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She had a sensation of flying through the air and in that instant all feeling was restored to her body。 Covering her head with her arms； knowing that she must fall sometime。 Then she hit the floor with a bone…jarring force； lay there bruised and winded as the terror finally seeped back。 Her brain could not cope； sought a logical explanation。 It wasn't him； you were masturbating； got carried away。 Liar！
Madeleine could not see him but she knew he was there； a silent thing that stood in the darkness； one who needed no light to see； an omni…powerful creature who had satisfied himself on her and had spurned her undying love for him。
This was not Louis； not he whom she had served so faithfully for so long。 Something had gone wrong。。。
She could hear him moving about； purposeful footsteps as he busied himself with some task。 She heard the clank of the firebox； heavy logs being deposited inside； a crackling of flames。 Oh God； he was stoking the oven； preparing to satisfy his hunger after a long abstinence。
Madeleine wanted to cry out； 'No； Louis。 There is no need。 I have cooked meat in readiness for your ing。 It is there on the table。' But her voice had gone； just lips moving but no sound ing forth。 Sheer terror had claimed her； turned her into a mute slave。 She was praying； not to the God of the convent at Aix…en…Provence but to one much older； one she had once witnessed in the darkness of a black mass when Louis Nevillon had presided； for only he could have called up such a powerful entity； a beast…like thing that snorted in the shadows； only its glowing red eyes visible。 An overpowering stench of putrefaction； a thundering of powerful hooves。 You dared not look any closer。
Now she prayed that it might e again and save her from one who had once loved her。 Or that it might send Sabat and that he would be in time。
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SABAT PULLED the Daimler off the road and killed the engine。 A silent monster； it sat sedately amidst the trees； out of its own environment of hard roads and city lights。 It would have been sacrilege to take it up that rutted track。
Sabat stretched in the seat； relaxed。 He should have been hurrying with a sense of urgency up that muddy slope but instead he felt lethargic。 Not tired； more of a basking in his own satisfaction。 Schmid and his coven were finished； there would be nothing to fear from them。
A strange feeling which he found difficulty in ing to terms with。 A muzziness that fogged his thinking； voices screaming at him but he neither understood nor recognised them。 It might have been Quentin； his own soul in conflict； but he ignored it。
He sat there staring through the windscreen at the dark mass of indistinguishable trees； shapes that might have been demons out there on a night when the ultimate in evil was about to be reborn。 Possibly the event had already happened。 In which case Sabat was too late。 His reasoning faltered again； a man with amnesia whose memory came back to taunt him in brief flashes and； like a will…o'…the…wisp； vanished before he could claim them for his own。
It was like a kind of dream going on all around you and yet you played a vital role in it； being swept along by events which in themselves controlled you。 A sense of helplessness； too； but you didn't try to fight it。
He flicked on the interior light of the car； experiencing a burning desire to see his own face in the mirror。 He had almost forgotten what he looked like； needed to re…acquaint himself with himself。 He stared； saw his own reflection in the small oblong and a faint cry of surprise and fear escaped his lips。 For the face that stared back at him was not wholly his own！Nor Quentin's； as his brother had once been！
There was certainly a resemblance； but the features had undergone a drastic change！ Harsh； vicious； the eyes seemed to have moved in closer； narrowed to an expression of sheer maliciousness。 The nose decidedly more hooked； like the beak of a fierce bird of prey。 The mouth a grim bloodless slit。 The long hair appeared to have taken on a different texture； coarser； falling about the collar； now streaked with silver grey。 Sabat stared in disbelief at an overall barely recognisable reflection。 Ancient！ It was Sabat and yet not Sabat。 Something familiar about the facial change； a countenance upon which he had gazed recently。 And then he knew！
Merciful God； only Sabat could accept this as possible！ That dream； his panion of that night of evil whom he had helped put those witches to the torch。 Pierre de Lancre lived again in the body of Sabat！ 'Ifyou ever have need of me do not hesitate to call me。 Do that and Pierre de Lancre will e； that I promise。'
And the witchfinder had e； true to his word！
Sabat stared at his hands； talon…like with long ragged dirty fingernails； the skin dry and cracked； held them up to his face in revulsion； watched them tremble。 Yet Pierre de Lancre； the witchfinder； had e when he needed him most and this was no time to spurn his help。
Sabat switched off the light； opened the door of the Daimler and slid silently out。 He stood there in the pitch blackness breathing in the fragrant smell of damp pine woods； suddenly felt stronger； fitter。 It was as though the remaining effects of his illness had evaporated and he bit on those thin lips until he tasted blood as he remembered everything that had happened to him since that fateful trip up the Jungfrau； No longer did he feel pity for Madeleine。 She was a witch who had so far escaped the fiery stake； just as Louis Nevillon had cheated the guillotine。 Now they must both pay in full for their evil which spanned three centuries！
He moved off； treading silently through the tall pines； a flitting shadow in the faint starlight。 He checked that he still had his ？38； reminding himself at the same time that this night he would need more than mortal weapons to overe his dangerous adversaries。 They could not guess； surprise was his trump card。
It took him twenty minutes to reach the clearing in which the small chapel stood。 His pulses were racing with the eagerness of a hunting beast of the wild closing in for the kill。 The same cunning； waiting and listening； nostrils flaring as he sniffed the night air and smelled an aroma that had him tautening； those broken fingernails digging into the palms of his hands。 For he smelled the rancid odour of roasting human flesh！
Nauseating。 He recalled its taste； almost vomited。 But he was strong now； stronger than them。 And was not his very name feared throughout the continent and all the other countries of the world？ Pierre de Lancre； merciless hunter of witches。 He smiled grimly to himself and moved stealthily forward a few steps then stopped to listen again。 Light came from within the building； slitting out through the ill…fitting door； but there was no sound to be heard。 Sabat was wary； Nevillon and his young mistress were no ordinary witches。 They might sense his presence。
He hesitated at the door。 That smell of burning meat was much stronger now； perhaps he was already too late。 He braced himself； drew a deep breath and let it out slowly； his own way of steadying those racing pulses。 Whatever the oute he had to go in there； confront his deadliest foes face to face。 His fingers strayed to the butt of his revolver then fell away。 This would be no time for bullets； it would be a duel with much deadlier； far more dangerous weapons。
His knee went up； shot forward with tremendous force； a blow that devastated the rotting woodwork； splintered the matchwood panels of the door as it flung it back； pulling a rusted hinge out by the screws。 Sabat leapt forward； an SAS…type entrance； low and fast； a difficult moving target。 Then he pulled up； almost felt foolish。 The room was much as he had last seen it； twin black candles burning on the shelf adjacent to the old cast…iron stove which was no longer draped in black； that lead coffin with its lid closed； stark and horrific。 Nothing else； there was no sign of Madeleine Gaufridi！
Sabat tensed； suspected a trap of some kind。 Two long strides took him to the coffin； his strong fingers gripping the lid。 This time his muscles responded like smooth well…oiled machinery； flexing and taking the strain of the heavy weight。 The lid shot back； hit the wall with a dull clang and showered lime plaster and dust out of the crumbling bricks。
He coughed； peered through the grey cloud 。。。 saw the shrouded corpse of the Beast of France lying there； staring up with sightless eyes！ Dead pallid flesh gave off its own unpleasant stench but Sabat scarcely noticed it。
'He is still dead！' the witchfinder spoke his surprised relief aloud。 'He has not risen again。 Maybe I am still in time even though Walpurgisnacht is well advanced 。。。'
His words tailed off to a hoarse whisper as his nostrils flared again at the stench of roasting human meat。 His eyes widened； he wheeled and saw the temperature gauge on the front of the old cooker； 300。
'My God！' Sabat glanced back at that coffin。 * The meat for this unholy night'