The Fifth Victim by Beverly Barton - Cherokee Pointe Trilogy 01 - The Fifth Victim

Author:Beverly Barton - Cherokee Pointe Trilogy 01 - The Fifth Victim [Barton, Beverly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Psychic Heroine, Romance Suspense, Romantic Suspense, Contemporary, Pre 2005, Suspense
ISBN: 0821772155
Google: WujQ_NfBkAYC
Amazon: 0821781642
Barnesnoble: 0821781642
Goodreads: 614575
Publisher: Zebra
Published: 2002-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

The room was lit solely by candlelight, golden, glistening illumination that cast gloomy shadows and doomed every corner to darkness. A low, repetitive hum droned in his head as he listened to the chants reminiscent of the ones he’d heard so often as a child. Wherever he went, he sought people such as these, the children of the night who petitioned the spirit world for magical powers. Tonight was an auspicious time because, as all good witches knew, when the moon is in its crescent period, any and all things can be accomplished. But to have every aspect in perfect alignment, the experiments must be made by true believers, faithful, and diligent concerning the task at hand.

Wearing hooded dark robes, members of the cult formed a circle around the pentagram drawn on the concrete floor. He pulled his hood up over his head and took his place in the circle. Even though he knew where the greatest power came from, old habits died hard. Besides, he needed all the strength he could acquire, from whatever source, before the ultimate fifth victim gave him what he had longed to possess all his life.

The high priestess of this little band of occultists conducted the ceremony, her eyes glazed as if in a trance while her body swayed to some inaudible music that she and she alone could hear.

“I conjure thee, Emperor Lucifer, Prince of Darkness, Divine Master of Rebel Spirits,” the priestess commanded. “Leave thine abode and come hither. I have great need of thee. Come, great lord, and communicate with thy lowly servant.”

He could feel the sweet, sick blackness swirling all around him, caressing him, licking at his skin like a tongue of fire, whispering to him that all he desired would soon be his. He closed his eyes and joined the others in a murmured chant that would aid the high priestess with her summoning spell.

“I beseech thee to appear before me, Beelzebub, without harm to me and those here gathered to worship thee.”

All the times his mother had beseeched the Devil to appear, he’d never seen the Master. Not once. But he had felt his presence on many occasions, especially when his mother had made sacrifices. The mesmerizing smell of fresh blood always excited him, even as a child. His mother and the cult which she led had been true craftsmen, knowing the ancient ways and practicing black magic as occultists had done for thousands of years. This little group here in Cherokee Pointe were rank amateurs in comparison.

“If thy presence be not possible, then I ask for thee to pluck a messenger from the bottomless abyss and send it in thy stead. Choose a demon and allow him to appear before us in human form and through him we will glorify thee.”

A hushed stillness filled the room. They waited. The candles flickered.

“Bring forth the sacrifice,” the high priestess shouted.

A robed figure came forward, a bound goat in his arms, and laid the animal on a shiny metal altar.

His heartbeat accelerated, his body tightened with arousal.

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