Divine Evil

hands on Ernie's shoulders and flung back his head. “We ride a sweeping wind, to the bright place of our desires. The joys of life are ours to take. A life of lust is ours to bear. We are men.”
    “Blessed be.”
    “I am a thrusting rod with the head of iron. Women crave me.”
    “We are men.”
    “I am filled with carnal joy. My blood is hot. My sex aflame.”
    “We are men.”
    “All demons dwell within me.” He lowered his eyes and his gaze bored into Ernie's. “I am a pantheon of flesh.”
    “Hail, Satan.”
    A figure stepped forward, offering the priest a small bone. Taking it, he moved to the altar, leaving Ernie swaying. The bone was placed upright between the altar's thighs. He took the cup from between her breasts and upended it so that the wine spilled over her flesh.
    “The Earth is my mother, the moist and fertile whore.” He moved his hands over the altar, squeezing, scraping. “Hear us now, Great Satan, for we invoke Your blessing in the pleasures of the flesh.”
    “Sustain us, Master.”
    “Desiring all.”
    “Sustain us, Master.”
    “Taking what we will.”
    “Ave
, Satan.”
    The goat was brought out, the knife drawn. With the drug and the chants spinning in his head, Ernie fell to his knees. He prayed, to the God he had just forsworn, that he wouldn't be sick.
    He was pulled to his feet and his robe stripped fromhim. The priest put out a hand, dripping with blood, and smeared it over Ernie's chest.
    “You are marked with the sacrificial blood. Invoke the Name.”
    Ernie swayed, mesmerized by the eyes that burned into his. “Sabatan.”
    “Sabatan!”
    The priest moved back to the altar, repeating the exaltation. He took up the bone and turned so that the rest of the coven could pass before her.
    “Flesh without sin,” he said.
    Robes were cast aside, and the chanting grew louder. Ernie could hear nothing else as he was pulled to the altar. He shook his head, struggling to clear it. She cupped her hands around his rigid penis, manipulating it roughly until he shuddered. Beneath the chanting, he could hear her laugh, low and mocking.
    “Come on, little boy. Don't you want to show these old farts what you can do?”
    And the rage filled him, and the sickness, and the need. He rammed himself into her, driving hard until he saw the mockery fade and pleasure flicker.
    He knew they were watching but didn't care. Her hot breath washed over his face. His muscles trembled. Tears came to his eyes as the chanting rolled over him. He belonged.
    And when he was finished, he watched others and grew hard again. They took turns with her, greedy, pushing themselves into her, slurping at her flesh. They no longer looked powerful, but pathetic, emptying themselves into the same vessel, showing their flab and flaws in the moonlight.
    Some of them were old, he realized. Old and fat, wheezing as they climaxed and collapsed. And his watching becamemore cynical as the drug wore off and excitement drained. Some masturbated onto the ground, too impatient to wait. They howled, drunk on sex and blood.
    Ernie's eyes skimmed over them derisively and met another's. He wore the mask, the head of Mendes. His naked form was trim and pale, and the heavy silver pendant rested against his chest. He didn't dance around the fire, or call to the moon, or fall drooling on the woman. He only stood and watched.
    There was power, Ernie realized. In this man it was centered. He knew, he understood. When he moved toward Ernie, the boy trembled at what he might have guessed.
    “You have begun.”
    “Yes. The rite—it was different from what I've read and studied.”
    “We take what we need. We add what we choose. Do you disapprove?”
    Ernie looked back at the altar and the men who climbed over her. “No.” That was what he wanted, the freedom, the glory. “But lust is only one way.”
    Behind the mask was a smile. “You will have others. But this night is done for you.”
    “But I want to—”
    “You will be taken back and will wait to be called. If what you have seen and done is spoken of outside this place, you will die. And your family will die.” He turned and went back to the head of the altar.
    Ernie was given his clothes and told to dress. Flanked by two robed men, he was escorted back to his truck. He drove for about a half mile before pulling over, turning off the ignition, and jogging back.
    He would take what he wanted, he told himself. The rite had not been closed. If he was to join, he was