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g their wrath when they saw the advancing column。
'Vallin the physician who stole our babies to give to Satan； bum him！'
A forest of eager hands hoisted Pierre Vallin aloft； roped him to the sapling which was to serve as a stake； his screams of protest drowned by the thunderous cries of a mob that had found courage at last in numbers。 Flames began to lick at the dry wood； spreading and sending up showers of sparks。 Crackling and hissing。
But Sabat was speeding away； a bat now that flitted over rooftops and across tracts of open countryside； an astral hastening to rejoin its physical body。
Soon he came to the new Montmartre； that cobbled square again where the crowd was made up of late…night revellers and artists who used the benches for beds on warm nights。 Yet it had changed little； and if you were perceptive enough to notice； you would sense the growing evil in the atmosphere； a stench like that of the charred wood of a long…dead witch fire。 For Pierre Vallin had died and lived again many times； Lilith was true to her word for she knew that she would have need of him at the final hour。 Lives that had spanned centuries and continents were finally rejoined in that place where it had first begun。
As Sabat slipped back into his body he heard the faint sounds of Quentin's laughter。
And outside the pentagram angry whispered voices like that of the frenzied mob that had taken Vallin； frustrated because they could not get at Sabat； an invisible barrier of protection keeping them at bay。
Finally； towards dawn； they gave up； melted back into the darkness and Sabat knew that the night belonged to him。
But the real fight was only just beginning。
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE WAVE of terror had already begun by the time Sabat left his hotel the next morning。 Only a hundred yards away a narrow side street was cordoned off； gendarmes were everywhere； a body wrapped in blankets was being loaded into a van。
Sabat watched； mingling with a crowd which had gathered as close as the police would allow。 He could not make out any details but it was all too clear。 And the midday editions of the papers carried the story 。 。 。 and seven others as well！
He wandered away。 Still he had not decided upon his next course of action。 There were a number of alternatives open to him； he could call in the Surete； have the Lealans arrested but； like England； witchcraft counted for little in France these days。 There would only be a paltry charge and Scotland Yard was unlikely to effect an extradition order on the part Vince Lealan had played in Bloody Saturday。 Above all it would take time and time was a modity that was not available。 Already Lilith's 'vampires' were on a rampage of blood。 Sabat considered confronting the Lealans in broad daylight； challenging these latest reincarnations of evil but again his efforts might prove futile。 He sighed； his only chance was to wait for nightfall； fight them when the evil had started 。 。 。 and then the odds would be in their favour。 One man against the might of the powers of darkness！
He strolled the narrow streets around Montmartre； saw the very house which he had visited in his astral form； felt his pulses speed up。 There could be no possible doubt that this was the place。 The timbers had weathered and split in places； door and windows had been replaced possibly several times over the past five centuries； but apart from that it looked exactly the same as it had on that fiery night when the frenzied witch…hunters had dragged out Pierre Vallin and burned him in the cobbled square。
Sabat had a brief respite； a few hours of daylight in which to formulate a plan with which to wipe out the evil that was even now spawning in a satanic dwelling。 And right now he could not think of a single worthwhile idea。
It was midday before he experienced the faintest glimmerings of a plan； one that germinated and came to fruition with remarkable rapidity。 So breathtakingly simple that he wondered why he had not thought of it before。
He returned to his hotel bedroom； locked the door behind him； and once again the bed was tilted up against the wall； the carpet rolled back to expose the pentagram。 A miniature altar was constructed out of the bedside table and the suitcase； a white sheet used to drape it； a crucifix and the chalices placed upon it。 And then he prayed； not in the conventional kneeling posture but standing upright； arms outstretched； for Sabat's philosophy was that Man was part of God and humility was hypocrisy。 Again he was the psychic mercenary seeking the help of a more powerful force； just as in the past he had summoned the old gods to assist him； he now sought the aid of three who had pursued Lilith in the days when the earth was young and the mud and filth out of which her Maker had moulded her was scarcely set。
Tranquility； the temperature of the room did not change； neither did the atmosphere seem charged with an inexplicable power。 And when he had finished； dismantled the altar trappings and restored the room to its former state； Sabat had no idea whether or not his plea had been heard。 He would not know for several hours； not until darkness had fallen。 And by then it might be too late！
For the remainder of the day he fasted and rested； conditioned his mind and body to the terrible ordeal which lay ahead。 His psychic training enabled him to shut out all thoughts of the ing battle with evil and even Quentin had lapsed into silence。 Sabat was a soldier preparing for war。
It was nine o'clock when finally he left the hotel； dressed in his usual black attire； a tiny silver crucifix in each pocket of his jacket； the 。38 a forting weight in its holster although he recognised its shortings in this type of encounter。 In addition he carried two lengths of rope； approximately a foot long； still damp from being immersed in holy water。 And suddenly he had a feeling that perhaps the odds were not weighed so heavily against him。
The streets and the cobbled square were crowded； and from the shadows Sabat surveyed the throng。 A casual observer might have been forgiven for presuming that this bustle of activity was a result of the fine mild evening； the crowds typical of Montmartre； artists and would…be artists； dropouts and drug…addicts emerging from their dens of despair to congregate here。 But when you studied their faces； their eyes； you saw the expressions of resentment against the society which tolerated their existence； the hate which made them restless and eager to rebel； to begin a new French Revolution。
For this was the army of Lilith； the disciples of the Goddess of Darkness； the Blood Merchants； gathering in force to go forth and obey the will which was no longer their own！
Sabat skirted them； knew that beneath those ragged garments they carried the terrible blood guns； their targets Parisian citizens； on a night of carnage。 He found the alleyway parallel to the street where Catriona Lealan skulked in her house of filth； a rear doorway that looked as though it had not been used for years but he co