Through evil, good.
Even Schuyler's carefully cultivated supported the tenets of his creed.
Not for sham look of a bearded devil with arched e nor for him the silken crimson robes and hood. Was he a true and sacred priest of a dedicated to the Infernal One, or merely a caricature? Would the Devil on earth appear man as the Devil, or would he in his infinite evil guile assume the shape of some lesser form? likewise, and even so, would the son of Lucifer's Son, Lutherson. L lift the cuff earthly trouser to expose a furry ankle and a hoof?. Would he advertise his yellow eyes beacons to unbelievers? Would he blow the breath of brimstone and piss from his regurgitate purple vomit into the faces of would this be the proper behavior and Lord Satan's son and servant?
Schuyler Lutherson was blond.
He had blue eyes.
he'd served in a juvenile detention facility in fornia, back before he'd changed his name, and he still worked out at a gym near the church three .times a week. As a result, he had the slim, lithe, sinewy body of a long-distance runner.
His nose would have been Grecian perfection, had it not once been broken at that selfsame .etention facility, where the fair-haired, ,-cheeked as-yet-unborn Schuyler Lutherson forced to protect his ass from an older, huskier determined to have a taste of it at all costs. The costs”
he'd had in mind did not include the spleen he'd suffered after he'd broken the Schuyler's nose and declared his intention of him his "private and personal pussy." The used a two-by-four by of discouragement, picking it up from a pile of in the carpentry shop and wielding it like a bat. The older boy never bothered him Neither did anyone else.
Schuyler had a wide androgynous mouth, with the lower lip of a pouting screen siren, and the rather upper lip of a politician. He had even white the better to eat you with, my dear. That they capped was a matter of small import or note.
he smiled, the gates to the infernal chambers wide and eternal midnight beckoned.
was. smiling now, wanting to know who -- had painted the pentagram on the church He spoke deliberately and precisely.
"Who, exactly, painted the pentagram on fucking gate?" he asked.
Through obscenity, purity.
The three looked at him.
Two women and a man. Each of the women served as altars many times.
Through Schuyler knew them intimately. The man knew intimately as well, through the public rites of fornication that followed each ritual One of the women was named Laramie. The was named Coral. These were not their real The man was named Stanley. This was his name; who on earth would want to change his to Stanley unless he planned on becoming a Stanley was a salary-drawing church Laramie and Coral were disciples, and did not salaries per se, but money somehow stuck to fingers. Laramie was black and Coral was Stanley was Hispanic; this was a regular Nations here. Together they pondered who have been foolish enough to decorate the church I with a pentagram.
"Because now, see," Schuyler said, "the dead.”
Stanley shook his head, not in sorrow, dismay: the priest was now indeed dead, someone had painted a pentagram on St. gate. Stanley's head was massive and covered lrntr tawny tancrlad hair that ava him the.
:ed lion; when he shook his head, the was monumental.
"We have nothing to hide here, that' true," ler said.
Both women nodded, a symphony in black and togethemess. Coral was wearing a paisley skirt and a white peasant blouse, no bra. "he had long blonde hair, eyes as blue as Schuyler's, a button nose dusted with freckles. Laramie was skin-tight jeans, boots, and a sweater. She as tall and strikingly good-looking, a Masai miraculously transported to the big bad city. comparison, Coral looked like a prairie :wife - which incidentally she'd been before east to join Schuyler's church. The women thinking hard. Who could have been dumb to paint a pentagram on the churchyard gate? was the burning question of the day.
see," Schuyler said, "suppose the police raising some of the same questions that asshole raised? Suppose they come here and want to this or that, see, as for example, are we X during the mass, which is a controlled ... see? We can always tell the Man we are doing Ecstasy nor anything else at our services, by the way are private services, see, and not to the public except by invitation, is what we tell the Man. But then we'll have police shit, we'll have them coming around with search breaking our balls merely on principle, what cops know how to do very well. Because they e going to figure, see, in their limited w; that if somebody painted a pentagram on the gate, then maybe that same person did the And they're going to be all over us like locusts.
"Excuse me, Sky," Coral said.
"Yes, Coral.”
Gently. His eyes caressing her. He would to serve as altar again this Saturday night, twenty-sixth, a night of no particular si the church calendar except that it follo immediately after the high holy solemnity Feast of the Expulsion. The two most " religious holidays, of course, were and All Hallows' Eve. But these were nights abandon, and the Feast of the Expulsioni traditionally more sedate. This was why the the Saturday following was generally a time of greater release and realization. Coral make a perfect altar. Lying on the draped each time, her legs spread, her hands candelabra, she was a woman in constant twitching in expectation. Even standing him now, she shifted from foot to foot, her ri twisting her skirt like a little girl, twisting it.
"I feel we should open this to the congregation, Sky, put to them that someone midst- perhaps through perhaps through just sheer stupidity - has church in a precarious position, Sky. And we ;hould ask whoever it was that painted the on the gate to come forward and admit it, then perhaps go to the police voluntarily, himself or herself, and say what it was they done. So investigation would end right there, with ver actually put that symbol on the gate. Is what think, Sky.”
Flat midwestem voice, little gap between her two front teeth. Twisting her skirt like a little girl on to recite. Like to do a mass over her right fucking minute, he thought.
"I think Coral's right," Stanley said, nodding his assive leonine head.
"Throw it open to the “
i Throw it open wide to the congregation, Schuyler "... this Saturday night, before the mass actually before you do the Introit. Explain to them in jeopardy here because of some dumb thing did in all innocence...”
s," Laramie said.
Woman of few words.
Said her piece, did her little Masai dance, and got off the stage.
"Unless whoever painted the star also killed the “
looked at her.
you think that's really a possibility?" he "After what the priest said?”
She shrugged.
The shrug made it abundantly clear the priest had said could, in the proper mind, taken seed as a motive for murder.
"A total asshole," Schuyler said. "If he'd mouth shut...”
"But he didn't.”
This from Laramie again, who made an keeping her mouth shut most of the time.
"No, that's true," Schuyler said, "he Which is why we now find ourselves in a that is potentially, see, dangerous. I can tell don't want policemen coming here. I don't them looking into this or that, discovering that girls perform certain parts of the ritual, that on occasion we've used harmless controlled substances in support of the discovering that on occasion we've even small animals during the mass, though I imagine that's against the fucking law, is it? point is, see, the priest made enough of a fuss the pulpit, brought enough attention to us, m what was it, Stanley? - a neighborhood the side of Christ, can you believe it? course, illustrates what a threat our church is, illustrates clearly, see, how desperately Christ-lovers would love to drive us non-existence, murder the infant church in its see. But...”
"Sky.”
From Coral. Softly.