Divine Evil

dead.”
    He swiped sweat from his brow. “Which young deputy? Bud?”
    “No, t'other one. Maybe they went up to buy a house. Mr. Kimball, he used to sell houses.”
    “Yes.” His skin turned icy beneath the sweat. “Annie, we have to hurry.”
    Bud stood in the shelter of the trees and stared. He knew it was real, but his mind continued to reject it. Alice's father? How could it be? His friend and partner, Mick?
    But he was seeing it with his own eyes. They were standing in a circle, their backs to him. He couldn't see what they were facing, and was afraid to try to move closer. It was best to wait and watch. That's what the sheriff would have him do.
    He wiped a hand across his mouth as the chanting began.
    It was like the dream. Clare closed her eyes and drifted between past and present. The smoke, the voices, the men. It was all the same.
    She was in the bushes, hiding, watching herself. This time she would be able to run away.
    She opened her eyes and stared up at the seamless black sky, crowned by a floating crescent moon. The longest day was over.
    She saw the glint of a sword and braced. But it wasn't her time. Atherton was calling the Four Princes of Hell. She wished they would come, if there were such things, and devour him for his arrogance.
    She turned her head away, unable to look, refusing to listen. She thought of Cam and the years they wouldn't share, the children they wouldn't make. He loved her, and now they would never have the chance to see if love was enough. To make it be enough.
    He would find them. Stop them. She was sure of it, orshe would have gone mad. But it would be too late for her. Too late to talk to her mother again, to make up for the coolness and distance she'd put between them. Too late to tell the people who mattered that her father had made mistakes, had taken wrong turns, but hadn't been a thief or a murderer.
    There was so much she'd wanted to do. So much left to see and touch. But she would die like this for one man's ego and others′ blind cruelty.
    The rage built up in her. They had stripped her naked, of clothes, of dignity, of hope. And of life. Her hands balled into fists. Her body arched as she screamed.
    Bud's hand went to the butt of his gun and stuck there, trembling.
    Cam's head reared up, and the fear that shot through his veins was hot and pulsing. “Stay here.” He shook off Annie's clinging hands. “Stay here. Don't move.” He had his weapon out as he raced through the trees.
    Atherton raised his knife toward the sky. He'd wanted her to scream. He'd yearned for it, sweated, the way a man yearns and sweats for sexual release. It had infuriated him when she'd lain still, like a doll already broken. Now she writhed on the altar, skin gleaming with sweat, eyes full of fear and anger.
    And the power filled him.
    “I am annihilation,” he cried out. “I am vengeance. I call upon the Master to fill me with His wrath so that I might slash with keen delight His victim. Her agony will sustain itself.”
    The words buzzed in Ernie's ears. He could barely hearthem, could no longer understand them. The others swayed around him, captivated. Hungry for what was to come. It wasn't hunger that crawled through Ernie's gut, but a sickness.
    It was supposed to make him feel good, he reminded himself. It was supposed to make him belong.
    But he saw her, struggling, terrified. Screaming and screaming as Sarah Hewitt had screamed. It made him ill with pity. How could he belong if he felt such things? How could he be one of them when what they were about to do revolted him? Frightened him.
    She shouldn't have to die.
    His fault. His fault.
    Her eyes met his once, pleading. In them, he saw his last hope for salvation. With a cry that was both pain and triumph, he lurched forward as Atherton brought the knife down.
    Clare felt the body fall over hers. She smelled the blood. But there was no pain. She saw Atherton stumble back. Groaning, Ernie slid from her and crumpled on the ground.
    Snarling in fury, Atherton raised the knife again. Two shots rang out. One caught him in the arm, the other full in the chest.
    “Don't move.” Cam held his weapon firm, but his finger trembled on the trigger. “I'll send every fucking one of you to hell.”
    “Sheriff—it's Bud.” Bud stepped forward, arms shaking. “I followed the kid. I saw—Christ, Cam, I killed a man.”
    “It's easier the second time.” He fired into the air as one of the men turned to run. “Take another step,