Divine Evil

the symbol of hope and childhood, and balled it in her hand. “It was good of you to come all this way, Doctor. I'm sorry Cam got you out of bed.”
    “It won't be the first time or the last.” He winked at her. “You had a nasty shock, Clare, but I think rest will put you right. But you make that appointment, or I'll take back that balloon.” He picked up his bag, then turned to Cam. “I can talk to the surgeon if you want, look in on the patient from time to time.”
    “I'd appreciate it.”
    He waved the thanks away, and they watched him go, tiredness slowing his steps.
    “He hasn't changed,” Clare said.
    Cam brought her hand up to his cheek and held it there. “You gave me a scare, Slim.”
    “Sorry.”
    “Still mad at me?”
    She shifted restlessly. “Not really. It's a little weird being interrogated by someone I'm sleeping with.”
    He let go of her hand, stepped back. “I can have Bud do the follow-up if you'd feel better about it.”
    She was screwing it up, Clare thought. Right on schedule. “No, I'll handle it.” She tried a smile and almost made it. “So, what's the next step?”
    “I can take you home so you can get some real sleep.” That's what he wanted to do.
    “Or?”
    “If you're up to it, you can take me back to the scene, go through it with me.” That's what he felt obliged to do.
    She felt a skitter of panic inside her and ruthlessly squashed it. “Okay, we'll take door number two.”
    “I'll drive. We'll have your car picked up later.” He wanted to examine it thoroughly, with more than a flashlight, for evidence of impact.
    She slid off the table, then reached for his hand. “I think I left my keys in it.”
    Other wounds had been treated that night. Other decisions had been made. The twelve remaining children of Satan had closed ranks. Their fears had been put to rest. On the night of the full moon, they would meet for the Esbat. To celebrate. To consecrate. To sacrifice.
    The offering that had been sent to them had escaped. They had only to choose another.
    “It was here.” Clare closed her eyes as Cam steered his car to the shoulder. “I was coming the other way, but this is where …” A squeal of brakes, her own scream. “This is where I hit her.”
    “You want to stay in the car while I take a look?”
    “No.” She wrenched open the door and pushed herself out.
    The moon had set. The stars were fading. It was the darkest, coldest part of night. Was there an hour, she wondered, when man was more vulnerable than this, the time that belonged to creatures who slept or hid by day? There was a rustle in the brush-the cry of the hunter, the scream of the prey. She saw the shadow of an owl as it glided away with its kill caught, bleeding, in its talons. The crickets continued their tireless music.
    Clare wrapped her arms tight around her body. Cam was already playing his light on the skid marks that started up the road, then veered dramatically to the left.
    From the length of them, he gauged that Clare hadn't been doing more than forty. And from the angle, she'd obviously reacted quickly, wheeling her car away. Judging by the evidence at his feet and Clare's statement, it appeared likely to him that the woman had run into Clare, rather than the other way around. But he kept his opinion to himself for the moment.
    “She came out of the woods?” he prompted.
    “Just there.” She pointed, her artist's imagination recreating the scene vividly. “She was running, sort of a quick, stumbling gait. For just a fraction of a second, I thought she was a deer-the way she just burst out of the trees and kept going. My first thought was, shit, I'm going to run over Bambi. And Bambi's going to wreck my car. I remember Blair hitting a buck the first month we had our drivers′ licenses, and totaling the Pinto.”
    She unwrapped her arms, then stuck her hands in her pockets. Inside were a couple of spare coins her nervous fingers could toy with. “I hit the brakes hard and dragged at the wheel. She was out on the road so fast. Then I saw her in the headlights.”
    “Tell me what you saw.”
    “A woman, very slim, lots of blond hair. There was blood on her face, on her shirt, on her pants. As if I'd already mowed her down.” Her spit seemed to dry up in her mouth as she spoke. “Got a cigarette?”
    He took two out, lit them both, and handed her one. “Then what?”
    The resentment eased back into her, like the smoke she inhaled. “Cam, I've already told