But the four-wheel would not start. Sam complained of his chest burning, and the cross around Nydia's neck had begun to glow.
"All right, Dad," Sam said. "We get the message."
The four-wheel started; the burning and the glowing ceased.
"All that could have been a fluke," Nydia suggested.
Sam turned around, heading back to Montreal. The four-wheel died in the middle of the road. The burning and the glowing began again.
Nydia said, "All right, Mr. Balon—no more. We'll go back."
The four-wheel started; the glowing and the burning faded.
"Any doubts now?" Sam asked.
She shook her head. "But where do we start, Sam?"
"At Falcon House."
FIVE
"What do we do?" Anita asked. She had recovered from her shocked state and sat sipping tea, her gaze alternating between the mute huge, motionless clay man and the mist that was Balon.
"Wait," Balon projected. "None of you can start it. The golem will not kill without some overt provocation toward one of you."
"What … can that thing do?" Wade asked.
"It has the strength of twenty men. It cannot be stopped by anything mortal. A golem is all things of earth. But none of you need concern yourself with the mysteries of the cosmos. The golem will have no will other than what I give it."
Outside, although the day was bright and clear and warm, thunder rattled the windows of the house.
"Excuse me," Balon said. "No will except that which we give it."
The thunder ceased.
Miles said a very quick and fervent prayer, while Anita clutched at a small Bible.
Wade seemed amused. Doris looked at him and said, "You find this amusing?"
"He's still a reporter at heart," Sam said.
"I have personally witnessed one of the greatest stories a reporter could possibly witness, back in 1958," Wade replied. "And am about to witness another. And I am unable to write about either. Pity."
"The whole town—all our friends—have turned against us," Anita said bitterly. "And all you can think about is reporting a story."
"Our friends are dead," Wade replied. "Just like before. They have rejected the teaching of the Almighty and of His Son, Jesus Christ. They have made their choice. So be it."
"I'll go along with the Almighty part," Miles said. "The bit about His Son …?" He waggled his hand. "I got to see it to believe it."
Sam Balon seemed amused by the exchange.
"Him, now," Doris said, looking at the misty form. "He could clear it all up . . . if he would."
"He can't even clear himself up so we can get a look at him." Miles grinned.
"STOP IT!" Anita screamed. "It isn't a joke, my God! I can't take this joking about … our deaths!"
Wade put an arm around her, pulling her to him. "I think it's the best way to hide our fears, honey. But you're right; it is no joking matter."
"Everything mortals question will be explained," Balon projected. "In time."
Anita pushed her husband from her, took a deep breath, and glared at the mist form that was once her minister. "I believed in you with all my heart and faith twenty years ago, Brother Balon. I'll do the same now."
"Good," Balon said.
"Someone's walking up the sidewalk," Miles said.
"Jane Ann," Balon projected. "I asked her to come over for a time."
"She is going to stay with us, isn't she?" Doris asked.
"No. The Clay Man will protect you. I will stay with Jane Ann. You will all know why that must be at a later time.
Miles laughed. "See, momma—who says there ain't sex after life?"
"Miles!" she whirled around, glaring at him. "You shut your mouth with talk like that." Her face suddenly split into a wide grin. "Besides, for the past five years that's all you've been able to do: talk!"
Miles reddened, then grinned. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his thin chest. He had a retort, but thought it best to keep it to himself.
"I agree," Balon said to him.
Miles looked startled for a few seconds, then smiled. "No bad jokes up … there, huh?" He pointed upward.
"You'll see," Balon said.
A cup of Doris's good tea beside her, Jane Ann looked at the small gathering. "Out of the entire town, all this part of Fork, this is it, Sam?"
"Yes. There were those who felt they were Christians. But as they are soon to learn, they were only fooling themselves. And they knew it all along."
"How sad," Anita said.
"It will be the end of Whitfield and this part of Fork County. There will be no more Beasts, no more black masses—there will be nothing."
"Do you mean," Wade asked, "this time we'll really beat the Devil?"
"No!" Balon's reply was emphatic. "No mortal can ever beat the Devil. Only God. And only when He is ready. The Prince of Darkness will just be through here, that's all. And hopefully in a certain part of Canada, as well. And do not ask me questions about that."
"When does God plan on beating the Devil, Sam?" Wade asked.
Balon said nothing.
"Strong silent type," Miles said.
"Shut up," his wife told him.
Miles sighed.
"I don't know if I'll be able to lie to Roma," Sam said. "She'll see I'm lying."
"About what we … saw, and heard?"
"Yes."
"Then … ?"
"I don't know. I don't know what to do, how to start, or even where to start, really. This is all so mind-boggling. Dad said the cross would protect us … but how much protection will it offer? So much of what he said was . . . unclear. How about the way I feel about you? Will … God," he stumbled over the word, "condone my lying? My feelings? I just don't know."
She moved her gaze from Sam's face to the road ahead. Falcon House reared up. "We're about to find out," she said tensely.
"A joke?" Roma said. "What a very bad joke to play." She could not read his thoughts, and that told her Sam was lying. It also told her that someone . . . probably Balon, was interfering; that he had been in some sort of communication with his son. That was nothing new to her: people could and did move quite freely from either side of the death line … providing one had the right connections with the Master of whatever world.
She peered hard at Sam. But she could not read his thoughts. She looked at her daughter, and for the first time since Nydia's birth, her mother could not read her.
And Nydia realized she had blocked her mother out. "Don't look so upset, Mother," she said innocently, the double meaning not lost on Roma.
Roma's returning gaze was tight. She managed a small smile. "A joke? Who would play such a crude joke on you? Bring you all the way to Montreal for a joke?"
"Kids back at Nelson, I suppose," Sam said.
"Well," Roma said, "it's over. You have both returned. And we have more guests. We'll have such a gala time this week. Both the east and the west wings are alive with young people."
And the Devil, Sam thought. He looked hard at Roma, thinking: Fuck you, bitch!
She merely smiled.
Ugly, Sam fired his thoughts. Ugly and old and vain and stupid.
The smile remained fixed, even softened just a bit.
And I'll bet you're a sorry screw!
Her expression did not change. "You both must be tired from the hurried drive," Roma said. "Why don't you have a bit of a rest and get cleaned up; join your friends later?"
"They are not my friends," Nydia said. "A very few I get along with; the rest are creeps."
'They are our guests!" Her mother's tone was sharp. "And you will be civil to them."
"I will ignore them whenever possible." Nydia stood her ground, facing up to her mother for the first time in her life.
High color rose to Roma's cheeks. "We shall discuss this later."
"No need for that, Mother." The reply was calmly stated. "I've said what I plan to do, and that is that."
Roma was inwardly fuming, but she managed a slight smile. Balon has worked his crappy Christian magic on my daughter, she thought. I wonder how many times over the years that sanctimonious stud has meddled in Nydia's affairs—and mine? No matter, for this time I have him boxed; he cannot be in two places at once, no matter if he is as obstinate as that warrior Michael, and just as militant.