The Devil Dances (12 page)

Finally, warm and sated, I felt myself starting to drift off. I could feel Vivian’s power flowing over and through me as she rested her cheek against my chest. I knew she was still feeding off my power. We pressed our hands together, clenched our fingers, and the witches’ marks we each had on our wrists matched exactly. Once, I’d meant to mark Vivian, to have her soul so I could protect it, so the angels couldn’t steal it away, but somehow we’d managed to mark each other in the process. I liked to think we belonged to each other and always would.

“I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine,” I said. But Vivian had fallen asleep, and I didn’t think she’d heard me.

The following morning, while Merry and Frank were in the kitchen preparing bacon and eggs, I told Vivian about my plans to return to the Knapp farm, to stay there for a few days. I explained that Merry and Frank would take excellent care of Vivian while I was gone, that they were even willing to give her some lessons in lifestyling.

Vivian was less than enthused. She sat down on the bed so she could wriggle on her blue jeans, then winced at the soreness in her butt. I handed her a cup of coffee I’d brought up from the kitchen, a kind of peace offering, but she ignored it for the moment. “I have a bad feeling about this, Nick. I’d like to stick with you, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I do mind,” I told her as I set her coffee down atop the highboy. I knelt down to finish tying on my boots. “I’d rather you weren’t there, frankly.”

“I’d rather you didn’t tell me what to do, frankly,” she answered. She grabbed her coffee, threw me an annoyed look, tossed her hair, and headed downstairs to breakfast.

We took our seats at the table in silence. Frank appeared with plates of food, while Merry refilled Vivian’s coffee and my mug of Earl Grey before excusing herself; she had to rush off to work but promised to be home earlier than usual, in case we wanted to scene together tonight. Vivian immediately tucked into her breakfast, head down and silent, while Frank and I discussed local gossip. I pushed my quivering eggs around the plate with a fork, but didn’t cut into them. Frank noticed and said, “I forgot how much you hate breakfast, Nick.”

“He doesn’t like real food,” Vivian offered, finally joining us as she got over her early morning micro-snit. “He survives off red Twizzlers and Mountain Dew. Seriously, I’ve seen him do it for days at a time.” They grinned at each other at my expense, but I didn’t mind.

While Frank cleaned up the kitchen and Vivian helped him, I went upstairs and packed my things in the old overnight duffle I’d brought along. At the Queen Anne’s desk, I sat disassembling my police-issue Tanaka, cleaned it, and checked over my ammo. Vivian eventually walked in and gave me an annoyed look. “I know you’re going to do this with or without my approval, but you’re not getting off that easy, buster. If you’re going to the Knapp farm, I’m going with you.”

I slid the gun’s magazine back in and said, “No. Absolutely not.”

“Nick, you’re my boyfriend. Not my father. Not even my husband. You don’t get to be the boss of me.”

“I do when it means your safety. You have no idea what you’re dealing with. Neither do I, for that matter.”

Her fists clenched at her sides. “I can take care of myself! I’m not some damsel in distress. I won’t get in your way.”

I thought about what arguments I could use, all the ways I could try and convince her, but then decided on the cold, hard facts. It was time. I told her about the baby goat she had killed yesterday just by touching it. I told her it could happen again.

For the first time in too long, Vivian looked truly frightened. She crossed her arms, trying to look tough and stubborn, but I could tell it was a defensive gesture. I could feel the low-grade panic pouring off her. “You’re lying to make me afraid. To make me stay.”

I looked up at her grimly. “I’m telling you because it’s the truth, and because you need to know. And if you go to that farm, and their animals die, or their crops wither, or their children sicken, they might blame you—whether or not you’re doing it. They might hurt you, Vivian.”

She blinked at the sudden tears in her eyes. Her face looked younger, more vulnerable. “Don’t say things like that to me. I’m not evil, Nick.” She went to the bed and sat down, clenching her middle. She bent over like she was going to be sick. I wondered if she’d had pets when she was a child, a bird or hamster, or maybe a cat or dog. I wondered if her pets had all sickened and died not long after she’d gotten them. She shook her head and said in a soft voice, “I’m not really her, you know. I’m not the Whore. That’s just some crazy shit some pedophile said to me.
He
attacked me.
He
was the Whore…” Her voice trailed away, and I could tell she was fighting not to cry in front of me.

I didn’t go to her and throw myself over her like a lot of guys might have done. Vivian didn’t like that. When she was like this, she wanted space between herself and others. Instead, I finished putting the gun back together and slid it into my armpit holster.

“Nick, please.” She looked up. She hadn’t cried, but then, I knew she wouldn’t. She was stronger than she thought she was. “Let me prove it to you… to myself. I’m not the Whore. I don’t
want
to be the Whore.”

I stood up and looked at her. It broke my heart to see her like this, but I had too much respect for her to baby her. She knew that. “This isn’t some joke, Vivian. There’s something going on in that colony, something bad, and I have no idea what it is, who’s behind it, or how to stop it. If you come with me, you’ll be in danger, simple as that. Whatever evil thing is preying on those girls might try and prey on you.”

She stood up and gave me hard eyes. She looked resolved, like a soldier readying herself for battle. “What makes you think whatever’s over there is more evil than me?”

he following evening found Vivian and me sitting on a crowded bench at the long trestle table inside Mrs. Knapp’s kitchen, surrounded on both sides by about a dozen of the Knapp household.
The table itself was laden with Church soup, Shepherd’s Pie, Cabbage Casserole, homemade breads, and numerous cakes and pies. The Knapps sat with their heads bowed as the head of household, John Knapp—Mrs. Knapp’s grim-faced, sinewy son—led the others in silent thanksgiving.

About a dozen black velvet hats hung on nails on the walls of the room. The brims of all the adult, baptized men were all exactly three and a half inches long, a half inch longer than the boys’ and the as-yet unbaptized younger members of the colony. That was the stamp, if you will, of the Swartzcopf Amish, and how someone from another colony of Amish or another branch of the Swartzcopf Ordnung could identify each other and their standing in the church.

Vivian clutched her hands in prayer, but her eyes were open as she snuck glances at our hosts—the collection of black-capped women and the men sitting in their black vests and plain, dark blue shirts, their sleeves rolled up to show their powerful, sweating forearms. The men had been busy all morning doing repairs on the barn or slaughtering pigs for sausage, and the women had spent hours preparing this feast.

After the prayer was said, I ate with my eyes pinned to my plate, trying not to draw too much attention to myself or Vivian or to cause the elder Mrs. Knapp any unnecessary trouble. To her credit, Vivian was an absolute angel, saying nothing but polite
pleases
and
thank yous
as the food was passed around. She smiled and nodded her head as she took a little of everything and then passed on the bowls. I noticed, though, that few of the Swartzcopf returned the gesture.

The vast Knapp clan were almost painfully polite to me, nodding greetings or offering me a slice of warm brown bread or more iced tea. They talked about the pigs, the financial results of the festival, an early frost that was threatening to descend upon the farm, and what crops to bring in first. Mundane things. They didn’t speak of demons or child pregnancies, yet the mood in the house was grim and formal. Sarah was still sick in bed upstairs, their colony was under siege by an evil they could not see, and their God had responded to their prayers for salvation by sending two half-devils to save them.

I wondered what they thought about all that. It probably didn’t sit well with them. Tolerating our presences here was likely a hardship. At the same time, I realized the Knapps were really just frightened people in the end, people at their wits’ end, people willing to entertain almost any solution if it gave them hope for a return to normalcy.

John’s smallest son, Jesse, who was only seven, kept peering up at us from across the table. He studied us from under his pageboy haircut, smirking at Vivian, who smirked back or made some funny faces at him. It didn’t exactly break the ice, but when Jesse had to stifle a giggle, I could tell the little offhand gesture had lightened the otherwise somber mood just a bit.

After dinner, John approached me about a brief meeting in the living room. It was a men-only meeting, and the women and children would not be permitted to sit in on it. I thought Vivian might pitch a fit, but when I explained things to her, she was incredibly accommodating. “I thought it might be fun to spend some time with the women in the kitchen, anyway,” she said. “Get some recipes for school while I help them clean up.”

“You’re being awfully nice,” I teased.

She shrugged. She’d worn more conservative clothing tonight: dark jeans that weren’t quite so painted-on as her usual fare, and a modest cotton pullover. “I am nice!” she said with a cheeky grin, and I pecked her on the nose as a reward.

By the time I reached the living room, the men had already assembled, along with, surprisingly enough, the elder Mrs. Knapp. Or maybe that wasn’t so surprising. She offered me an encouraging smile as I entered the room, and I had a feeling she was going to act as my liaison and ambassador tonight. I noticed, peripherally, that there were more men here than were sitting at the table earlier, and I had a feeling that several had come over from other farms.

Elsie Knapp spoke first. “This man is Nicholas Englebrecht, from Blackwater. I have invited him here tonight. Nicholas is a witch by virtue of birth, not choice. The demonic hosts are under his dominion.”