gns.thegraveyardvultures-第6部分

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n't　stop　himself　getting　an　erection　every　time　he　thought　about　her。
　　
　　Suddenly　he　was　aware　of　how　cold　it　was　inside　the　house。　He　shivered；　had　to　forcibly　remind　himself　that　it　was　still　late　summer；　that　he'd　been　sweating　on　the　tube　across　London。　A　sudden　stab　of　fear　had　him　reaching　for　the　light　switch；　finding　it；　flicking　it。　Nothing！　Nothing　except　cold；　cloying　darkness。
　　
　　And　then　the　voice；　familiar　tones。　'Do　not　interfere　in　what　does　not　concern　you。'
　　
　　'Damn　you；　Quentin！'
　　
　　A　laugh。　Sabat　staggered　back　against　a　table；　his　head　suddenly　feeling　as　though　it　was　about　to　burst；　a　fast　escalating　headache　of　migraine　proportions　as　though　he'd　been　struck　a　physical　blow。　Oh　Christ；　he'd　been　caught　off　his　guard；　lulled　himself　into　thinking　that　Quentin　had　jusf　disappeared；　relaxed　his　constant　fight　against　his　inner　self　and　his　split　soul。　And　his　own　adversary　had　chosen　this　moment；　attacked　with　full　force；　a　boxer　being　pummelled　against　the　ropes。
　　
　　'There's　an　easy　way　out　for　you；　Mark。　Take　your　own　life；　like　Petraux　did。　So　easy。'
　　
　　Sabat　gasped；　found　himself　even　considering　the　proposition。　Let　Quentin　have　his　way　and　be　damned　to　it　all。　But　another　thought　jerked　him　back　into　the　fight。　To　mit　suicide　would　be　to　precipitate　himself　into　the　black　beyond；　a　willing　slave　to　the　rulers　of　darkness。　He　had　to　fight；　every　inch　of　the　way；　throw　off　Quentin　in　this　continual　struggle　to　remain　master　of　his　own　body　and　soul。
　　
　　'No！'　he　yelled　aloud；　almost　felt　the　echo　of　his　defiance　rebounding　back　at　him　off　the　walls。　'I'll　fight　against　you；　all　the　way！'
　　
　　It　seemed　as　though　strong　hands　had　encircled　his　throat　in　a　steely　stranglehold　grip　determined　to　crush　the　life　out　of　him。　He　couldn't　breathe；　felt　his　eyes　beginning　to　bulge　like　air…bubbles　about　to　burst；　a　pounding　of　heart　and　pulses；　voodoo　drums　beating　out　a　rapid　tattoo　of　death。　Senses　swimming；　clawing　the　air　wildly；　knocking　over　a　small　table　as　he　fell　to　the　ground；　writhing　like　a　serpent　in　its　death　throes。
　　
　　The　attack　had　e　hard　and　fast；　but　not　from　Quentin　alone　for　it　was　impossible　for　him　to　have　summoned　up　such　terrible　psychic　and　physical　force。　The　evil　within　Mark　Sabat's　own　body　had　called　for　help　from　beyond　in　this　attempt　to　take　over　one　who　sought　to　defy　the　forces　which　controlled　St　Adrian's　churchyard　and　the　coven　there。
　　
　　Suddenly　Sabat　allowed　his　body　to　relax。　A　physical　struggle　would　not　save　him。　He　had　to　use　something　much　more　potent　and　even　now　his　muzzy　brain　was　clouding　over　just　when　he　needed　it　most。　Oh；　God；　he'd　have　to　test　his　old　powers　in　a　last　desperate　throw；　if　only　he　could　remember。　Words　littered　his　desperate　attempts　at　recollection　like　a　scattered　jig…saw。　He　had　to　fit　them　together　…fast！
　　
　　'God　。。。　the　Son　of　God　。　。。　who　by　death　。　。。　destroyed　death　。　。　。　and　overcame　him　who　。　。　。　had　the　power　of　death　。　。　。　'　fading　fast；　nearly　unconscious；　one　last　supreme　effort。　'Beat　down　Satan　quickly。'
　　
　　Just　when　it　seemed　that　Mark　Sabat　was　slipping　down　into　a　red…tinged　black　abyss　he　found　himself　floating　back　up；　gasping　for　air　and　managing　to　draw　great　lungfuls　in　because　the　crushing　grip　on　his　windpipe　had　relaxed。　His　head　still　ached　but　not　so　violently　as　before　and　he　found　that　he　could　move　his　limbs。
　　
　　For　some　time　he　lay　there　on　the　hall　floor；　the　darkness　weling　and　no　longer　cold。　Total　relaxation；　calling　upon　his　knowledge　of　yoga　to　calm　mind　and　body；　knowing　from　experience　that　the　attack　would　not　be　renewed　。。。　yet！　For　the　moment　he　had　won；　just　another　round　in　an　eternal　battle；　but　nevertheless　he　had　overe　his　attackers。　Quentin　certainly　had　instigated　this　because　only　Quentin　would　know　of　his　intention　to　fight　the　supreme　evil　behind　the　necromancy　at　St　Adrian's。　Whatever　his　brother　had　called　upon　it　was　some　low　entity；　a　powerful　yet　ignorant　poltergeist；　a　crude　beast　from　the　dark　jungles　beyond　the　ken　of　Mankind。
　　
　　But；　most　important　of　all；　Mark　Sabat　was　still　in　possession　of　his　most　powerful　weapon；　the　ability　to　exorcise　an　evil　spirit。　That　was　some　consolation；　even　though　the　enemy　had　been　a　low　entity。　Nevertheless；　the　real　test　would　e　when　he　went　down　to　that　remote　village　in　the　heart　of　leafy　England；　a　countryside　steeped　in　legend　where　once　King　Arthur's　knights　had　sat　at　their　mythical　round　table　and　where　Guy　of　Warwick　had　fought　and　killed　the　terrible　Dun　Cow。　A　land　soaked　in　blood　and　evil　where　the　dark　forces　would　be　all…powerful。　Sabat　shuddered　at　the　thought。
　　
　　Some　time　later　he　rose　to　his　feet；　tried　the　light　switch　and　flooded　the　hallway　with　bright　fluorescent　light　that　jarred　his　aching　head。　He　felt　physically　and　mentally　drained　as　he　mounted　the　wide；　carpeted　stairs　and　made　his　way　to　his　bedroom　on　the　landing　above。
　　
　　Every　nerve　in　his　body　screamed　for　sleep　but　he　must　keep　them　waiting　a　while　yet　for　there　was　important　work　to　be　done　before　he　could　relax。　It　was　unlikely　that　the　attack　would　be　renewed　this　night　but　he　was　taking　no　chances。
　　
　　His　large　bedroom　was　surprisingly　sparsely　furnished　when　pared　with　the　others　in　the　house。　Bare　floorboards；　a　double　bed　and　a　wardrobe。　Nothing　else。
　　
　　Wearily　Sabat　set　to　work。　First　the　floor　was　swept　clean；　every　effort　taken　to　ensure　that　no　obvious　particle　of　dirt　remained。　Then　he　produced　chalk　and　string　and　painstakingly　began　to　mark　out　a　pentagram　with　the　bed　in　the　centre。　After　that　followed　an　inner　circle。　Then　the　small　silver　chalice　filled　with　water　from　the　bathroom　tap　and　charged。　Sabat's　voice　low　and　meaningful；　sincere　in　every　sentence。　It　was　almost　as　though　he　had　thrown　off　the　evil　which　flowed　through　him　but　he　knew　only　too　well　that　that　was　not　so；　he　had　only　submerged　it。　He　would　not　make　the　mistake　of　being　caught　unawares　again。
　　
　　He　undressed；　stripped　naked　and　flung　his　clothes　out　of　the　pentacle　for　fear　that　some　evil　entity　might　have　lodged　in　some　dust　on　the　cloth　and　would　materialise　later。　He　sighed；　flung　back　the　quilt　and　eased　his　nude　body　on　to　the　under　sheet。　Sabat　never　wore　night　attire；　likening　it　to　going　to　bed　in　a　suit。　He　liked　to　experience　the　freedom　of　his　body　as　God　had　intended　it　to　be；　totally　unclothed　and。。　。
　　
　　It　came　as　a　shock　to　him　to　realise　that　his　exhaustion　had　evaporated　totally　during　the　process　of　undressing。　A　glance　down　at　his　own　body　confirmed　the　reason；　the　rigid　pulsing　erection；　the　sensation　spreading　up　from　his　lower　regions。　He　groaned　softly　to　himself　…　another　trick　of　the　Left…Hand　Path　to　undermine　his　resistance；　or　just　the　fact　that　sexually　he　had　gone　into　overdrive　again？　His　sexual　appetite　knew　no　bounds；　was　seldom　fully　satisfied。　He　shrugged　as　his　fingers　slid　down　his　flat　stomach　and　began　to　ruffle　the　bushy　black　pubic　hair；　drawn　irresistibly　to　that　part　of　his　body　like　iron　filings　to　a　magnet。
　　
　　His　fantasies　came　like　scudding　clouds　on　a　breezy　day；　beginning　with　that　youthful　indiscretion　which　had　once　caused　him　so　much　mental　anguish；　now　he　found　it　exhilarating　and　lived　it　over　again。　Racing　in　time　with　his　finger　movements；　one　encounter　after　another；　all　leading　up　to　an　explosive　finale　in　which　the　colonel's　unfaithful　wife　cast　aside　her　vicious　hunting　crop；　tugged　off　her　black　leather　boots　and　crawled　across　to　him　with　her　mouth　wide　in　expectation。
　　
　　For　the　second　time　that　night　Sabat　writhed　and　fought　and　by　the　time　his　exhaustion　was　beginning　to　creep　back　the　first　grey　light　of　a　new　day　was　creeping　in　through　the　chinks　in　the　curtains。
　　
　　Relief　at　last　because　it　was　his　own　body　that　had　done　this　to　him；　not　some　insidious　sensual　plot　by　Quentin　and　his　evil　ones　to　weaken　him。　One　final　pang　of　fear　that　followed　Sabat　into　a　troubled　slumber　…　that　one　day　they　might　send　Erzulie；　the　Black　Venus；　to　him　as　he　convulsed　powerless　in　one　of　his　crazed　masturbation　fantasies；　and　that　the　beautiful　black　goddess　of　voodoo　would　succeed　where　others　had　failed。
　　
　　
　　　CHAPTER　TWO
　　　
　　THERE　WAS　nothing　untoward　about　the　village　itself；　Sabat　decided　as　he　drove　his　silver　Daimler　in　on　the　winding　north　road。　Once　it　had　been　a　hamlet；　renovated　and　extended　agricultural　cottages　dating　back　to　the　fourteenth　century。　But　the　evil　serpent　of　conurbation　was　not　to　be　kept　at　bay　as　the　housing　estates　on　the　outskirts　sprawled　untidily　like　floodwater　from　a　swollen　river；　swamping　all　before　it；　leaving　just　one　tiny　island　in　the　middle。
　　
　　Sabat　slowed　on　a　rise　that　fell　away　to　the　old　village；　cast　his　gaze　upon　the　unsightliness　of　it　all。　New　houses；　strangers　moving　into　the　area；　the　old　evil　being　joined　by　new　evil　in　an　unholy　alliance。　The　population　had　swelled　and　that　was　going　to　make　it　a　thousand　times　more　difficult　to　find　those　who　indulged　in　necromancy。
　　
　　The　original　village　was　much　the　same　as　it　had　always　been；　doors　and　windows　opening　directly　on