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THE GUILLOTINE； brutal instantaneous bloody death； a hellish instrument of execution。 It dominated the white…tiled room； a。 metallic structure that gleamed evilly in the stark fluorescent light。
Louis Nevillon was calm as his guards allowed him a few seconds to savour his fate。 They were gloating； he could read it in their smug； supposedly impassive； expressions。 Even the priest。 Tete…de…chien！ The executioner was masked； a custom that went back centuries； but there was a gleam in the pale blue eyes that stared out of the cloth slits that was unmistakable。 It was Gallon； of course。 Who else？ Nobody had ever seen his face； at least none of his victims。 Just those cold orbs； enjoying every second； not hurrying because it was all over in a second and what were an extra few minutes to a doomed man？
Nevillon returned his stare。 His heart missed a beat； for one second he thought the other flinched but it could have been a trick of the light。 But why should it be？ These cochons were all frightened of Nevillon； even though they had him shackled； his head as good as on the block。 Even now they feared that he might strike them dead with his inexplicable； terrible magic。 The fifteenth century or the twentieth； it made no difference。 Each and every person has a lurking fear of the unknown。 Except Nevillon； of course。
They had been scared of him throughout the ten…day trial； armed warders and police surrounding the dock； a pany of special Surete ringing the building。 The press claimed it was to keep the angry crowds back； to stop them from breaking in with their own brand of justice。
Nevillon had sensed clammy hands tightening over revolver butts each time he had shifted position； eyes averted every time he had looked around the crowded court room。 Even the judge flinched； licking his dry lips continually； snapped irritably at the witness for the prosecution for not speaking up。 The little plump man had blanched； swallowed； continued his evidence in a loud hoarse whisper； his gaze averted so that his eyes did not meet Nevillon's。
Nevillon had never doubted that they would find him guilty。 He had considered a plea； spurned the advice of his counsel。 Fourteen charges of murder； nine of mutilation。 They could only guillotine you once。
By the fifth day of the trial he was refusing to answer questions； silent contempt that was making the jury uneasy。 Even now they had reached their decision； but when the time came it would need courage to voice it。 Because Louis Nevillon was no ordinary murderer。 Had he not already told them that he was a descendant of Silvain Nevillon who was burned for witchcraft at Orleans in 1614。 Descendant？ He was more than that。 A reincarnation！ Silvain himself reborn； a line of evil that even the guillotine could not destroy。 But these fools would not understand that。
Each charge brought a racing of Nevillon's pulses； a quickening of his heartbeat。 The mention of Yvette de Coulon gave him an erection as though even now she lay naked before him； wide…eyed with terror； yielding。
'Louis Nevillon； did you not on the night of 30 April kidnap one Yvette de Coulon from her home and take her to a place of devil worship at Nemours where you mitted vile and unspeakable acts upon her body both in life and in death？' 30 April…Walpurgisnacht！
By not so much as the flicker of an eyelid did Nevillon betray his emotions。 Perhaps they noticed his arousement pushing atthe zip of his dark serge trousers。 Half…hearted staccato barks from the judge demanding an answer； but Louis Nevillon remained silent and impassive。 He wanted to hear it all from their lips； relive it in his own mind in the telling。 His senses were sharp； he had a good memory。 He smelled again the freshness of that young body； tasted it again on his palate。
'。。。 and in pany with others unknown to this court you； Louis Nevillon； attempted to mune with Satan。 After you had raped the said girl you then proceeded to drain the blood from her body； drinking it with your followers。 And then 。。。 and then 。。。〃
A sharp intake of breaths in unison； a sea of faces that paled； shying away； not wanting to hear the truth。
'And then 。。。 what？' the judge's tongue was flicking like a hungry lizard in search of insects。 'This court must know exactly what happened！'
'And then 。。。 Louis Nevillon； you proceeded to mutilate the corpse still further； hacking it limb from limb 。。。 distributing joints of human flesh to your followers； joining with them in cannibalism。 In the space of a few hours the entire body of Yvette de Coulon was devoured； after which you perpetrated acts that defy the belief of sane people with the remaining bones！'
A piercing scream from somewhere up in the public gallery； the thud of a falling body。 People rushing； somebody being stretchered out。 Madame de Coulon； the dead girl's mother。 Nevillon permitted himself the faintest of smiles。 He had many ways of taking his revenge on people； every one of them in here and those chanting out in the street would pay for their arrogance in a variety of ways。
The lesser killings； some not proven。 He heard the drone of words but his mind was elsewhere。 He could； had he chosen； have transported his astral body on to the astral plane； left behind a useless body impervious to pain…but that would not have served his purpose。 The Nevillon evil must live on and he had to see it through to the end。 The guillotine； degradation but painless。 The sooner it was over the better。
He was suddenly aware that the death sentence had been passed amidst an eager murmur throughout the crowded courtroom。 Time had slipped by； the jury had been out for three hours and he had not noticed their absence。 Now he was back in the dock； a condemned man being led down a flight of stone steps； his guards losing no opportunity to hustle him。 A kick from behind almost sent him sprawling。 They would all pay for this！
The journey from the court to the prison would have been a nightmare for any man other than Nevillon。 It was all the police could do to restrain the crowds； a blur of hate…filled faces screaming abuse； a fusillade of rotten fruit and eggs continually splatting against the vehicle； rivulets of thick red tomato juice trickling down the two small barred windows； reminding Louis Nevillon of Yvette de Coulon again and giving him another erection。 It had all been worth it。
The guards inside the prison van had their pistols drawn even though he was handcuffed。 Like everybody else； they were frightened of the tall grey…haired man with the aristocratic features。 History was repeating itself； another nobleman on his way to M。 Guillotine； the mob roaring for his head and the sight of blood。 He laughed aloud and his two panions started； blanching； their pistol barrels jerking up and training on his chest。
'You will not laugh when your head is on the block； Monsieur Nevillon' one of them spat。 'I have witnessed an execution。 Once。 Shall I tell you all about it？'
'I； too； have been present at an execution；' Nevillon replied softly； 'so perhaps you would like to hear about mine first。 The condemned girl's name was Yvette 。。。'
'Cochonr a clenched fist caught the prisoner across the mouth； jerked his head back。 'Filthy swine！'
The second man drove forward with a booted foot； took Louis Nevillon full in the groin； knocked him from his seat More blows。 He threw up his manacled hands but it was impossible to ward them off。
'If I had my way；' the guard who had delivered the first blow restrained his colleague； 'I would not put his head on the block。 A little at a time； eh； Marcel？ One leg； two。。。 one arm； two 。。 。 maybe something else after that！' He winked and they both roared with malicious mirth。
Now the end was in sight。 The priest wanted to see him dead because it was all part of the fight against evil。 The guards； the executioner； this was their revenge for Yvette de Coulon。 Fools； Satan's own could not be destroyed by the guillotine； he was not as other men。
The priest was mumbling something； reciting from a prayer book。 None of them tried to look pious； they were deliberately prolonging the finale； thinking that he would suffer untold mental agonies these last few minutes。 They should have drugged him but they had deliberately overlooked this act of legal mercy。 Who was to know？ This chamber was soundproofed； nobody would hear his final screams for mercy。
Yet Louis Nevillon heard the huge gathering beyond the high prison walls； a slow countdown to the acpaniment of slow handclapping and the stamping of feet。 They were shouting Yvette de Coulon's name。
Two of the warders led Nevillon forward； viciously kicked his legs from under him so that he fell hard； was dragged into a kneeling position； the steel neckbands almost choking him as his head was strapped on to the block。 His eyes should have been covered but this； like the sedatives； was ignored。
He could see everything that was happening。 A detailed reflection on the polished stainless steel base on which the guillotine