voice.

"Remember they have two prisoners," Hazzler reminded him. "One will return and…"

"The other one will die," Anderson snapped. "But which one will be returning?"

"I wish I knew," Hazzler said. "Whichever way we look at it, one of the young woman will not be making the return journey if we're reading the signs right. Let us carry on our search in case we can find anything else important that will guide us to the correct site for the ceremony."

The fires had been allowed to go out in the kitchen, but the refrigerator was still filled with food, another indication the group was planning to return.

"The embers are still warm," Anderson said, resting his hand on the top of the stove.

"Then that is confirmation they left this morning, and not some time during the night," Hazzler said.

"In which case Barnstable might have seen them if they pulled out before sunrise and will have something to tell us," Murchison added.

"But we still have to wait for this evening before he can reached us," Anderson grumbled. "What the hell do we do in the meantime? I would hate to sit around with my finger up my bum waiting for something to happen."

"We can finish searching the manor as a first step," Hazzler suggested, moving to the kitchen door. "Gather back at the foot of the stairs when you've finished your section."

They moved to the foot of the stairs leading to the upper story. At the top of the stairs they split into two groups and checked the rooms on either side of the corridor.

"Not a hell of a lot of interesting things on my side of the corridor," Anderson muttered when they gathered again. "The rooms were all bedrooms and toilets, and they were all empty. The beds were made, but looked like they hadn't been slept in for weeks."

"I did no better," Murchison grunted. "I wonder why Armitage has so many bedrooms?"

"Remember the manor was built more than one hundred years ago," Hazzler told him. "I should imagine there were no such things as hotels or motels in the village at that time."

"And they are few and far between even now," Anderson added.

"The Barnstables would have needed accommodation for their visitors, and for all the family," Hazzler continued, ignoring the interruption.

"Which was quite large according to the copy of the family history in Armitage's library," Anderson said. "And I suppose they also had live-in servants."

"I doubt if they let the servants sleep in the main building," Burrows muttered. "The moneyed gentry didn't like mixing with the common herd in the old days. They must have had servant accommodation in the outbuildings."

"I suppose we will have to check them out as well," Anderson muttered.

"Not really, unless the present staff slept out there," Hazzler said.

"I don't know about the maid, but I know Perkins had a room in this building, so I suppose the others did also."

"Then we won't bother searching the outbuildings," Hazzler said. "What have we got left to search?"

There was only one room they still had to check on the ground floor. The entrance was behind the staircase and concealed by heavy black velvet curtains. Anderson hadn't noticed it when he was in the manor on his first visit.

The massive doors stood menacingly closed, the metal studs gleaming with malevolence. The pattern resembled an upside down cross. There was no doubt about that. The two heavy door handles were made from polished brass, carved in the form of a hideous face that radiated evil.

"Asmodeus," Hazzler muttered in disbelief. "I suspected this was an evil place, now I know why."

"Who the hell is Asmodeus," Anderson asked.

"He's the prince of Satan's evil enforcers, an evil spirit incarnate, but not the only one that is known for traveling in our world. It is believed the evil spirits that surround Satan are all fallen angels who were expelled with him when he was sent from Heaven. According to the ancient scribe Wierus, Satan's demons were divided into a great many classes. The demon Moloch was known as the chief of the Satanic army. The court of Evil was divided and ruled by Adramelech as Grand Chancellor, Astaroth as Grand Treasurer, Nergal was the Chief of the Secret Police, and Baalbeth was Moloch's deputy in the Satanic army."

"Christ, they're more organized than our own government," Anderson said.

Hazzler took a deep breath, then continued.

"It was believed these demons and those under their control could control the winds, the waters, and influence the stars. They could raise earthquakes, induce diseases, or cure them, and release the souls out of purgatory--at a price. They were said to be able to control the passions of the mind, procure the reconciliation of friends or foes, engender mutual discords, induce madness or melancholy, or direct the force and objects of sexual affections."

"Then why have that bastard Asmodeus as a door knob?" Anderson muttered in disgust.

"What more logical a guardian to a Temple to Satan then the Devil's most powerful and evil enforcer," Hazzler said grimly.

"Temple," Murchison muttered in surprise.

"Yes. A temple. Unless I'm very much mistaken, behind that door lies a Temple to Satan… and there's only one way to find out."

Hazzler took one of the gargoyles in each hand and pushed. The huge doors swung open silently on well-oiled hinges. Inside was a pit of blackness.

"See if you can find some lights," Hazzler muttered, peering into the darkness.

Burrows ran his hand over the wall inside the door on the left, while Anderson went to the right. The room was flooded with light as Burrows's finger touched the bank of switches operating the lights.

"My God, what is it?" Murchison gasped, looking around him in amazement.

"A Temple to Satan," Hazzler said simply.

"And by the smell of the incense still on the air, I'd hazard a guess it was used as late as last night," Burrows added, his nose wrinkling with disgust as he sniffed the heavy, perfumed air.

"They must have been preparing for tonight," Hazzler mused.

"Why leave so early, if they're not holding the ritual here?" Anderson asked. "Surely that would indicate the site is a long way from the manor."

"Not necessarily," Hazzler told him. "It could be somewhere nearby, but they didn't want to attract attention to it, so they moved out from here early and will arrive at the new site before it gets dark."

"What about the old church?" Burrows asked. "If they are not going to hold the ceremony here, then that now seems the most logical location."

"But that's the vampire's stamping grounds," Anderson protested. "Surely they wouldn't want to use the same facilities?"

"Remember, they don't know about the vampire," Hazzler reminded him, with a grim smile.

"Come off it," Anderson muttered. "Armitage can't be that thick. He has already lost three people from his circle under the most unusual circumstances. He must suspect something."

"He could, but most probably not a vampire," Hazzler said with a smile. "There has been no information released to the media about the bodies being drained off blood, just that they died under unexplained circumstances, and that could cover a variety of scenarios. If I read our friend right, Armitage wouldn't have wasted any time disposing of the guard's body. I guess he would have ordered it thrown in a hole somewhere on the estate, and not even realized it was drained of blood. He wouldn't have been interested in how the guard died, just annoyed he died on duty. But you could be right, maybe they have gone to the ruined church. It would be a good place for their evil rituals."

"But it's only a ruin," Murchison muttered. "How would they manage to hide there during the day?"

"Would they really need to hide?" Hazzler mused. "If they were to park openly and work around the site, would you suspect them of being up to no good?"

"The church is part of the history of this valley," Anderson mused. "It could be made to look like they were engaged in a working bee, doing their bit to protect an historic site."

"Exactly," Hazzler said grimly. "What better way to hide than to remain in the open. Nobody will take much notice of them because they would look like innocent workers, not suspicious criminals. On the other hand, they might drive into the hills first to kill some time and try to throw us of their trail by going in a different direction."

"But why the church?" Anderson asked, a puzzled expression still on his face.

"You were born here… what can you remember of the story behind it?" Hazzler asked him.

"I'm a bit hazy about the whole subject," Anderson muttered. "I don't think I can add much more to what Sergeant Bertram told us earlier at the police station except there was a story going around when I was a boy that it was wrecked in a very localized earthquake. As if that wasn't enough, it was then struck by a bolt of lightening that came down during a violent electrical storm that followed the earthquake. I don't know how accurate the stories are because I haven't been able to speak to anybody who was at the church at the time; they all seem to have vanished. I guess even Bertram's information is based on hearsay not personal knowledge."

"How much later?" Hazzler asked.

"It sounded like it was the same night," Anderson muttered.

"Was there any other damage in the valley?"

"No, as far as I know nothing else was damaged."

"Strange earthquake," Hazzler mused.

"What do you mean?"

"Earthquakes occur on fault lines, and fault lines occur horizontally not vertically. No matter how slight the quake, it would have been felt all along the fault line. Something strong enough to wreck a solid stone church would have played havoc with the other buildings in the area and would have been felt as far away as the village, maybe even further than that. At the worst it would have registered at the city metrological center. Their seismograph would have picked up the shocks if they were as powerful as they seem to have been. What was the local theory for such a localized quake?"

"Wrath of God was the general consensus," Anderson muttered.

"And they could have been more correct than they dreamed," Hazzler said grimly. "I have only seen such a localized quake once before and it also occurred in an area occupied by a church, but a church who's minister had turned from the path of his God to follow false and evil Gods."

"Do you think it was wrecked because of the vampire?" Anderson gasped.

"No, I do not. I suspect that, even in those distant days, it was a haunt for Satanists following their evil ways. The powers of Light reacted by destroying the nest of vipers in their midst with the power of the thunderbolt."

"But the altar is intact," Anderson muttered. "Surely that would have been the center of their activities?"

"Unless the wrath of God was called down on them before they were able to perform their vile rituals to debase the altar."

"Shouldn't we go out to the church to check your suspicions?" Murchison asked.

"To do so would be to alert Armitage, and the Satanists would flee. We might be able to rescue the young women, but the coven would remain intact to continue with their evil plans. We must destroy them at the same time as we begin the rescue."

"Won't that be dangerous?" Anderson asked.

"Yes, it will most certainly be dangerous, but everything involving the forces of Evil is dangerous. If they survive, we could have to spend the rest of our nights within the protection of the pentagram. I'm sure I wouldn't welcome that prospect."

"Neither would I," Anderson agreed, remembering the frightening experiences they had faced at the hands of the minions of Satan. "What do we do now?"

"We wait… and while we wait, we rest. We'll need all the strength we can gather for the coming conflict. We will face not just Armitage, but also his Master's envoy."

* * * *

It was dusk before the four men stirred. They were rested, but their minds were still in turmoil as they prepared to face the biggest challenge they had ever faced. If they lost, many would suffer, not just the two young women being held captive by the Satanists.

"Time to move, I suppose," Hazzler muttered, his voice tense.

"Which way?" Anderson asked.

"To the ruined church," a quiet voice said from the shadows. Andrew Barnstable stepped into the room. His face was haggard and drawn. "They have Sara and Lisa. I heard Armitage giving his directions to the drivers, but I was unable to stop them. They are still protected by their psychic screen. We don't have much time. Tonight Lisa dies on the altar and Sara becomes the unwilling Bride of Satan."

"Then she will also die unless we can rescue her," Hazzler said sadly.

"I know," the vampire muttered. "To become the Bride of Satan is to die in the temporal world and be tied to an eternity of torment as a slave to the Anti-Christ."

"We can't let that happen," Anderson growled. "We must rescue the girls or die in the process."

"That will be our fate if we are unsuccessful," Hazzler muttered grimly as he led the way from the room to where his car was parked outside in the gathering gloom.

It was a beautifully clear night, the heavens ablaze with the light of a myriad stars. The moon had yet to rise, but its pale white glow could be seen tingeing the eastern horizon. In the distance was one large storm cloud poised in splendid isolation in the direction in which they were traveling. Flashes of lightning illuminated the inside of the cloud and the rumble of thunder rose above the sound of the car's engine.

Anderson hoped this wasn't an omen of the storm that was about to be released in the ancient church.

 CHAPTER 21: The Envoy

The ruined church stood in stark isolation on a spur jutting out from the surrounding hills into the small and narrow valley. It was casting long shadows in the moonlight. Overhead the sky was dark, the stars hidden behind the heavy black storm cloud that hung motionlessly over what was left of the church spire. It was a strange cloud, heavy but not much larger than the church grounds, and for such a small cloud, it seemed to be surprisingly active. Flashes of lightning could be seen within the dark mass, angry rumblings of thunder echoed around the fallen walls.

A single black velvet cloth was draped over the altar. It was embroidered with the signs of the Zodiac in gold, interspersed with other signs handed down over the centuries by the followers of Satan. Ornate golden candlesticks stood at the four corners of the altar, each holding a long black candle. A golden chalice stood in the middle of the altar facing the cross that still hung from the remains of the wall behind the altar. However, during the day, the cross had been reversed so that the cross arm was at the lower end. It was draped in black cloth and three small candlesticks balanced on it, one at the end of each arm and one on the top.

The figure of Christ had been torn off and replaced by the naked body of Lisa. She was suspended upside down, her arms lashed to the arms of the cross, a rope around her waist holding her against the central column. Her ankles were tied to either side of the center arm of the cross and the stark whiteness of her naked body stood out like a beacon against the black material. She hung motionless, the rise and fall of her full breasts the only indication she was still alive.

The coven had gathered in a semi-circle around the altar, clad in long black cloaks that covered them from head to toe. Each carried a black candle, and other candles and several incense burners had been placed around the clearing, their powerful scent wafting out to the watchers crouched in the dark behind the first of the gravestones.

Hazzler and his companions had been crouching there for over an hour, their presence not detected by the Satanists. Anderson had wanted to approach closer when he saw Lisa lashed to the cross, but the professor held him back.

"We can't take the risk of activating the psychic screen until we're ready to attack," he warned. "If they detect our presence too soon, all will be lost and Satan's envoy will not materialize."

"That's the second time you've mentioned an Envoy," Anderson muttered. "I thought the Devil himself would be here tonight."

"Satan never does his own dirty work," Hazzler muttered.

"A bit like Armitage," Anderson interrupted.

"Yes. He will send an envoy to act on his behalf, and depending on the strength of the welcome will depend on the importance and power of the Envoy," Hazzler continued, ignoring the interruption. "If Satan is not taking this invitation seriously, he will send a minor demon to act on his behalf, and the ritual will be ineffective in granting the coven the power they seek, but will nevertheless be fatal for the captives. If he sends a major member of His Infernal Alliance, we will all be in grave danger and could end up fighting for our lives."

"Then how can we defeat him if he doesn't front up?" Anderson protested.

"Nobody will ever defeat Satan," Hazzler said gently. "He is the eternal force of Evil that counter-balances the Power of Good represented by the Christian God and the main deities of other religions. There have been many jousts such as this that have helped to maintain the balance between Good and Evil. We must ensure that Good prevails this time. If Satan wins too many of these small battles, the balance could tip in the direction of Evil and herald in a new Dark Ages."

"Then this isn't the end?" Murchison muttered.

"Sadly there will never be an end, just as there is no beginning," Hazzler said. "As long as there are people prepared to sacrifice their eternal soul in their quest for Power, there will be the battle between Good and Evil. It has happened since the start of time; it will continue to the end of the Universe. Attila the Hun, Genghis Khan, Hitler, Sadam Hussein; these are but some of the megalomaniacs who have tried to tip the balance in Satan's favor. Some have even tried to con a gullible public into believing they are working in the name of their God when all they really seek is personal aggrandizement. There will be others…"

Hazzler held his hand up for silence.

"Armitage, if I'm not mistaken," he muttered, pointing to the figure who had just stepped into the pool of light in front of the altar. He towered over his coven, a powerful figure clad in a flowing black cloak emblazoned with glittering signs similar to those on the altar cover. His head was covered by a large mask formed in the shape of a Goat's head. It was made from beaten gold and had gleaming rubies for eyes. The horns were tipped with red rubies that flashed as they caught the flickering light of the candles.

The High Priest raised his arms. A slow chant, monotonous and soft, carried to the watchers. One of the hooded figures glided forward and lit the altar candles, then scuttled back to take its position in the semi-circle of Satanists.

Armitage clapped once.

Out of the shadows came a solitary figure, moving slowly and mechanically.

"Sara," the vampire gasped. "What have the bastards done to her?"

"She looks drugged out of her mind," Anderson muttered.

"It would be the only way they would get her to perform in their evil ritual," Hazzler murmured. "She is no Satanist and neither have they had time to brainwash her the way they were trying to do with Lisa. Sara wouldn't voluntarily undergo this ceremony, but the Bride must not only be a virgin but also appear willing to take part in the ceremony when the Envoy appears. If Sara was not drugged, she would struggle and fight her captors, and that would reduce the effectiveness of the offering and would offend their Master."

"What the hell is she wearing?" Murchison muttered. "It looks like a wedding dress."

"What else for the Bride of Satan?" Hazzler muttered.

"You mean that--"

"They will be going through with a mockery of a Christian wedding service," Hazzler interrupted. "Yes, that's just what they are going to do, but it will be nothing like any wedding you have ever attended, I can assure you."

"When do we do something? This waiting is killing me," Anderson muttered.

"Soon. Be ready to act on my signal. There will be no second chance. Perfect coordination is vital. It will make the difference between success and failure. Do you remember what you have to do?"

Anderson nodded.

"Then, in God's name, don't forget. I cannot stress enough that we will not get a second chance."

Sara had stopped, facing Armitage. They could see her face clearly in the candlelight. It was calm, as if Sara appeared to be in perfect control of the situation. Then she turned her face to follow the direction of the High Priest's voice. She followed the sound, but her eyes remained unfocused, her stare blank and unseeing. There was no doubt she was drugged.

The High Priest turned his back on the coven. Facing the naked body of Lisa on the cross, he raised his hands high above his head. The chant increased in volume. Slowly a mist was forming over the altar, hiding her body from their view. The mist became thicker, blotting out the light of the three candles on the cross. The mist was much thicker now and there seemed to be a solid core of a much darker color. The loose tendrils that had been creeping down to the coven stopped their flow and reversed direction, to be absorbed back into the solid middle column. It had grown into an opaque pillar of black, four meters tall and two meters wide.

The storm cloud over the temple was becoming more agitated, the lightning flashes brighter and more frequent. The thunder roared incessantly, adding to the eerie scene. Flashes of red light started to appear in the column of mist. The flames of the candles flickered as if caught in a strong wind, yet the watchers could feel no breeze. Anderson gasped, pointing. All the flames were pointing toward the mist as if being drawn inwards by a vortex of wind, yet the mist itself no longer swirled.

"Good God, there's something in there," Murchison gasped.

"It must be the envoy," Anderson muttered in disbelief as the mist solidified and assumed a shadowy almost-human outline.

The red flashes within the mist were now concentrated around the top of the column. The shadowy outline became more distinct and the mist started to lift, revealing powerful legs ending in cloven hooves. Higher it rose, up hairy thighs until it reached the muscles of a powerful chest covered in coarse black hair. Powerful arms ending in large hands came into view, each finger tipped by cruelly curved nails. The mist started to clear from the head. It rolled clear of a powerful neck, then the muzzle and jaws of a huge goat.

"My God," Hazzler gasped. "Satan has sent his most powerful envoy, the dread Goat of Mendes. He is taking this invitation much more seriously than I had hoped. Do not forget what each of you has to do, because we are in very grave danger, almost as great as that facing the captives."

The mist had now blown clear of the monstrous head of the Goat. It glared down at the coven cowering at its feet, its red eyes flashing malevolently from one to the other. It stood astride the altar, a figure full of menace and evil power.

* * * *

Armitage fell on his knees before the altar, head bowed, unable to look the Goat in the eyes. He had long dreamed of this moment, but never expected it would really happen. He had hoped their Master would respond and send an envoy, but he had never expected him to send so powerful a representative.

Now his Master's envoy was among them and it would be but a short time before the ritual was complete. Then undreamed-off power would be his.

"Welcome, mighty envoy of our Lord and Master," he intoned. "We would pay our homage to our Master through His envoy."

The Goat turned his posterior to the coven.

* * * *

"Look, the Envoy is turning his back on their offering," Anderson whispered in Hazzler's ear. "They have failed. It must be unhappy with something they've done"

"Not so, Alex. It is just the perverted way Satanists greet their Master's envoy and, they tell me, they greet their new members the same way after their initiation."

A deep rumble of delight rolled from between his jaws when he saw the naked blonde tied to the cross. His tongue flicked out, searing a path between Lisa's thighs. She cringed, but was unable to escape the rapine tongue as it drove her into an uncontrollable sexual frenzy. While the Goat was thus engaged, the coven filed past, paying homage by debasing themselves and kissing the Goat beneath the tail. When the thirteenth member returned to his position in the line, the Goat turned to face his Master's followers.

His red eyes gleamed when he saw the lone figure dressed in virginal white standing beside the cloaked High Priest.

It was the Virgin Bride, the ultimate gift to his Master.

"We bring this gift to our Master, mighty envoy. We beg that you receive it on His behalf, consummating the links between our humble followers and the rightful Lord and Master of all mankind," Armitage intoned, rising to his feet and approaching the altar.

The Goat jumped from the altar, ignoring the High Priest, and stalked over until he was towering over the young girl. She didn't cringe, such was the control of the powerful drugs that had been administered to her. The Goat held out his hand. Armitage placed a wickedly-curved knife, hilt-first, into the beast's palm.

The vampire started forward. Hazzler held him back.

"Not yet," he whispered.

"But he's going to kill her," Barnstable growled angrily.

"He won't kill her until the wedding is consummated. This is just part of the ritual."

The Goat reached out. The sharp blade cut effortlessly through the material of her dress, letting it fall around her ankles. Under the dress Sara was naked, her body oiled and gleaming in the light from the candles. The Goat reached out and let his hands run down her gleaming flanks, then up again until he cupped her breasts, rumbling in satisfaction at the quality of this offering to the Master.

Gently he turned Sara to face the coven.

"Pay homage to this Bride of Satan as you would to the Mother of the World," he growled, a deep voice rumbling forth from between the massive jaws.

One by one the coven crawled forward on their hands and knees. They reached up and let their lips pay homage at the junction of Sara's thighs. She stood impassively, not a flicker of expression crossing her face as thirteen faces buried themselves between her thighs.

"Prepare the Bride for the Master," Armitage instructed.

Two members of the coven stepped forward. They stopped in their tracks as the Goat raised the sacrificial knife above his head in a threatening manner.

"Where is the Bridal feast?" it demanded.

"She hangs over the altar, mighty envoy, yours to do with as you will," Armitage said, head bowed.

"And the Dance?"

"We have no dance, mighty envoy," he apologized. "We did not suspect that our Master's Envoy would seek other entertainment at the bridal ceremony."

"Then two from the coven shall dance. There will be no wedding consummation without the Dance of Lust. Perform it or you shall offend your Master's envoy, and that will not bode well to the Master accepting your offerings."

Armitage quickly rose to his feet. He signaled to two of the cloaked figures. They came reluctantly forward, unsure what was expected of them. At a word from their leader they slipped their cloaks from their shoulders and stood naked before the Goat. He growled in appreciation. Armitage had chosen well. The two most voluptuous members of the coven, Sister Circe and Sister Maude, waited the envoy's command.

"Dance," he roared.

They started to gyrate, shaking their bodies for his enjoyment. The Goat roared angrily. They stopped dancing, their faces mirroring their fear.

"That is not the Dance of Lust," he bellowed. "They must perform the Dance of Lust."

"Quickly," Sister Circe whispered. "Come into my arms. I think the envoy wants us to make love together."

Their bodies entwined, they writhed on the floor. The Goat stopped roaring, his eyes glinting as he watched the two naked women in the throes of their passion, which had started as an act to please their exalted visitor but soon become a real dance of lust. While he watched, his hands wandered over Sara's naked body. He didn't notice her lack of response. It didn't worry him what the Master's Bride felt. The consummation would occur regardless of her wishes. She was only a pawn in the ritual, a token linking the coven and the Master.

His hand snaked out, fastening around Circe's waist. She screamed once, then the sound choked in her throat. She gagged, trying to drag her head free, but he held her helplessly in one hand, the fingers gripping her neck like a band of steel. There was no escape. She fainted.

The Goat threw her body away in disgust, then turned his attention to Maude. His hands fastened around her waist. He drew her backward against him until she was impaled like a fish on a spear. She struggled helplessly, tears pouring from her eyes. He ignored her cries. He was too near his own satisfaction to worry about the laments of the human pawn. He bellowed once, then stepping back, he let Maude fall forward on her face. She lay still where she landed, but the Goat took no notice, showing no sympathy for the weak human who had satisfied his needs.

The High Priest pointed to the two young women. Swiftly they were dragged back into the line and covered with their cloaks. They knelt there, their eyes glazed.

The Goat turned back to face the altar, holding his hand out for the sacrificial knife.

 CHAPTER 22: A New Day Dawns

Anderson had watched the ritual in disgust. He knew the Satanists practiced different sexual mores, but what he'd seen was worse than he had expected. Hazzler had watched impassively, ready to act when the ritual reached its climax. He wasn't sure when the sacrifice would occur because his research had thrown up conflicting information, some talking about the sacrifice after the ritual consummation and others before. They had to be ready to respond to whichever format the Beast followed, and it appeared to be practicing a totally new ritual this time. None of the historical tomes he had studied spoke even briefly of a Dance of Lust. Obviously this was also new to the High Priest, otherwise the coven would have been prepared for it. Was it something extra being thrown in to the ring to check the coven's intent and commitment? That was possible, or was it because Satan had been driven from this site before, even though many years ago, and his envoy was wary about a repeat attack by the Powers of Light?

Only time would tell, and the clock was running down to their moment of truth, when what they did would decide the destiny of the two young women.

Hazzler tensed. The Goat was turning back to the altar. He reached out his hand and the High Priest handed over the sacrificial knife.

The Goat turned to face the coven, raising the knife above his head in both hands. The blade gleamed in the light of the flickering candles. The chanting started again, low and just audible above the rumbling thunder that had continued unabated since their arrival at the church. It increased in volume as the Goat turned to face the naked body lashed to the cross.

It reached out with the blade, drawing it down Lisa from between her breasts to the junction of her thighs, a thin red line of blood following the path traced by the sharp point.

The Goat leaped on to the altar, standing feet apart, his head level with Lisa's face. She watched petrified as he raised the blade above his head, his red eyes flashing.

"Now," Hazzler screamed, throwing a phial of Holy Water toward the altar.

The phial hit the psychic screen with a blinding flash. There was the smell of burning sulfur as the screen was engulfed in a cloud of yellow smoke.

"Go," Hazzler cried.

Anderson burst through the pall of smoke, a large silver cross held out before him, a bottle of Holy Water in his other hand. The Goat roared in anger, turning to face the intruder, the sacrifice on the cross temporarily forgotten.

Armitage screamed in anger, throwing himself in the direction of Anderson. He fell to his knees, fighting the large furry bat that had fastened around his neck. His voice ended in a gurgle as the blood welled up and spilled out of the torn blood vessels in his neck. He was dead on his knees. The vampire had joined the battle, now he was no longer constrained by the psychic defenses.

The Goat, roaring in rage, advanced on Anderson, swinging the sharp knife in indiscriminate sweeps. The coven ran in fear from the raging beast, several felled by the blade that had been designed to bring them immortality. Instead it brought them death.

"The bottle," Hazzler screamed to Anderson. "Use the water."

Anderson threw the bottle in the direction of the Goat. Unerringly, as if guided by some unseen hand, the bottle arched through the air to hit the Goat in the chest. It teetered backward, screaming in pain, surrounded by a pall of evil yellow smoke.

Burrows had reached Anderson's side. He tossed another bottle of Holy Water at the Goat's feet. The water formed a pool around the mighty hooves, slowly dissolving them before their eyes. The Goat struggled to escape from the grip of the deadly water, but it held him fast, drawing him into a pool of putrid green slime. The stench of death filled the air as the Goat of Mendes vanished. It screamed in a combination of pain and anger, lashing out in an effort to reach its enemies.

Sister Circe, trying to escape the attentions of the vampire, ran past. She stopped, a look of bewilderment on her face, her heart impaled on the sharp point of the sacrificial knife. The Goat tossed her body aside. It landed on the altar at Lisa's feet. She didn't notice it. She had fainted many minutes earlier.

Anderson rushed past, taking care to keep out of reach of the flailing knife. Quickly he cut Lisa down from the cross and carried her away from the carnage. He laid her unconscious body behind the shelter of a gravestone, then hurried back to see what he could do to help the professor. He passed Sara, still standing in front of the altar where she had been when the chaos started. Her eyes starred blankly ahead of her, the powerful drug still in control of her body. The vampire stood beside her, the body of another coven member crumpled at his feet.

"Please take my daughter to safety," he said.

"Why don't you take her?" Anderson said softly.

"I still have work to do," Barnstable said simply, turning away to pursue a fleeing Satanist. The cloaked figure didn't make it to the shadows before the vampire landed on his back and sent him on the way to join his Master in Hell.

Anderson swung Sara into his arms. She didn't protest as he carried her away and laid her on the grass beside Lisa. She stayed where he placed her.

Hazzler moved gingerly to the middle of the clearing, staying out of reach of the frenzied Goat. It had dissolved as far as the waist, but was still screaming with pain and rage as it tried to reach the few humans who remained on their feet.

The professor reached for another bottle of Holy Water. He held it in his left hand while he muttered some strange incantation over it with his right hand resting on the stopper. With one single movement, he swung the bottle over his head and tossed it toward the altar.

There was a blinding flash and a massive explosion. The altar disintegrated before their eyes, sending large chunks of stone and timber flying through the air. The cross splintered at the base into several pieces, tearing itself away from the wall. It arched through the air, high above their heads, while the stone wall came tumbling down. Miraculously that portion holding the stained glass window remained intact, the window unbroken.

There was a single muffled scream, then silence.

Anderson spun around to see who had screamed. He shuddered. The cross had flown unerringly to find its target, the heart of the vampire. He lay on the church floor, impaled by the heavy wooden cross that towered over him like an omen. He rushed over to try and help Barnstable.

"Don't grieve for me," Barnstable said, smiling feebly. "Thanks to the power of God, I can now find eternal peace. I am not sad that I have gained my release from the curse that held me captive, only sad that I will not see my daughters again. Speak well of me when you tell them I am gone."

"I will," Anderson promised. "They will both know you helped in their rescue."

The moon broke through the heavy cloud that was fast dispersing in direct proportion to the disappearance of the Goat of Mendes. It shone through the stained glass window, casting its reflection on Barnstable's face.

"May God thank you, Aunt Harriet," he whispered. "I knew you would come to my aid when the time was right. You were the only Barnstable to live a righteous life, unstained by any of our family's sins. May your guidance extend to my daughters, your only remaining blood relatives. The world will never see the like of you again."

The vampire's head fell back, his eyes closed in death.

Anderson watched in horror as the body at his feet started to disintegrate. The clothes went first, turning into a small pile of powder. The body shrunk, then it also started to turn to powder until all that marked Andrew Barnstable's last resting place was a small pile of ashes.

"It is better that our friend goes this way," Hazzler said softly from behind Anderson. "Otherwise we would have had to continue to pursue him to save others from his attacks."

"I suppose so," Anderson nodded.

The Goat had been silenced in the final blast, driven back to his Master's kingdom. The church looked like a scene from a nightmare, dead bodies scattered among the fallen masonry and charred smoking beams. Yet still the solitary wall with the stained glass window stood triumphantly erect. It had withstood the ravages of time and two conflicts between the power of Good and Evil. Harriet Barnstable must have been some extraordinary lady.

Anderson hurried back to where he'd left the two young women. With the departure of the Goat of Mendes, Sara had broken clear of her drug-induced trance. She was starring down at the naked body of Lisa, her face mirroring her shock and surprise. Lisa was still unconscious, but her breathing was no longer ragged. Anderson knelt down beside her, tenderly wrapping his coat around her as he took her into his arms. She started to shiver. He held her close. Her eyelids opened, and she fearfully looked around. She cringed when she saw his face, then relaxed when she realized it was no longer the nightmarish features of the monster at the altar.

She started to sob as the terror ebbed from her body.

Sara rose to her feet, not realizing she was still naked. Burrows hurried forward and placed his coat around her shoulders. She blushed when she saw that the coat just covered her to the top of her thighs.

"Where am I?" she asked softly.

"At the old church," Anderson told her.

"What am I doing here?"

"You were brought here to be the Bride of Satan. We were lucky to be able to defeat him. You are safe now."

"Then Armitage--"

"Is dead, and so are most of his followers. You are no longer in any danger from him and the followers of Satan," Hazzler assured her.

"Is this the old Barnstable church?"

"Yes," Hazzler said softly, sensing the confusion in the young woman. "This is where the Barnstable family was buried over the generations, including your father."

"My father?" Sara said, feigning surprise.

"Andrew Barnstable. We know about him. He helped us rescue you from the clutches of the Satanists after you were lured to the manor."

"Then you know that…"

"He was a vampire? Yes, we have known that for some time, but the Satanists were a bigger and more immediate danger."

"Where is he?"

"Who? Your father?"

"Yes," Sara murmured.

"He gave his life so that you and your sister could be rescued."

"I have no sister," Sara muttered in surprise.

"Lisa is your sister. Your father sired you both," Hazzler told her, a smile on his face. "At different times and to different mothers, but Lisa is definitely your younger sister."

"You say father is dead?"

"Yes. He was killed by the cross in the church when it was thrown off the wall by the exploding altar. It fell and the crossbeam penetrated his heart," Anderson said gently. "His last thoughts were of you and your sister, and a deep sadness that he would never see you again."

"Then the Curse of the Barnstables is finally lifted from this valley," Sara breathed thankfully.

"The Curse?"

"The vampire attacks. It has been hard to believe my father caused them, he was such a kind and gentle man."

"How long have you known?" Anderson asked in surprise.

"He only told me the truth the last time he visited me, but I've sensed something strange about him for years. I'm sad he's dead. I know he loved me, in his own way, and I loved him. He is, or was, the only relative I had left. Now I am on my own. It will be hard not to see him again."

"Don't think badly of him," Hazzler told her gently. "What happened to him was beyond his control. He has redeemed himself with his actions in the church. Without his help, we would never have defeated the Satanists. You could have been forced to become the Bride of Satan and your sister would have given her life on the altar as a sacrifice to mark the consummation of the wedding ceremony. The curses which would have been brought down by the Satanists would have been far greater than that perpetrated by a solitary vampire."

"And you are not alone," Anderson added. "Remember, you now have a sister to share your future with."

Sara burst into sobs, remembering the first time she had met Lisa. What they had done was hardly sisterly love.

"I don't think my sister will ever want to speak with me again when she remembers what happened the first time we met," Sara sobbed. "I don't think I'd blame her if she told me to leave her alone, to keep out of her life."

"I don't think Lisa will tell you that," Anderson said softly.

Lisa had stopped sobbing and was listening to the conversation flowing around her in increasing amazement. The best news was that she now knew who her father was, even if it would be difficult to explain to others why her father was buried in a grave that showed a date of death many years before she'd been born. She had also inherited a sister. She blushed as she remembered the first time they'd met. She had to agree with Sara that what they had done together was definitely not sisterly behavior, but at that time they hadn't realized they were related. She smiled shyly when she saw Sara looking at her.

She felt strangely comforted by the strong arms holding her. She had felt attracted to Anderson when they had first met. How come he was here in the church with her rescuers? She would have to ask him… soon. She felt so tired. Her eyes wanted to close, no matter how hard she tried to keep them open.

The first rays of the sun peeped over the distant hills, bringing light and warmth to the ruined church. It was the first sign of the new day. Anderson could feel the tiredness in Lisa's body as she relaxed in his arms. He looked over to where the professor stood deep in conversation with Superintendent Murchison.

"Can we take the girls back to the village, professor? They're exhausted."

"Why not take them to the manor. It's closer."

"No," Lisa gasped, trying to struggle upright, ignoring the coat that fell open to reveal her naked body. "No!"

"Later," Anderson soothed her. "We'll go to my room. You can both rest there while we work out what's best for the future."

"Or you can use my flat," Sara offered.

"I think it would be better if you both rested in Alex's room," Hazzler told her gently. "It would be better for you and your sister to talk in neutral territory, unfettered with any links with the past."

 CHAPTER 23: The Exorcism

Barnstable Manor is no longer a grim and foreboding estate, hiding mysteriously behind high stone walls. The walls are still there, shrouding a history of vampires and Satanists, but the gates are always open to welcome visitors to a haven of peace and tranquility, an oasis in a happy and prosperous valley.

The departure of Armitage lifted the pall that had started more than two centuries before when the curse of the Barnstables first became known. Anderson's research into the history of the Barnstables showed that the first adventure into Satanism had been as a result of the efforts of an earlier member of the family to break the Barnstable curse of vampirism. Instead of ending the vampirism, he had released a bigger curse on the valley, Satan.

Harriet had blocked him. She'd prayed to her God, and her prayers had been answered. The Satanists had been destroyed, but so had her favorite church. She had been hiding behind the wall near the altar, ready to do whatever was necessary to stop the evil Satan worshipers and had lost her life in the conflagration that followed the thunderbolt from above that struck down the coven as it approached the altar. In her honor, those remaining had placed the plaque under the stained glass window, the only wall in the church that had remained undamaged. Unfortunately, the original curse remained. Now even that was gone and the valley could live again in peace with, not cringe in fear of, the past.

Armitage left no will, and that didn't surprise Hazzler. Armitage had not expected to die, his pact with the Devil was going to grant him immortality, or so he dreamed. Who would need a will in those circumstances? Lisa had been his only legal surviving relative. The adoption papers had been carefully drawn up, covering every possible loophole. Armitage had been very thorough in ensuring he had properly adopted Lisa. He didn't want any investigations from the authorities that could take her away from him and her planned fate. She'd been adopted for a purpose and nothing must stand in the way of her preparation to be the Bride of Satan.

Barnstable was now Lisa's, but she was reluctant to return to the manor. It held too many bad memories.

Hazzler agreed. The manor still radiated evil. Using his powers of persuasion, honed to perfection in the lecture rooms of many universities, he cajoled the local minister into arranging for an exorcism to be carried out in the manor.

"I've never done an exorcism," Father Williams muttered.

"You must have learned about them," Hazzler insisted.

"We did touch on the subject," the priest agreed.

"Then now is the time to try out your training."

"But what if I go wrong?"

"You'll soon find out," Hazzler said grimly. "If you do it wrong, we will all pay the price for your mistake."

"I think I'd better call my bishop and have him send down an expert."

"Expert?" Anderson asked in surprise.

"Yes. Every bishop has a trained exorcist on his staff," the priest explained. "What you ask isn't as unusual as it may appear. Many exorcisms are carried out to assuage fear. Some are necessary, some aren't, but it eases the parishioner's worries."

The exorcist arrived the next morning.

Monsignor Pattazi quickly realized what he had been asked to do was no joke. Ten minutes with Hazzler and his happy cheery smile had been replaced with grim lines of worry and concern.

"It is fortunate you knew what you were doing. It would have been a sad day if the forces of evil had triumphed and gained a foothold in this valley," he said.

"My sentiments exactly," Hazzler agreed. "That's why I've asked for the manor to be exorcised. There must be no chance that the forces of evil are left with a foothold here. They must never be allowed to return."

The priest donned his robes, blessing each item before he put them on. He had brought three incense burners. He blessed them as he lit the incense, then handed one each to Hazzler, Burrows, and Anderson.

"I assume you want to follow me through the manor," he said with a smile. "You might as well be useful while you do. Keep these burners swinging. They will help protect you."

The three men were also blessed and sprinkled with Holy Water. Silver crosses were hung around their necks.

The exorcism started at the front door, then moved from room to room. The priest prayed and sprinkled Holy Water around, calling on the spawn of the devil to depart and never return to the manor.

They reached the door to the Temple.

The two gargoyle doorknobs were glowing fiery red, radiating heat and malevolence. The priest sprinkled them with Holy Water. There was a scream of intense pain. The knobs were alive, filled with the evil presence of Asmodeus, or one of his companion evil spirits. The priest sprinkled more Holy Water on them, instructing the evil entity to:

"Get thee hence, evil spawn of the Devil. I command you, in the name of the one true God, to forsake this Holy place, never to return. In the name of the Holy Trinity; the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I banish thee to the bowels of Hell."

There was another scream of pain, then a puff of sulfurous yellow smoke. The angry red glow subsided as the gargoyles returned to being just simple ugly doorknobs.

"This must be the entrance to the temple of which you spoke," the priest said.

Hazzler nodded.

"Then we will have to exercise extreme care when we step through these doors. If the entrance is so well guarded, the evil forces will be even stronger inside. Don't stop praying. Use the Lord's Prayer, it's simple to remember and powerful against the forces of evil. Don't stop using it and don't let your mind wander. The Devil will be seeking an ally. We will all be in extreme danger if any one of us falters."

Pushing the doors open, the priest stepped inside, commanding the spirits of the Devil to depart. The Temple was dark, the atmosphere menacing. Anderson felt a chill seeping through his bones.By God , he thought,it's bloody cold.

The priest advanced, sprinkling Holy Water around himself. The three men followed, sweeping the room with the incense. The lights began to fade, then started to flash on and off. The altar candles burst into flame, went out, then burst into flame again. Mocking laughter echoed around the Temple, heavy with evil and malice.

Anderson tensed. An image of Lisa hanging naked on the cross flashed through his mind. He looked at the altar. The cross was bare. The image was shimmering, fading, to be replaced with a black covered altar. Two naked females were locked together in a passionate embrace. One was blonde, the other had dark hair. The blonde raised her head to smile at him, licking her lips sensuously. It was Lisa. The other girl was Sara… no, it was Janice… no, it had changed again and was definitely Sara. They pulled apart, welcoming him to join them. Lisa leaned back, her thighs spread, letting her hands torment him with images of self-abuse as she caressed herself. Sara looked strange. Something was wrong. She'd changed. She still had firm white breasts, but she'd grown a male organ between her thighs. Slowly she stroked herself, offering her body to him. Lisa moved, climbing between Sara's thighs, to let her lips and tongue replace Sara's hands.

Anderson shuddered, praying even harder, trying to drive the images from his mind. Mocking laughter echoed through the chamber as the images faded.

The images of the two girls were replaced by the shadowy shapes of an elderly couple, the man lying dead on the altar while the woman poured tears over his corpse. Alex shuddered. The couple looked like his parents the last time he had seen them alive. Why were they appearing in the temple? Unless the reason they had been killed was because they had stumbled across the Satanists. He would have to talk to Tarrant and convince him to tell him the truth.

Now Sandra was lying on the altar alone, flaunting her lush beauty and pleasuring herself, trying to tempt him to join her.

The priest had reached the middle of the Temple. The altar started to vibrate, knocking the burning candles off their heavy bases. The altar cover burst into flames. The priest ignored it, continuing his slow and steady approach until he was facing the middle of the altar and standing less than two meters from it.

He reached into his robes and drew out a small bottle of Holy Water. Blessing it, he threw it into the middle of the altar. There was a frustrated screech of anger, then the altar disintegrated in a puff of smelly yellow smoke. This was followed by several other screams of anger and frustration, and other little puffs of smoke as minor evil spirits were driven from their hiding places and sent back to join their Master in Hell.

The sudden silence was overpowering.

"Pull down those black drapes and open the windows," the priest instructed. "Let the healing power of the sun cleanse that which is left. The manor is safe."

Anderson was still not sure.

"Are you certain?" he asked. "Couldn't there be evil spirits hiding around here somewhere you haven't dislodged?"

"That would be most unlikely," the priest told him. "The power of prayer will have reached into every nook and cranny in the building, reaching places where we couldn't reach physically."

"What about the outbuildings?"

"Were they also used by the coven?" the priest asked.

"We don't know if they were or not," Hazzler told him.

"Then we will bless them also. It is better to be safe than to find we have missed any area. If they have items in them that are linked to the past, they could still be carrying some level of contamination."

"We don't know what's in any of the other buildings," Hazzler told him. "None of us have been inside any of those building."

"And don't forget the building where Lisa and Sara spent time together after their initial meeting," Anderson added. "It has unfortunate memories for both of them."

"If the bad memories remain, they could offer a gateway to other evil forces," the priest said. "We must also bless that building. It is just as well I brought a lot of Holy Water with me. Father Williams told me it would be a major task, but he never gave me any idea just how powerfully the forces of evil had established their foothold in the manor."

"Is there anything else we can do, just to make Lisa happy?" Anderson asked.

"I would suggest you remove all the furniture from the Temple and burn it. It will be a symbolic cleansing ritual that will make the young woman feel more secure," the priest suggested. "I know I wouldn't like to wander around the manor and come across something I knew had been in the Temple. It would make me nervous, even though I know it is safe."

"Just a bonfire?" Anderson asked.

"More than that… I will ask Father Williams to come out here when you are ready to set the blaze. He can bless the items to be burnt and pray with the women during the conflagration. It will make them feel more secure, and remove those items most likely to bring back bad memories."

Hazzler spoke with the superintendent. Murchison was happy to arrange for a working team to be sent to the manor to strip the temple of all fittings and furniture. This was piled into the middle of the lawn and built into a large bonfire. It was sprayed with petrol to ensure it would burn fiercely, then Anderson was given the job of starting the fire. It burned for hours, clearly visible from the village. While the contents burned, the priest prayed.

So did all those watching the blaze, many traveling from the village when they saw the direction of the fire. They flocked through the gates, wide open for the first time in years, and prayed together with the survivors, rejoicing in the destruction of those forces that had sought to enslave or destroy them. They were taking no chances of the Satanists being left with any foothold in the manor.

"What will we do with the empty temple?" Lisa asked, looking at the pile of ashes that was all that remained of the evil Temple.

"The Barnstables were a proud family; they are a major part of the history of this valley, and I'm sure their surviving descendants are just as proud of their family links with the past," Anderson told her. "The Barnstable history must be preserved. You owe this to the memory of your real father, the last link with the Barnstables of the past while you are the start of the new generations as yet unborn. Why not turn the Temple into a museum."

Lisa was thrilled with the idea; Sara even more so.

"And you must help me run it," Lisa told Sara. "It must be our combined project, to honor our father and the ancestors we never knew."

"I can't leave Janice." Sara said gently. "I need her; I can't have you, you're my sister."

"Then why not bring her with you?" Lisa said. "There are more than enough rooms. You can have the old servant's quarters if you like. We can redecorate it into whatever style you want. The building is separated from the main manor and completely self-contained. It will be like living in your own home, yet we will still be able to see each other."

"Hey, you could move out there and I could move into the manor," Sara joked.

"We could," Lisa said happily; not realizing Sara was joking.

"Not a hope," Sara told her. "You will have to stay in the manor; I'll be happier with something a bit smaller. I'd feel like a lost soul wandering around the huge empty building after my very small and compact flat. I like to be able to find things I need in a hurry, not spend hours trying to even find the right room where I left them. No, the servants’ quarters would be more than big enough for me."

"Wonderful," Lisa said happily. "You will be able to do your own thing, and keep teaching in the village as well. I'd have company when you weren't busy."

"What about the neighbors?" Sara asked. "They might think you've been absorbed into a worse hell than Satanism and have joined the followers of Saphro."

"To hell with the neighbors. It's our life, we can do what we want; they'll grow to accept it."

"And what about you?"

"I'll manage," Lisa murmured, looking wistfully after Anderson as he wandered around the corner of the building to the garage.

"You love him, don't you?" Sara said, more a statement than a question.

"I hardly know him," Lisa protested, embarrassed that her feelings had been so clearly shown.

"That's not what I said. Do you love him?"

Lisa nodded, blushing at the admission.

"Then why not ask him to stay?"

"I can't do that, he would be shocked and most probably never talk to me again," Lisa protested.

"Somehow I don't think so, sister," Sara told her bluntly. "I have seen the way he watches you, and the risks he was prepared to take to rescue you from our enemies. I think he feels as strongly about you as you do about him."

"How could he ever forget what happened to me in the Temple?" Lisa said, tears welling up in her eyes at the memory of her shame and degradation at the hands of the Satanists. "He will find out what happened and be disgusted."

"Hey, if he loves you, he will put that to one side. What happened to you was not of your making. You were a prisoner, there was nothing you could do to resist them."

"But my body betrayed me and I started to respond."

"Our bodies also betrayed us at the lake, but we've been able to put that to one side," Sara reminded Lisa. "I know what happened to you on the altar was far worse and will give you nightmares for the rest of your life, but with the right counseling and support you will grow to accept the reality of the events and accept them for what they were, an attack on you from people you loved and trusted. The hospital can get you the professional help you need, but they cannot supply that support. You need somebody to love and hold you, somebody to cherish you for what you are not what you were; somebody like--"

"Alex." Lisa sighed, her eyes misting over. "I know my heart tells me I love him, but will I ever relax with him or will I spend the rest of my days living memories of the men who ravaged me, including my own uncle?"

"Hey, the first step is to forget thinking about that bastard Armitage as your uncle," Sara snapped. "He never was your uncle. Keep thinking about him as the High Priest, the evil man who took you as a child and watched you grow up while all the time he was planning your death and defilement on the altar of his quest for personal power."

"But he was kind to me."

"Bullshit," Sara snapped. "He was not kind. He was a sadistic and horrible man driven by his own agenda, and he didn't care what happened to those who fell under his control. Remember what happened to Molly?"

"I don't know what happened to her; one day she was my guard, the next she wasn't there."

"Armitage used her as his patsy to summon the forces of Satan to try and destroy Professor Hazzler and Alex," Sara told her. "I heard the others talking; Molly was killed when the professor thwarted an attack on his small group. Armitage was angry the attack failed, not sorry that Molly died as a result. Molly's body was taken away and thrown in a hole somewhere on the estate. No burial, no regrets. To him she was a disposal asset he no longer needed. He was really a nasty bastard."

"I didn't know that," Lisa gasped. "I quite liked Molly, she was almost like a friend to me. I could talk to her and she would listen, more than my old nurse would. I never realized she was watching me for Armitage."

"She couldn't have been much older than you," Sara told her. "She had her life stretching ahead of her before she fell under Armitage's control; now she is dead. Lying somewhere in an unmarked hole in the ground."

"We must find her body and give her a Christian burial," Lisa whispered.

"If we can find the right hole," Sara said harshly. "I wonder how many other bodies lie in holes around the place."

"We must try."

"We will," Sara promised, suddenly contrite at her harsh condemnation of Armitage. It would take time for Lisa to accept how nasty her uncle really was.

She walked over to her sister and put her arm around her shoulder, drawing her close.

"First, dear sister, we have to sort out your problem with Alex."

"What problem?" Lisa asked in surprise.

"Your refusal to ask him to stay with you at the manor. If you're not prepared to do something about it, I will."

* * * *

Sara was as good as her word. She isolated Anderson in the library and demanded to know what his intentions were toward Lisa.

"What do you mean?" he said, looking at her blankly.

"Are you going to do a runner back to the city now that this shambles is finished?"

"Not a hope," Anderson said. "I've already spoken with my editor and I've persuaded him to let me take all my annual leave due after I've done my story so I can stay here a bit longer. I've even booked in more time at the boarding house."

"Why?"

"So I can finish what I started," he told her.

"The articles on Barnstable Manor?"

"Well, yes, that's one of the reasons."

"And the others?"

"Jeez, you're nosey," Anderson said with a grin.

"You said there were other reasons," Sara said, firmly sticking to her line of questioning. "What are they?"

"Why do you want to know?" Anderson asked, throwing a question back at her.

"Just let's say I have a vested interest."

"Like what?"

"Not fair," Sara said. "I started the questions, and you haven't answered mine yet. You answer mine, then I'll answer yours."

"Okay. Well, one of the reasons is that I want to make sure that the manor is safe for the people living in it. I know it has been blessed and decontaminated, but I want to make sure nothing has been left that could open the gate to Satan again."

"That's one good reason. Give me another."

"I want to bring permanent peace to the one person who put his life on the line to help us defeat the Satanists."

Sara looked at him in surprise.

"I want to honor the memory of our friend the vampire," Anderson said. "I would like to ensure that the ashes of Andrew Barnstable are reinterred with an appropriate Christian burial at the old church. There was no official burial service when he entered his tomb, and the family history indicates that had been deliberate in case the burial rituals had made the tomb untenable to a being from the other side. This time there can be no doubt Andrew Barnstable is dead, so we should mark the occasion with a proper burial service."

"But we've got nothing to bury," Sara protested, tears in her eyes as she remembered her father.

"Wrong. I found a plastic bag in one of the cars and scooped your father's ashes into it. They are being held at the police station until we decide what to do with them. The professor suggested we scatter them at the base of the wall with the memorial plaque to Harriet Barnstable, but I think it would be more appropriate to hold a formal funeral service and put the ashes into the tomb he lived in for so many years. After the ceremonies we could seal the tomb and leave Andrew in peace to eternity."

"Surely no priest would be prepared to bury a vampire," Sara gasped.

"Maybe last century that might have been the case," Anderson told her. "But not today. I've spoken with Father Williams and he is prepared to perform a full Requiem mass, and the bishop himself is prepared to come to Barnstable to add honor to the ceremony. It will close a chapter on the horrors that have plagued this valley for generations."

"What a wonderful idea," Sara said. "I'm sure my father would be pleased he has been forgiven for the evil he did. I think Lisa will also be happy, even though she never met him face to face."

"No, only her mother had that experience," Anderson said. "Her mother is another reason why I want to hang around."

"Why? What's her mother got to do with anything around here? I thought she was dead."

"She isn't," Anderson told her. "During our investigations we found her. Which is why we knew Lisa was not related to Armitage. Her mother has spent the years since Lisa's birth in a mental institution in the city, put there by the authorities who refused to accept the story of her daughter's conception. I suppose I would have also been skeptical if a single woman claimed she had been raped and her attacker had flown away into the morning sky. I would like her to be taken out of the mental institution and brought to stay at the manor. She is as much a part of the family and should not have to live with the stigma of being incarcerated in a mental institution."

Lisa had wandered into the library while Alex and Sara were talking. She was surprised at the news and delighted with Alex's suggestion to bring her mother to the manor. She hadn't realized her mother was still alive, or even who she was! That part of her past had been kept well hidden by Armitage. Now she not only knew who her real father was, but she had also found her mother.

"Okay, that's a couple of good reasons for staying on in Barnstable short term," Sara said with a grin. "But something tells me there's more behind your decision than you're telling me. Is there?"

"Yes, but I'm too embarrassed to tell you in front of Lisa," Anderson said, suddenly feeling awkward and ill at ease.

"My, my, what's happened to the confident reporter who helped defeat the powers of Satan?" Sara joked. "I'm sure that nothing you say will surprise Lisa after what she's been through. Come on, out with it."

"Well, it actually concerns Lisa and she might not be ready for the shock," he said.

"Try her," Sara challenged him.

Anderson turned to face Lisa; she was standing framed in the library window, the sun shining in behind her and giving her blonde hair a golden glow. She was watching him, eyes wide and lips parted.

"I really wanted to stay here to be near you," Anderson told her, stepping closer. "I know you know nothing about me, even less than I know about you, but I have been drawn to you since the first day I saw you walking beside the lake. I wanted to get to know you better, but it seemed to be impossible to penetrate the screen Armitage threw around you. You were better protected than a virgin nun in a nunnery."

Lisa blushed as Anderson reached out and took her hand.

"I know this is neither the time or the place, but I don't care. I want you to know I love you, and have done so since that first day. There, I've burnt my bridges. If you want me to go, tell me and I'll leave the manor, but I would still like to help carry out the ideas I told Sara about earlier. I will do that from the village so I don't embarrass you any further."

"You don't embarrass me at all, Alex," Lisa whispered, a catch in her voice. "I am speechless because I never thought anybody would want me after what I've been through. I have been defiled and don't know what effect that will have on me in the future. I--"

"Snap out of it, sister," Sara said, her voice firm and resolute. "Fine, you were raped by the coven, but that is in the past."

"And doesn't change the way I feel about you," Anderson added.

"You're just feeling sorry for me."

"Not in the least," Anderson said. "No, that's not totally correct. I am feeling sorry for you, sad and sorry that we were not able to reach you before you were abused by Armitage and the coven. We didn't know what was happening inside the manor and could not take the risk any premature action would alert the Satanists and send them fleeing. We were determined to rescue you and Sara, but we also had to make sure we defeated the evil plans the Satanists had set underway. We had to take a gamble and unfortunately it delayed us so that you paid the price."

"That wasn't your fault," Lisa said soft. "I had given up all hope when my uncle showed his true nature. I never expected to be rescued. I never expected to see you again."

"Or I, you," Anderson said, his voice husky with emotion. "Now that I've found you again, I don't want to let you slip away from me."

"Oh, Alex," Lisa whispered, stepping tentatively to him. He opened his arms and she threw herself into the warm encircling shelter. "I know this is awfully sudden, but I love you."

"And I love you."

"But what about the curse?" Sara asked.

"What curse?" Alex asked in surprise.

"Maybe the vampire strain has been passed from our father to us and we have some weird latent gene hidden in our bodies waiting to burst out in the future."

"Oh, God, you mean we could also become vampires," Lisa gasped.

"The professor doesn't think that will happen?" Alex said softly.

"Then you had already thought about that," Sara muttered.

"Yes, I did wonder if it was possible, but the Barnstable curse seems to have come down the male side of the family. I checked the records with the professor and there have never been any female Barnstable vampires as far back as we were able to research the family. Some died violently because of their involvement with the Satanists, but none are shown as vampires."

"But couldn't it lie latent in the females waiting to be passed down to some future generation?" Lisa said.

"Anything is possible, so we will just have to be careful and watch for the signs. It's a gamble we'll have to take," Alex added, hugging Lisa to his chest. "We'll just have to hope that our children are all females."

"And make sure they don't get lured into the clutches of Satanists," Lisa said.

"Okay, you two lovebirds," Sara said, bring them back to reality. "Now that we've got your love life sorted out, what's next?"

"I think Alex should move into the manor," Lisa said softly.

"Christ, what a mixture. A lesbian and a male lover, both under your roof." Sara giggled. "What will the community think?"

"I don't care," Lisa said, smiling. "It's my life and I'm going to do what I want for a change."

"Our life," Anderson said, holding her close. "And you can still do what you want, just as long as you remember to include me in your plans."

Lisa cuddled happily against his chest. She was happy with the way her life had suddenly changed. No longer would she be on her own in the vast manor, surrounded by memories of the past, but now she had a future that pointed toward happiness.

Suddenly she tensed.

"What about your job?" she asked. "Won't you have to move to the city?"

"No way," Anderson told her. "I'll talk with my editor and see if I can bring work home. When I need to go to the city, I'll commute. It isn't far away, and the roads aren't too bad, takes less than an hour to make the journey."

"But that's two hours each day," Lisa protested.

"That's a small price to pay for being at your side," he told her with a smile.

"And you won't get too lonely," Sara added. "Remember, there'll be ‘guests’ in the servant's quarters."

"Your home." Lisa giggled. "We'll have to think about a name for it. We can't keep calling it the servant's quarters, people might get the wrong idea of our relationship."

Anderson agreed.

"The whole estate definitely needs a new name. What do you suggest," he said, turning to Sara. "You're going to be living in it, you had better christen it."

"Well, we can't call it Lesbian Heaven." Sara giggled. "That would make the locals talk even more. I would like to keep our family name in it, so it keeps its ties with the Barnstable family."

"What name would you suggest?" Lisa asked, a happy smile on her face at the realization that her sister and Anderson were willing to stay with her at the manor, and that the relationship with Anderson would be more permanent than she had dreamed about.

"I agree we must keep the name Barnstable," Andrew said thoughtfully. "Why not call it Barnstable Delight, or something like that?"

"I like it," Lisa said with a happy giggle.

"That's nice, has just the right connotation of happiness," Sara agreed. "It will certainly bring me delight to be back where our father was born, surrounded by the spirits of our ancestors but let's not be hasty. We've got lots of time to decide on a new name."

"I hope those ancestors will accept the long gap between the last of the Barnstables and the new generation," Anderson said with a smile. "I can imagine the arguments for genealogists in the future if they try and track down the Barnstable family tree. They will spend an amazing amount of time trying to fill in a missing century."

"And have a heart attack when they find our birth certificates." Lisa giggled.

"Especially if they get to relate our father to the family tree and find he was dead where he sired us," Sara added. "I will be a real hoot."

"Sadist," Anderson told the two sisters. "Maybe we should update the family history ourselves, just to make sure its recorded properly."

"Spoilsport," Lisa said. "But I suppose you're right. And we had better record our father's death as the date he went missing originally and not the date he died at the church."

"Oh, I don't know," Sara muttered. "It would be fun to have a father in the record books as the oldest procreator in history, fathering two daughters when he was over one hundred fifty years old!"

They agreed that would ensure the Barnstable name would gain international notoriety and would never be forgotten.

 Alan M. Brooker

Does a character resemble the author in some small way or does a little bit of each character get absorbed into the author's psyche?

An interest thought if the author happens to write science fiction, fantasy, horror and adventure with large doses of romance and a bit of good old-fashioned violence thrown in for good measure.

That would give analysts a fertile field to investigate, as fertile as the fields covered in the novels by New Zealand author Alan Brooker, who has joined the Amber Quill Press stable after some frustrating experiences with publishers in his own country and in the USA.

Alan's own life reads a bit like a novel, neatly divided into chapters that all seem to have a finite start and end. There has been no gentle progress from one chapter to the next, rather a distinct and sudden change of direction. Yet throughout, the steadying influence of words and images has taken him far beyond the confines of his earthly existence.

Starting his working life as a reporter withThe Otago Daily Times in Otago in 1954, Alan slowly worked north from the southern tip of the country to the most northern, where he has slung anchor and plans to stay--beside the beach and in contact with the rest of the world through the miracles of cyberspace.

In the intervening years, he had a career with the Royal New Zealand Air Force, both in New Zealand and overseas, worked with a nationwide construction company, managed a health service and worked with the mentally and physically disabled in a paid and also voluntary capacity.

He is a qualified scuba diver, a New York trained photographer and once held a pilot's license. He is also interested in gardening and web page design, as well as being involved with the SETI League as one of the millions around the world who have linked the power of their computers together to try and find intelligent extra-terrestrial life.

Yes, definitely as complicated as some of his characters, and it is not surprising that many of his novels stray into these fields of interest.

"I love creating the worlds in my science fiction and fantasy stories," Alan says. "At least nobody can claim I've got the geography or history wrong or have even made errors in my scientific assumptions because these are my worlds and nobody has been there to check them out. I'm the final arbiter, the sole judge of what's right and wrong--but it's up to the public to show their acceptance of the stories by spending their money and supporting Amber Quill Press, who have been brave enough to bring them into print."

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