The Ninth Daughter - By Barbara Hamilton Page 0,136
dead—when I am no longer able to stand between her and you with the shield of pure faith—then she will come for the rest of you. Believe this.” His deep, quiet voice filled the room with its power, and such was the force of his personality that Abigail thought, Now I can understand, how Prophets stood up to Kings . . .
“Believe it?” retorted Abigail. “The way that poor mad murderer Orion Hazlitt believed it, when you told him an innocent woman was Jezebel, only because she owned land that you want? It is you who played King Ahab, sir, not the other way about.”
“The whore was not innocent,” said Bargest quietly. “None is innocent, who raises her hand against the children of the Lord. Even as the witch Malvern”—here he raised his voice—“has lifted the Devil’s red and dripping hand to smite me down!”
“Rebecca Malvern has been barely conscious for weeks! Since when—?”
“The Devil dwells in the flesh of a witch!” thundered Bargest, and flung up his hands as if calling down the power of God from the heavens. “He never sleeps! Nor will he ever, until the Righteous lie dead in their blood! Find the woman and kill her.” His blazing eyes, the sweep of his arm, took in all his followers, and ended with one long, bony finger pointing at Abigail. “This one as well. She is the Daughter of Eve, apt to the hand of the Devil . . .”
Those were the final words of the Chosen One. A gunshot crashed from one of the holes in the crazy roof. Bargest flung up his arms as he staggered back, a red hole appearing in the white of his open shirt-front, eyes bulging with shock and an expression of astonishment that was nearly comical.
Brother Mortify grabbed Abigail’s arm as the men in the little cabin convulsed into panic movement. Abigail, furious, turned in his grip, shoved her face close to his, flung up her free arm, and screamed as loud as she could.
Taken completely by surprise, Mortify dropped her arm in shock. At the same instant Muldoon sat up, blood oozing from a wound in his shoulder, pistol in hand, barrel leveled on Dog-Mouth, who was one of the few who had a weapon ready. Abigail dived for the sergeant’s side as men began to stampede for the door. Her eyes went to the biggest of the holes in the ceiling in time to see another pistol thrust through it, nearly invisible in the shadows. The second shot cleared the room.
Bargest rolled over, gagging on blood. His hands fumbled about, trying to rise, to crawl after them. Then he fell, sobbing and groaning like a child. Abigail dragged Muldoon clear of the horses, which were rearing and stamping in fright. She thought she would have gone next to the Reverend, but there was a slither and thump outside the wall, and the next moment, Orion Hazlitt appeared in the broken doorway of the house.
At the sight of him Abigail’s nostrils seemed filled with the smell of blood. All she could see was the dishonored horror of the young woman’s body on Rebecca’s kitchen floor. Muldoon drew her close to him, pistol ready in his hand, unaware, Abigail realized, who this unshaven, exhausted stranger was.
No more than do I. No more than anyone in Boston ever has.
Hazlitt stopped before her. “Is she safe?” His green eyes—his mother’s eyes—were sane. Sane, and very tired.
“She’s in the woods. We’ll—”
“May I?” Orion bent down, took the pistol from Muldoon’s hand—it was John’s, Abigail noted—turned around, and shot Bargest between the eyes. “Don’t fear,” he said, handing the weapon back to the startled Muldoon. “I won’t”—he stopped, took a deep breath—“I didn’t kill Pentyre,” he said. “I couldn’t get near him. I—there were—Sons of Liberty—on Castle Island. Everywhere I looked, among the crowd. Someone must have—They were watching for me—”
Softly, Abigail said, “They know.”
He closed his eyes. The breath went out of him in a sigh. “Rebecca, too?”
“Yes.”
“Everything?” His eyes opened, went to Muldoon, who was busily reloading the gun.
“Everything about you.” Her mind screamed, How could you not have known? and along with Perdita Pentyre’s slashed-up body she seemed to see the black cat Pirate, cleaning himself with the stump of his cut-off paw. To read again the horrible verses about slitting the throat of a red-haired devil so that she would not tempt him again, as he was tempted by the dark-skinned succubus who haunted his dreams.