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which you can help。 In the meantime； however； we must pass this night unharmed and now that you are here I suggest you stay rather than return to your room at the pub。 I shall rig up the necessary defences to give us both protection in the event of another psychic attack such as I underwent earlier。'
'I know your reputation too well to argue；' Kent stood up。 'Just tell me what I have to do and 。 。 。 '
The piercing noise came at them out of the night。 A wail that escalated； reached its peak and hung reverberating in the still atmosphere。 Even before the echoes had a chance to die away； it began again。
A scream of sheer mortal terror that came from the direction of St Monica's churchyard！
CHAPTER FIVE
SABAT AND Kent moved simultaneously towards the door and hit the darkness outside fast and low； trained mandos precipitated into battle at a moment's notice； knowing that every shadow might conceal an enemy； a foe more deadly than any they had faced during their SAS days。
The night air still vibrated from the scream。 Slowly it died away。 They paused alongside the privet hedge； waited； but it did not e again。
'We'd better check the churchyard；' Sabat whispered。 His mouth was dry and he was not sufficiently prepared to go forth into battle at this stage against an unknown enemy。 But somewhere somebody was in deadly peril。 It might already be too late。 Sabat and Kent had no choice。
Sabat sensed the coldness again； the cloying presence of evil as though frozen fingers were trying to grab him and pull him back。 He tried to ignore it； determined not to be overwhelmed by another psychic attack。 It was Kent he worried about most； though。 A cold ruthless fighter but the journalist was not familiar with the forces of darkness。 It was him they would try to pull down first。
'Kent；' Sabat whispered hoarsely。 'Keep close to me； don't let me out of your sight。 And 。 。 。 and take this。'
Kent stared at the small silver object which was thrust into his hand。 That tiny crucifix again； the one Sabat had tried to test him with earlier。 Oh Christ； was Mark Sabat being some sort of religious nut？
'Don't be stupid；' the Fleet Street man's tones were harsh with contempt and annoyance。 'There's maybe somebody out there just got murdered。 We're not going to start preaching to the killer or anything like that are we； Sabat？'
'Be warned；' Sabat thrust his face close to his panion's。 'We are not up against mortal enemies tonight。 Whoever our adversaries are they will first try to destroy our minds； render us babbling imbeciles just as they did Vicar Cleehopes who was a very powerful exorcist himself。 We must fight them with such weapons as this； have faith in ourselves。'
'Now you are fucking preaching；' Kent sneered； tossing the crucifix up and down in his hand。 'Still； I suppose it's only to be expected from one who's worn a bleeding dog…collar himself。 Okay； if you want it that way； Sabat； then that's okay by me but don't get any ideas about converting me。 You know damned well I'm an atheist。'
Sabat stiffened。 Had the dark powers already begun to work on Kent； alienating him against Sabat？
'I know；' Sabat smiled。 'You're an atheist； Kent。 You don't believe in God so therefore how can you believe in them。'
The journalist checked an angry retort and an expression of bewilderment flooded his rugged features in the faint moonlight。 'You're right； Sabat；' he said； as though he had to force the words out。 'I don't believe in them。 They're a load of crap； superstition put about by these ignorant villagers to scare the life out of everybody。'
Sabat stretched out his hand； took the crucifix back and dropped it into his pocket。 The wind appeared to strengthen suddenly from a gentle breeze to a tearing gale； buffeted them； then died down as quickly as it had begun。 A show of anger by the evil around them； a temporary setback for the lurking powers because Sabat had produced an unexpected ace out of his occult pack。 It had worked this time but it might not again。
'Let's move；' Sabat took the lead； knew that the other followed him。 He tried not to think what they might e up against beyond the lychgate which stood silhouetted against the night sky some twenty yards ahead of them。 The awful possibilities were innumerable。
'I can smell smoke；' Kent breathed。 'Christ； what a bloody awful stink！'
Sabat wrinkled his nostrils。 There was certainly a pungent aroma being wafted on the night breeze； like a smouldering garden bonfire； only more cloying。 He sniffed the air in the manner of a hunting beast but failed to recognise the smell other than that of burning。 His thoughts flipped briefly to the incinerated body of the Reverend Philip Owen and further back in time to one Dr William Price。 They were not pleasant thoughts。
The churchyard was in total silence as they eased through the lychgate。 Even that gentle breeze seemed to have dropped and a patch of cloud scudded across the face of the moon as though the heavens feared to look down upon this place。 Kent was close to Sabat as they awaited the re…emergence of the moon。
Slowly； reluctantly； the pale silvery light flooded the scene again； showed rows of untended graves； the grass roughly mown between them in a maze of pathways。 A forgotten place where people feared to tread。
The smoke was thicker； more pungent now； making their eyes smart。 Sabat coughed； pointed across to the far corner of the cemetery； a section that was hidden in the shadows cast by a clump of towering yew trees。 'That's where the smoke's ing from；' he whispered。 'Let's make our way across there。'
The grass beneath their feet was springy； their progress silent。 Moving slowly； trying to scan every patch of shadow around them through eyes streaming from the smoke； making it impossible to see anything。 Which was why they were within three or four yards of the figure beneath the foremost yew tree before they saw it！
'Jesus wept！' Kent clutched Sabat's arm； instinctively trying to tug him back。 'What the fuck is it？'
Sabat felt his body tense； go cold as an icy trickle ran up his spine and spread out into his scalp。 He strained his smarting eyes； made out the shape of a woman in long tattered robes。 At least he thought it was a woman。 。 。 。
Small and frail； almost childlike； barely five feet tall。 Long matted hair that straggled down over revolting bulb like breasts； cancerous growths protruding from vents in the soiled garments。 Barefoot； toenails broken and curling over like the talons of some horrific bird of prey。 Skeletal waste arms； shaking finger pointed accusingly at the intruders in this place of silence and death。 An eddy of smoke hid her for a few seconds as though it sought to spare these two humans from a sane world the sight of this revolting creature。
And when the smoke had cleared； Sabat and Kent saw that she had stepped forward out of the shadows into a patch of moonlight where every detail of her grotesque face was displayed。
'Jesus God； it isn't possible！' Kent stepped back instinctively； dragging Sabat with him。
A noise； a cackle of manic laughter broke the stillness。 This creature from the shadows in human form was manding them to look upon her； to feast their eyes upon the rotting flesh on her body； to breathe in the stench of putrefaction which even the billowing smoke could not mask。 Eye sockets； nothing more； but she seemed to see out of the sunken cavities； tiny black pits of hate directed at the two men。 Twin nostrils that bubbled mucus； a toothless mouth…slit widening into a grimace。 A thing that had e from beyond the grave！
Sabat sensed the power emanating from this macabre living entity； a force that hit him with sheer psychic power like that icy wind getting up again and bringing with it stifling acrid smoke that had him instinctively throwing up his hands to ward it off。
'Sabat； you came here at your own peril and those who trespass in the domain of the Oke Priests must pay the penalty。 You shall not leave here！ I e to take you with me to the Lupercal Cave！'
Rasping tones that scraped on Mark Sabat's bemused brain with a stupefying effect。 A muzziness that was beginning to cloud his thinking； numbing his fear。 A surrendering of his willpower that was only saved by his panion； Kent the journalist； the atheist。
'It's some kind of trick！' Kent's scream was bordering on hysteria。 'That old bag's dressed up to scare the hell out of us。 Get her； Sabat！ Teach the bitch a lesson！'
The grotesque apparition checked； recoiled as though she had been struck a physical blow； the mouth widening into an expression of shock and terror。 And in that same instant Sabat felt his inner mechanism click back into gear like a car that has faltered and then picked up to full speed。 One moment he was on the defensive； now he was on the offensive。
Even as he leaped forward that acrid smoke billowed and came to the aid of the unknown wretched figure； taking him full in the face； f