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ice pounded against his brain but no mockery this time； sheer terror in the warning； 'Flee while there is still time。'
I cannot； for Damballah has trapped me and 1 am here to see this through！
And then； as suddenly as the malevolent maelstrom had begun； it ended； the blackness instantly becalmed； people were groaning； somebody laughing insanely。 A rat scurried across the floor as though it had been caught out in the open and sought the protection of its hole before the next psychic storm。
Sabat waited； blinked as light came suddenly； a shimmering nervous black altar candle； ignited by some unknown hand； brightening as though it sought a missing mate。 He braced himself； afraid of what he might see； closing his eyes momentarily at the awful sight which greeted him but opening them again because he knew he must look eventually。 At least he was still alive and sane； unscathed； a shipwrecked mariner adrift on the ocean savouring every precious second left to him。
The dead and dying littered the floor； a miniature replica of that aftermath of battle on the barren astral wasteland of Hopelessness； rats instead of vultures waiting to feed on the slain； knowing that the wounded would die。 Faces smashed into bloody anonymity； crumpled； naked bodies that bore cloven hoofprints as though they were branded yearlings struck down by anthrax and still twitching； death…throes that grew weaker with every passing second。
Only Alison appeared to be unharmed； mentally and physically； kneeling there in that same torn dress of many colours with not a trace of fear in her wide dark eyes。 She did not appear surprised to see Sabat； brief recognition flickering in her eyes。 He straightened up； stepped out to go to her and in that instant a shadow fell across the single pool of candlelight。
Sabat recoiled； his first reaction being to try to squeeze back into that meagre place of refuge which had spared him。 Aghast； he thought for one moment that the paralytic drug had begun to work again； draining his muscles but the 。38 came up swiftly； instinctive snap…shooting that blitzed a hail of lead on whatever it was that came towards him。 Oh God； not even Sabat could create anything like that！
The shape was human； a lumbering silhouette that resembled Royston Spode yet the features could only have e from the depths of Hades； a misshapen skull that had had flesh clumsily adhered to it as though in a blasphemous attempt to create Man。 Bloated eyes too large for the narrow sockets； a hooked nose； the nostrils clogged with mucus； a mouth that was smeared redly as though it was a ghoul that had recently feasted on raw flesh。 The bullets had chipped the head； cut grooves across the cheeks and jawbone before ricochetting harmlessly away。 And now it was determined to vent its fury on Sabat！
Seconds that might have been an eternity； and in that time Sabat recognised his attacker； realised the full implications of what had happened during those nightmarish minutes of carnage。 Spode's body it was； on which some horrific super…natural transplant had taken place； the resurrected features of William Gardiner festooned on to Royston's own obesity； a blending of body and soul that had somehow gone wrong because of the false sacrifice。 And Spode knew； knew that partial success was indeed miserable failure and Sabat would pay the penalty for what had happened！
Spode was invincible to mortal attack； Sabat might just as well have wasted his shells on that skeleton that had lain there earlier。 Slow measured steps； a wrestler closing in on an inferior opponent； knowing full well that he can crush the life out of him but preferring to savour the finale。
Sabat closed his eyes； tried to pray 。 。 。 struggled to find the right words； remembered just one line。 'Lord； beat down Satan quickly！'
Spode checked but only momentarily； as though another bullet had glanced off him； an annoyance but nothing serious。 Sabat stepped back another pace； felt the roughness of the wall gouge his shoulder blades。 He closed his eyes。 This； then was the end。 Finis。 His senses swam； the paralysis seemed to be ing back； a dull creeping numbness preparing him for death。 He didn't mind dying； it was what happened afterwards that worried him。 Even Quentin was silent； his brother's soul succumbing to the presence of a terrible evil。
Sabat could smell this thing that might have been Spode； a lingering stench of uncleansed stables； rank foul breath ing in icy blasts。 Something touched his arm； had him shuddering and turning his head； yelling 'Get it over。 Kill me； finish me！'
Even as he awaited death in some horribly agonising manner； a thud jerked him out of his resignation to the end； a noise such as Spode had made when he hacked mercilessly at the body he believed to be Sabat's； a tearing； cutting sound like a knife blade being forced to the limit of its sharpness； then brute force taking over。 A scream that no human vocal chords were capable of making； a screeching and cursing in a tongue which Sabat did not understand。
Sabat's eyes were open。 This could not be happening； it was some cruel figment of fantasy； his astral torturing him during that brief period when life slipped into death； a taunting hope that would be dashed with the ing of oblivion。
Spode was tottering； floundering； a drowning man panicking。 Those vile features were unrecognisable in an expression of unbelievable agony； lips moving soundlessly now； mute curses； falling。 He hit the floor； heaving as he struggled for breath； a grotesque fish that found itself grounded； its death struggles growing weaker by the second； lying there； eyes that dimmed； staring hatefully up at Sabat； moving on to 。。。 Alison！
The West Indian girl stood there； eyes closed as though she could not bring herself to look upon this creature who had once been her master； the bloody sacrificial knife slipping slowly from her fingers and clattering on the stones。 Her lips were moving； Sabat had to strain his ears to catch the words uttered in Creole。 'Die； fiend of a false god for this is still Damballah's day and I am his disciple！'
Spode； or whatever it was that controlled that terrible body； was dead。 Or rather； Sabat decided； the force which had motivated him had been vanquished； sent back whence it had e； a defeated entity returned to the Petro gods。
'I。。。 you 。。。〃 Sabat could no more easily find the words to thank Alison than when he had sought for a prayer of exorcism； a defence against psychic attack； a few moments ago。
'I am a follower of Damballah。' She regarded him steadily and he noted a deep sadness in her eyes。 'For five years I have been enslaved by this fiend； forced to pay homage to the Petro gods but I kept faith for I knew that one day the Rada gods would free me。 I knew the moment you arrived at the vicarage that you had been sent for this purpose even if you did not know it yourself。 I had no choice other than to give you that drugged coffee。 Had I refused or tried to trick him； my fate would have been that of Miranda's。'
Sabat glanced about him。