The Mephisto Club

To her relief, he didn’t linger, but turned to leave. “I’ll check in with you in the morning,” he said.

“I’ll be fine.”

“You need to be careful, Maura. We all do.”

But I’m not one of you, she thought. I never wanted to be.

The doorbell rang. They looked at each other.

He said, quietly, “Why don’t you see who it is?”

She took a breath and stepped into the foyer. She took one glance through the window and immediately opened the door. Even the blast of cold air could not drive the flush of heat from her cheeks as Daniel stepped inside, his arms already reaching for her. Then he saw the other man in the hallway, and he froze in place.

Sansone smoothly stepped into the silence. “You must be Father Brophy,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Anthony Sansone. I saw you at Dr. O’Do

Daniel nodded. “I’ve heard about you.”

The two men shook hands, a stiff and wary greeting. Then Sansone had the good sense to make a quick exit. “Arm your security system,” he reminded Maura.

“I will.”

Before he stepped out the front door, he shot one last speculative look at Brophy. Sansone was neither blind nor stupid; he could probably guess what this priest was doing in her house. “Good night,” he said, and walked out.

She locked the door. “I missed you,” she said, and stepped into Daniel’s arms.

“It felt like such a long day,” he murmured.

“All I could think of was coming home. Being with you.”

“That’s all I could think of, too. I’m sorry to just show up and take you by surprise. But I had to stop by.”

“It’s the kind of surprise I like.”

“I thought you’d be home much earlier.”

“We stopped on the road, for di

“It worried me, you know. That you were driving home with him.”

“You had absolutely nothing to worry about.” She stepped back, smiling. “Let me take your coat.”

But he made no move to remove it. “What have you learned about him, since you’ve spent the whole day together?”

“I think he’s just an eccentric man with a lot of money. And a very strange hobby.”

“Seeking all things satanic? That goes a little beyond what I think of as strange.”

“The truly strange part is that he’s managed to gather a circle of friends who all believe the same thing.”

“Doesn’t it worry you? That he’s so completely focused on the dark side? That he’s actually searching for the Devil? You know the saying. ‘When you look long into the abyss…’”

“‘The abyss also looks into you.’ Yes, I know the quote.”

“It’s worth remembering, Maura. How easily darkness can draw us in.”

She laughed. “This sounds like something from one of your Sunday sermons.”

“I’m serious. You don’t know enough about this man.”

I know he worries you. I know he’s making you jealous.

She touched his face. “Let’s stop talking about him. He doesn’t matter. Come on, let me take your coat.”

He made no move to unbutton it. Only then did she understand.

“You’re not staying tonight,” she said.

He sighed. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Then why did you come here?”

“I told you, I was worried. I wanted to make sure he got you home safely.”

“You can’t stay, even for a few hours?”

“I wish I could. But at the last minute, they asked me to attend a conference in Providence. I have to drive down there tonight.”

They. She had no claim to him. The church, of course, directed his life. They owned him.

He wrapped his arms around her, his breath warming her hair. “Let’s go away sometime,” he murmured. “Somewhere out of town.”

Where no one knows us.

As he walked to his car, she stood with her door wide open, the cold streaming around her, into the house. Even after he drove away, she remained in the doorway, heedless of the cruel sting of the wind. It was her just punishment for wanting him. This was what his church demanded of them. Separate beds, separate lives. Could the Devil Himself be any crueler?

If I could sell my soul to Satan for your love, I think I would.

THIRTY

Mrs. Cora Bongers leaned her considerable weight against the barn door and it slid open with a tortured creak. From the dark interior came the nervous bleating of goats, and Jane smelled the gamey scent of damp straw and crowded animals.

“I’m not sure how much you’ll be able to see right now,” said Mrs. Bongers, aiming her flashlight into the barn. “Sorry I didn’t get your message earlier, when we would’ve had daylight.”

Jane flicked on her own flashlight. “This should be fine. I just want to see the marks, if they’re still there.”

“Oh, they’re still here. Used to irritate the heck outta my husband every time he came in here and saw them. I kept telling him to paint over ’em, just so he’d stop complaining about it. He said that’d just make him madder, if he had to paint the inside of a barn. Like he was doing up House Beautiful for the goats.” Mrs. Bongers stepped inside, her heavy boots tramping across the straw-covered dirt floor. Just the short walk from the house had winded her and she paused, wheezing loudly, and aimed her flashlight at a wooden pen, where a dozen goats massed in an uneasy huddle. “They still miss him, you know. Oh, Eben complained all the time about how much work it was, milking them every morning. But he loved these girls. He’s been gone six months now, and they’re still not used to anyone else milking them.” She unlatched the pen and glanced at Jane, who was hanging back. “You’re not scared of goats, are you?”

“Do we have to go in there?”

“Aw, they won’t hurt you. Just watch your coat. They like to nibble.”

Now you be nice goats, thought Jane as she stepped into the pen and latched the door shut behind her. Don’t chew the cop. She picked her way across the straw, trying to avoid soiling her shoes. The animals watched her with cold and soulless stares. The last time she’d been this close to a goat had been on a second-grade school trip to a petting zoo. She had looked at the goat, the goat had looked at her, and the next thing she knew, she was flat on her back and her classmates were laughing. She did not trust the beasts, and clearly they did not trust her; they kept their distance as she crossed the pen.

“Here,” said Mrs. Bongers, her flashlight focused on the wall. “This is some of it.”

Jane moved closer, her gaze riveted on the symbols cut deeply into the wooden planks. The three crosses of Golgotha. But this was a perverted version, the crosses flipped upside down.

“Some more up there, too,” said Mrs. Bongers, and she pointed the beam upward, to show more crosses, cut higher in the wall. “He had to climb onto some straw bales to carve those. All that effort. You’d think those darn kids would have better things to do.”

“Why do you think it was kids who did this?”

“Who else would it be? Summertime, and they’re all bored. Nothing better to do than run around carving up walls. Hanging those weird charms on trees.”

Jane looked at her. “What charms?”

“Twig dolls and stuff. Creepy little things. The sheriff’s office just laughed it off, but I didn’t like seeing them dangling from the branches.” She paused at one of the symbols. “There, like that one.”

It was a stick figure of a man, with what appeared to be a sword projecting from one hand. Carved beneath it was: RXX-VII.

“Whatever that means,” said Mrs. Bongers.

Jane turned to face her. “I read in the Police Beat that one of your goats went missing that night. Did you ever get it back?”

“We never found her.”

“There was no trace of her at all?”

“Well, there are packs of wild dogs ru