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  A panther with terrible eyes, laughing and green and cruel. “Help me!”

  “We're coming!”

  The men came through the door in a bunch and stopped, shocked. The panther had Simon down. He knew it was about to kill him.

  “What the hell—”

  “Get a gun. It's gonna tear me apart any second.” He could smell its breath, an odor like rotten meat. He tried to control his shaking, because it seemed to excite the cat, which began to breathe harder and harder, washing him with the foul stink.

  Suddenly the cat yowled. Something invisible was pulling at its powerful neck, forcing its head back away from Simon.

  Well, glory be, he understood now. The cat was a witch spell and the Lord was protecting him from it. His men were bunched up at the door. They had guns, but Simon knew that bullets wouldn't hurt this panther. It was a spirit thing, had to be—despite the torn ear and busted tail.

  “Brace yourself!”

  When the bolts clicked, the panther didn't even bat an eye. Instead it opened its mouth wide and with a lunging motion went for Simon's jugular. “Oh, God!”

  It stood gagging, unable to reach him. He could see die faint outlines of immense fingers around the thing's neck. And a tremendous, dark, something standing behind it, holding it back.

  The sheer strangeness of it all terrified him. A shot exploded over the sound of his screams.

  The big cat leaped straight up into the air shrieking in rage. And the shadowy form leaped right after it.

  Simon sat up. He felt his throat. No injury. “O my dear Lord,” he said. His heart was thundering, his blood roaring in his veins.

  “It's up in the rafters,” Tom Faulkner said softly. “Nobody move.” He cast the beam of his flashlight toward the dark directly above Simon, who was still sitting on the floor.

  Tom was the first to cry out. Then Bill Peters took it up, then they were alt shouting, backing toward the door, and Simon himself was scuttling along the floor, trying to get to his feet, too terrified to make his body work right.

  The only tiling left up there was a pair of eyes and a big cat grin. Then the eyes closed, and the grin faded.

  “It's gone,” Eddie Martin cried. “The damn thing just evaporated!”

  The beams of half a dozen flashlights confirmed that the garage was empty.

  “That, my friends, was what you call a witch spell. Praise God, it was a thing sent after us from the depths of hell! And the Lord Himself saved me from it. The Lord saved me. Glory hallelujah, I have seen the hand of God.”

  Now Simon knew exactly what God wanted.

  Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!

  Chapter 29

  DAUGHTER OF THE MOON

  “When we were kids we used to try to imagine what death was like. Like an explosion, a little girl—I think her name was Nancy—said. Nothing, one boy said. He was killed in the Great War, which was just as well. From his idea of death you can see he was an afflicted bore.”

  “Connie, you must collect yourself.”

  Constance's reply was bitter. “Thank you, Amanda. I need advice from someone older and wiser. I'm very grateful.”

  “I've come up here to invite you to attend my initiation.”

  “Ah! Into what? Fire?”

  “Into the Covenstead.”

  “I can't get that thing to go away that's over my head!”

  “Oh, Connie!”

  “Don't pity me, you little whelp! Pity yourself. You've got one, too. We all do. The whole Covenstead's as good as dead.”

  “Connie, please!”

  “I'm only telling you the truth. Here, take a pull.” She started to hand Amanda a bottle of Madeira, then stared at it fixedly for a moment. “Old women can get drunk on any damn thing.” She laughed. “Something's in the air. Don't you smell it—burning hair?” She got up from her bed and came to Amanda, put her head on her shoulder. Amanda embraced her. “I am not afraid of death, but of the manner of dying. I don't want to burn.” She moaned, nuzzling into Amanda's shirt. “You're so young and warm and strong. But be clever. Even you cannot resist it.” “I've got to save the Covenstead.” “Yes. That's why you've been dead. You've passed all the tests. You have the strength and the wisdom.” She was shaking. “Oh, Amanda, I'm so frightened.”

  Constance had always been her strength and her support. To be witness to the old woman's terror was itself terrifying. But Amanda kept her feelings to herself. She held Constance in strong arms. “The Covenstead will survive.”

  “The Covenstead is to be tested by fire. Remember that the Leannan is as much with you as she is against you. If the Covenstead proves itself weak, it will certainly die,”

  Compared with what she had been through with Mother Star of the Sea and Bonnie, the onslaught of Brother Pierce did not seem so terrible. After all, he was a mere wave from the outside, expending itself on the outside. Her demons had come from within her own soul. “We will not die. I'm stronger than Pierce.”

  Connie clutched her. “You have come to us as a warrior Maiden, to see the witches through another era of persecution. The fundamentalists will grow and grow in power, and they are me direct agents of darkness.” She sobbed. “They're so innocent, and so deceived. Brother Pierce may well fail. You are strong. But what about the next, and the one after that, and the one following? Will you still be strong, ten years from now, twenty? Will you be strong in prison, or in exile? What if you lose your freedoms, your right to a fair trial, your right to due process? Believe me, Amanda, there is a dark time for witches coming, and we have never been more necessary.”

  “I am not afraid.”

  Connie hugged her more tightly. “All power to you then, Maiden. I don't know where you get your courage.”

  “Well, one place I get it is out of being sensible.” She moved away from Constance and picked up the telephone. She dialed the sheriff's office. “Sheriff Williams, please.”

  “May I say who's calling?”

  “Just say it's important.”

  He came on the line.

  “Sheriff, this is Amanda Walker.”

  “Oh! I heard about last night. Amanda, I was so deeply moved. I'm sorry I won't be at your welcoming, but I don't trust my deputy anymore and I've got to stick close to the office.”

  “Never mind that right now. I'm calling you to tell you that this Covenstead is in danger.”

  “I know that. Simon Pierce is after you.”

  “I want you to deputize everybody in the town you feel you can trust, and bring them out here tonight with all the weapons at their disposal. Some people are already coming to the initiation, but they won't be enough.”

  “I'd better call in the state police.”

  “Do that if you think it'll help. But get people out here no later than nine. I want all the approaches guarded.” She looked at Constance, who was nodding on her bed, about to slump over onto her side. “And I want you to personally guard Connie. I want you right in the room with her at all times, do you understand that?”

  “I'm already moving.”

  “Sheriff, thank you. I love you. I love all of you so much.” She hung up the phone. Where was the self-involved little artist of a week ago, the one who used to paint pictures of imaginary elves? If she spent the rest of her artistic career painting a portrait of the Leannan and captured a tenth of her beauty, her career would be a success. Or if she painted Tom somewhat as he was, or Raven as he had been.

  But it wasn't time to think about that now. She had to go back to the village and go through her ritual initiation.

  Getting Connie settled, she wished she couid relieve some of the poor woman's terror. To know when you are going to die is a hard thing, but to know that it is going to be by fire must be very much worse.

  The gong sounded. Amanda tucked the quilt around Connie's chin, kissed her head, and quietly left the room.

  “I'm telling you, we go late. Catch 'em all sleeping.”

  “Early. We'll take 'em by surprise.”<
br />
  “When they're not asleep? They'll be all over the place. The house'll be full of 'em.”

  “They'll be out in the fields. It's harvest time and they've still got a lot of standing corn.”

  The group had been arguing ever since the appearance of the thing in the garage. Again Simon saw those eyes. Despite the help of the Lord, he was, quite frankly, frightened. There were real supernatural events happening in Maywell. Opposition to the witches had become far more than a means of ensuring the loyalty of his own congregation. The Christian brotherhood itself was at stake in this little town. The witches could command real, live demons with green eyes and the bodies of panthers.

  The demon had been terrible, but the Lord had shown He was stronger. Simon was a sinner, too, of course, but his own crime must seem small to God beside that of the witches, who were willing to call hell-things into the world. “We've got to destroy them!”

  A chorus of Amens.

  The beeper Deputy Peters carried at his waist started warbling. “Gotta call in,” he said. Everybody fell silent as he made contact with the sheriffs office. He said a few words, listened, hung up. He looked toward them, his face pale. “I just got told to get down to the office by nine P.M. I'm on Idesk duty all night.”

  “He wants to keep tabs on you.”

  “Which means he suspects something. But he suspects it for later. After nine.”

  Brother Pierce spoke. “That decides it. We move as soon as the sun goes down. We move fast, and we hit 'em hard.”

  Eddie Martin rolled up his maps. Other men began assembling the equipment. Afterward Brother Pierce led them all in prayer.

  The sun rode the edge of the sky. All the Covenstead and many of its friends and supporters crowded around Amanda, except for the children, who sat in the circle they had cast. Robin and Ivy's father Steven was there, and the Episcopal rector and Father Evans.

  They intended a Christian presence here, no doubt as a gentle reminder to the witches that they could always return to the Church. Amanda accepted that. Between them they had brought twenty parishioners.

  For the past hour the children's coven had been working furiously and noisily, creating their ritual. Ariadne and Feather stood in the center of the circle now, Robin behind them.. The great sword of the Covenstead lay on the ground before the two girls. Ariadne held the cords, Feather the scourge. Robin took the athame from the small table they were using as an altar and used it to symbolically open the circle for Amanda to enter.

  The Christians began the ritual with a benediction. “O Lord,” Father Evans prayed, “let the light enter their hearts, let thy hand touch them in blessing.”

  At the same moment that the sun touched the edge of the horizon Amanda stepped into the circle. Previous to her experience in death, she had considered the circle a symbolic place. But the symbols of this world are the concrete reality of the other. She vividly recalled the cauldron circle, and Connie stirring and calling. The cauldron, full of the energy of the spells that had been cast into it, had been as real as a rock, the people around it vague, flickering shadows.

  Robin stepped forward between the two girls. All three dropped their cloaks to the ground Amanda did likewise. The four of them stood naked in the crisp air. Amanda felt goose bumps rising on her skin. Because of the cold, the rest of the coveners remained clothed. Steven was just outside the circle, watching his son. Father Evans had a bemused expression on his face.

  Feather gave Robin a sheet of loose-leaf paper on which a dozen different young hands had written in red pencil. Robin read:

  “This is the Charge of the Coven:

  Keep our secrets hidden in your heart,

  Master our ways; if you cannot do it do not start.

  Perfect your inner sight

  That you may to the circle add your light.

  The Craft of the Wise is sought, not found.

  It is everywhere, so look around.

  Tonight you will vow before the Goddess and the God

  To give your all to the hidden synod.”

  “Will you answer this Charge?”

  Amanda nodded. “I will.”

  Feather spoke. “Then kneel and take our pentacle.” She handed Amanda a five-pointed star of silver, enclosed in a circle of gold. “Say with me, I have heard the Charge of the Coven. Before the Goddess and the God and all the wise, I swear I have taken it into my heart.”

  Amanda felt the presence of the witches around her, the whispering power of the circle, the nearness of the Leannan. Full of joy, she swore.

  The gong of the Covenstead sounded.

  Robin took the paper on which the charge had been written and burned it in a little golden bowl. “By smoke, by fire, fix these words. By wind, by air, by earth be it done!”

  He came and knelt beside Amanda. Feather stood behind her and Ariadne knelt on the other side. They made a circle, Ariadne and Robin clasping their left hands before her knees and their right hands on the back of her head. Feather laid hers on theirs. The three spoke together. “Do you to the Goddess and the God give all between these hands, without reservation or hesitation?”

  “I do.”

  “Say it then: I am a child of Earth and Sun, I am daughter of the Moon.”

  Amanda said the words.

  “I love the planet of my birth, and the star of my life, and me moon who granted me my humanity.”

  Amanda repeated after them.

  The whole circle spoke. “By our will and the goodness of the Goddess, may all the powers of the craft enter your body, and especially the secret wisdom of our coven.” Their voices dropped to a whisper. “Be as the animals. Their simplicity makes their anger small, their love great.”

  Silence fell.

  Amanda could hear the wind bothering the weeds, and the silver cries of birds at evening.

  From behind her Feather spoke: “Stand up I'm going to mark you as a witch.” She took herbed oil that smelled of rust and peppermint, and made an X on Amanda's lips. “Blessed be the mouth that speaks its love of the earth.” Then she marked Amanda's breasts. “Blessed be the heart that beats its love of life.” Then she marked Amanda's genitals. “Blessed be the loins that give birth to the world.”

  Amanda thought of the life growing inside her. Just barely there, but so very there. Her darkness was flowering.

  Ariadne took the scourge. “This is the Charge of Remembrance.” She hit Amanda across the buttocks with it, just hard enough to sting. “Remember that you belong to the dust and will return.” Again she struck her. “Remember that you belong to the coven and will never leave.” Again the cords touched Amanda's flesh. “Remember that you are daughter of the moon.”

  Three more times the gong rang, its voice echoing off the vastness of Stone Mountain.

  “Guess what,” Feather said, “you're a real, live witch.” She smiled “It's official.”

  The children's coven crowded around her, laughing, hugging her and one another. Nearby a harp began to play. As the rhythm grew more and more intricate and faster and faster, it beckoned, then demanded that there be dancing.

  They went round and round together, Amanda and Robin and the children, the other witches and their guests joining outside the circle. The harp sang to quicken blood. The moon, fat and red, slipped swiftly up the purple sky.

  The last of Simon's men scaled the wall and dropped down into the leaves below. “We're clear,” Simon whispered to the others. “Let's go.”

  Eddie Martin led. They filed along the inside of the wall, seeking the road that led into the estate from the main gate. The darkness was almost absolute, and dry twigs kept brushing Simon's face, scratching at him. This must be virgin forest on this side of the wall. The trees were giants, ready to crush you.

  There were fifteen men divided into three groups of five each. The lead group Eddie called the Suppression Team. Their job was to pin down any opposition on the way in. The second group was the Fire Team. Three of them carried gasoline in five-gallon sprayers. The
other two were responsible for the timed fuses. The last group was the Support Team, and Simon was part of this. Their mission was to remain a few hundred yards behind the others, providing cover and diversions—if necessary drawing fire.

  Even though the sun was just down and the moon rising, the forest was so dark that Eddie from time to time had to flicker his flashlight ahead. Simon, running along among his men, was not surprised to find himself afraid. They all were. Somehow the fear made the Lord's work seem even more important.

  There came a soft word from ahead. The road had been found. The group gathered itself together. Simon was cold, and confused about directions. Fortunately Eddie Martin and the others were good at this son of thing. They knew exactly what they were doing.

  “Okay, everybody gather round.” There was warmth in the little group huddling around Eddie. “We have to move fast. We could be under surveillance even now.”

  Silently, feverishly, Simon said a prayer: “Lord, let thy will be done.” He said it again and again and again as they moved along. The witches were human beings, he couldn't forget that. He touched the hand.

  “Suppression Team, front and center.” There was shuffling movement among the shadowy forms. “Lemme set my watch. Okay, you've got two minutes lead, then the Fire Team will follow. Take off!”

  They hurried away, their footsteps muffled by the leaves that littered the road. A flicker of light from time to time marked their progress. “Damn that Faulkner,” Eddie murmured, “he can't stay away from his light!” Soon his watch peeped. “All right, Fire Team, let's go.” As they trotted into the dark, Bob Krueger set his own watch. He was deputy leader of the Support Team. Simon was content to let him do the commanding. Give him a pulpit and Simon could convince turnips to dance, but he was no good at military maneuvers. Back in 1962 he had failed his induction physical for reasons the draft board had refused to disclose, even to him.

  The next thing Simon knew they were marching up a slight incline. The smell of the woods was almost overpowering. The presence of the witches in Maywell had sensitized Simon to the devil's ways, and this woods was definitely infested with demonic force.