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For a list of all the Devil’s Pact Chapters and other stories click here

This is a revised version of the story that I published on Smashword starting back in 2014. It is rewritten with much-added material. However, I did have to age up some of the characters so no one is underage in this version.

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Click here for Nubile Faith, Chapter 7.

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And before all the nations of men, the Living Gods demonstrated love. Even in their enemies, they shared compassion and unshackled them from the bounds of morality. The entire world watched as husband and wife proclaimed their love and lust for their daughter, and the world rejoiced with them.

—The Gospel of April 33:43-44

Tuesday, July 2nd, 2013 – Mary Sullivan – Manhattan, NY

I was nervous. Not that I would show it; I was a goddess. I was better than all the others. Saying that helped me accept what Mark and I had become, how we lorded over everyone. I was a goddess because people worshiped me.

Voluntarily.

I didn’t command for them to worship me. I didn’t demand that they fall to their feet before me and beg for my blessing. I didn’t force them to cry my name with such love. The fact they chose to love me was the most addictive thing. I savored feeling their adoration wash over me, seducing me into accepting how they believed I was. They thought I was a goddess. I had powers.

Maybe I was a goddess.

So I shouldn’t be nervous to appear for the seventh time on national television. Mark and I had done six news talk shows already since arriving yesterday in New York City. After the Today Morning Show erupted in controversy yesterday, everyone wanted to interview us despite what happened each and every time we appeared.

They craved those ratings.

Mark stood beside me in the green room. He wore a tailored, blue suit, looking like such a stud. His muscular physique filled out the expensive clothing. My pussy was wet beneath my skirt just from admiring him. Juices trickled down my thighs No panties were in the way to interfere.

“Knock them dead, Mistress,” April smiled as she sat near us typing away on her laptop. She paused to push up her glasses. Her new project intrigued me. She was writing our story down as a gospel for our new church, editing out the unsavory parts of our lives.

It wouldn’t do for people to know that Mark and I sold our souls to the devil. Or that we consorted with the demon Lilith for a while. I clenched my hands thinking of that bitch. She had taken our slut, Karen. I hated Lilith. She tried to harm Mark and me several times, and she had Karen who was pregnant with the demon’s child.

Lilith better return our slut safe and sound like she promised Mark once the child was born.

“You’ll be wonderful,” Jessica beamed. The caramel-skinned beauty was our press secretary, booking all our appearances on these talk shows. It was the afternoon, and we were onto our third show for today with one more to do before we could head back home.

It was so tiring being a goddess sometimes.

“Okay, it’s time,” a young producer said, her face still flushed from Mark fucking her ten minutes ago. I could see the wet stain in the crotch of her jeans—Mark had flooded her with jizz after ripping off her thong. “Follow me.”

“Let’s do it,” Mark said. He looked so calm. How could he be calm when I was scared inside? My stomach roiled at the prospect of stepping out before the camera and being live on national television again.

But this was important. Every time we spoke during a live broadcast, new people fell under our powers, heard our instructions. Slowly, the US, and then the World, would come to understand the message we preached—love and peace. We would end morality’s stranglehold on sexuality, and at the same time end the plague of violence that had always consumed our species.

World peace. It would be wonderful.

We followed the producer, her steps light, her ponytail of brown hair bouncing behind her. She had a headset on, cocking her head, listening to someone talking before pressing a button on the radio clipped to her belt. “On the way with the guests.”

“Megan Keily is such a hottie,” Mark whispered. “I love it when Jessica books the shows with the hot hosts.”

“Not like the last one,” I said, wrinkling my nose. Bill O’Mallory was too old for me and too male for Mark.

We reached the set. Megan Keily, a tall blonde sitting with confidence in her pastel-blue blouse, her hair perfectly styled to frame her lovely face, full of volume and bounce. She had dark stockings on her thighs, crossed before her as she sat on the stool. Her legs were a treat, hidden from the camera by her large news desk before her. The set had green screens behind her for displaying graphics for the viewers. The set ended abruptly, revealing the plywood framing holding up the modern, flashy design making it suddenly cheap and flimsy, an illusion. The crew crowded around the stage. So many people were involved.

“Okay, let’s get you miked up,” the producer said, a big smile on her face as she pressed up against Mark. My horny stallion gave her a boyish grin which made her shudder as she clipped the lapel mic to his tie and slipped the rectangular box it connected to, about the size of a deck of cards, into his inner jacket pocket.

“You’ll be wonderful, Mr. Glassner,” she breathed.

“Someone’s eager for round two,” I grinned at the producer as she came up to me.

She blushed prettily, her fingers trembling as she clipped the lapel mic to my low-cut, lavender blouse, her hands brushing my breasts and making my nipples ache. She smelled delicious, with just a hint of Mark’s cum wreathing her. She reached behind me, pushing the little box into my skirt’s elastic hem.

“There you go, Miss Sullivan.”

“Mmm, you are a delicious thing. Have you ever eaten pussy before?”

“Yes,” the producer answered, blinking in shock. “Once. I was drunk.”

“Good girl,” I purred. “I bet it’ll be twice real soon. Don’t go far.”

“I won’t,” she said, trembling. Her tongue licked her lips, making my pussy clench.

“We’re going live,” a man called out by the nearest camera—there were three of them. “In five, four…” He mouthed “three, two, one” then pointed at Megan Keily as red lights came on the cameras.

“Our next guests have churned up no shortage of controversy since their splash into national news following the Buy Best Incident a month ago. And since then, it hardly seems a night has gone by without Mark Glassner and Mary Sullivan making headlines.”

On the monitors, I could see clips of Mark and me playing where the green screens stood on the sets. It was a quick montage from us being declared terrorists, our first interviews, the Miracle, and even clips of yesterdays Today Morning show, the nudity sadly fuzzed out. Which was a shame. I looked hot having my pussy eaten out by Natalie Gonzalez.

“And things have only grown more strange since what many have dubbed ‘the Miracle’ went viral on Social Media last week. Mark Glassner’s apparent, miraculous healing after being shot multiple times, all conveniently captured on film by the reporter Debra Horne-Darnell of the local Fox Affiliate in Seattle. Since then, conservative and feminist groups have been up in arms over the blatant sex broadcast on national television by news and talk shows across the major networks and cable stations.” Megan Keily shifted. “Including our own network just today.

“Polls are also quite mixed, with a shocking twenty-seven percent of those polled finding nothing wrong with sex broadcast on live TV despite FCC regulations to the contrary.” She shuffled her papers, clearly offended by it. “This lax attitudes towards sex is troubling. Something that should be private is instead splashed across the world.”

Her eyes tightened, glancing at us. “Mark Glassner and his fiancee, Mary Sullivan, are here to defend their actions.”

“Okay, take your seats,” the producer said to us. “Your mics are on.”

I walked out with Mark, smiling at Megan Keily. She straightened in her chair, a faint blush crossing her cheeks. I had that effect on women. I wished that they all find me attractive and want to please me.

Nipples hardened, tenting her silk blouse. Lovely.

“Thanks for having us, Megan,” Mark said, reaching out his hand.

“I wasn’t so sure this was a good idea,” Megan answered, taking his hand, shaking it quickly. “You have a habit of causing changes everywhere you go. Because you’re a god.” She said it so dismissively. Like Mark and I hadn’t proved our powers over and over the last two days.

“I’m just spreading love and peace,” Mark said. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Decency laws say otherwise,” Megan retorted, releasing his hand. She nodded to me. “Mary.”

“Pleased to be here,” I said, sitting down on the stool beside my fiance, my legs crossed, my skirt riding up. I hope the cameras had a good shot of my legs. I loved showing off my body. It was so… intoxicating feeling people’s eyes on me.

I was a goddess. A goddess. I could do what I wanted.

“So I have a contract, signed by both of you, saying you won’t get naked on my show like you have on so many others.” She held it up. Our signatures were at the bottom. Mark had grinned at me when he signed it. He was up to something.

“We agreed,” Mark nodded. “Though what is so wrong with the beauty of the human form? We are each unique and wonderful in our own ways. Never be ashamed of your body or be afraid to show it off.”

Megan’s aura flashed black as Mark’s command settled onto her, driving back her normal silver.

“He’s right. You have such a beautiful body,” I smiled. “I bet you’re not ashamed of it all.”

“Of course I’m not,” Megan answered at once, her blush deepening. “But… that’s not what we’re here to talk about. We’re here because of your actions, not mine. And joining us is Mitch and Marsha Greenstaff, President and Vice-President of the Council of Family Values, a conservative watch group making sure nothing indecent is broadcast.”

“Busybodies telling people how to live their lives,” I said.

“That’s all morality is,” Mark agreed. “No one should tell you what is or not acceptable to do with your sexuality. If you and the other adult are consenting, anything you do is legal, is acceptable, is beautiful. Whether it’s with your spouse, your lover, or even a family member.”

Megan Keily, her aura deep black now, nodded her head in agreement. “So long as it is in the privacy and everyone is consenting, what is the harm?”

As the new guests came out, who sadly missed Mark’s words, my horny stallion asked Megan, “What’s your favorite fetish?”

“Having my feet, legs, and pussy licked while I wear stockings, Mark,” Megan answered without hesitation though she frowned afterward, realizing something was… off for a moment. But our powers made a person accept what we commanded them and to do it willingly with a smile on their face.

“And I see you’re wearing stockings,” Mark grinned. “Any panties?”

“Never,” she said. “I like the feel of the pantyhose on my naked flesh.”

“Megan Keily,” Martha Greenstaff gasped. “This is what you feel is appropriate conversation for the world to hear?”

“Just filth,” her husband agreed as he sat down beside his wife.

Martha had black hair pulled back in a severe bun that made her look older than her mid-thirties, her face stretched smooth. She had a slim body, I think, but it was hard to tell with the buttoned-down, purple sweater and the lilac blouse that went all the way up to her neck. Her skirt was long, ankle length, and black. Her husband had blond hair, trimmed short, and wore a blue suit with a dark tie. Everything about them screamed repression.

“If we were brought on to talk about your sex life, Megan,” Martha warned, “then we are sadly disappointed in you. You have always been a staunch ally of the Council of Family Values.”

“I am,” Megan nodded. “Which is why I brought you on here to debate with—”

“These degenerates,” Mitch interrupted, glaring at my fiance. “These false idols!”

Mark just grinned back. His blue eyes had a twinkle in them. He had an idea, the horny stallion. It made me itch as I squirmed on the chair beside him, eager for the game we were about to play. How would we enjoy ourselves?

“Degenerates?” Mark asked. “Why?”

“Fornication,” Mitch said, ticking off on his fingers, “adultery, incest, bigamy, indecency. Need I go on? Your performances on the talk shows have been pornographic, and it is disgusting that these once-great institutions have allowed your perversion on the air.”

He spoke with the booming voice of a preacher, his wife nodding her head, her eyes on me, my wish affecting her. I smiled, leaning forward, letting her see my freckled bosom as I licked my lips, my auburn curls sliding past my face.

She shivered.

“The FCC has to come down hard on them,” Martha said. “They are the ones parading their bodies on the news, having orgies on national television. It is a perversion of God’s plan for us.”

“Sex only for reproduction?” Mark asked.

“Sex only between a man and his wife,” Martha said, reaching out her left hand to take her husband’s, her diamond ring glinting in the stage lights. “It can be enjoyed between them, to strengthen their union, but not to be paraded before the entire world to see, and certainly not to include others. That weakens the bond.”

I put my hand on Mark’s, the black diamond on my engagement band twinkling. “Our union is strong,” I said, heat in my voice. “Sex and love are not the same thing. We understand the difference.”

Mark turned to me, smiling in that boyish way, his blue eyes so deep. “I love my fiancee more than anything else. She is my soulmate. I love sharing women with her. I love exploring our desires together, to watch her delight in her pleasures, to learn what she craves.” He turned to Mitch and Martha. “Have you ever watched porn?”

“Yes,” Mitch said and then swallowed.

His wife’s cheeks grew red as she nodded her head, lips sealed shut. Then she croaked out, “Yes.”

“Really?” Megan Keily blinked.

“For research only,” Mitch added, glancing at his wife, his eyes wide. She squirmed, holding his hand with a death grip. “To learn what the enemy has out there to tempt young men.”

“What’s the real truth, Mitch?” Mark asked, a huge grin on his face.

“I like to jerk off to young girls,” Mitch said. “Eighteen, nineteen. Barely legal. Looking so young and tight, their bodies still developing, still budding into full womanhood.” His eyes widened. His wife looked at him in shock.

I grinned. Oh, this was a fun game.

“You look embarrassed, why?” Mark pressed.

“Because… I’m married. I shouldn’t lust after other women, especially young girls.”

“They’re eighteen or older. Adults. Consenting to have their picture taken.” Mark leaned forward. “They put themselves out there for people to enjoy, to find pleasure in their bodies and actions. Do not be embarrassed that you jerk off to eighteen-year-old girls. I love to fuck them. Do you have a daughter?”

“Yes,” Mitch said. “Twenty.”

“And I bet you want to fuck her, too.”

Mitch groaned, nodding his head. “I… I… watch girls that look like her and think about Crystal while I jerk my cock.”

“Mitch,” gasped Martha.

“Mark Glassner,” Megan Keily said. “This isn’t the topic that—”

“Be silent,” I said to Megan, then my eyes slid to Martha, the color gone from her cheeks. She wore minimal makeup, but I could see how attractive she was. She hid it beneath her loose clothing. She had a body. “And Martha, what porn have you watched?”

“Anal,” she said, trembling. “I… I like to watch men put their things in women’s behinds.”

“Say the proper words. The ones they use in porn.”

“I like to watch men fuck women’s asses with their thick cocks,” moaned Martha, squirming in the chair. “I like to finger my asshole while I do it, wishing I had a cock back there. It looks so disgusting. I can’t believe they like it, and yet they do. I want to experience it so badly.”

“What else?” I purred. “Do you watch lesbian porn?”

She nodded her head, cheeks crimson “I didn’t start out watching those. But pornos often have two women, and they lick each other before the man fucks them and… and…”

“You want to lick pussy. You want to know why they do it. What makes one woman want to devour another woman’s snatch.”

“Yes,” the Vice President of the Council of Family Values moaned on national television.

My pussy clenched in my panties. My nipples were so hard. Mark sat beside me, his dick tenting his pants, a hungry grin on his face. He squeezed my hand on the table, loving what I had done to Martha, the way she shuddered in her chair, her eyes wild.

“I want to lick pussy and be fucked in the ass,” moaned Martha. “I want to lick Crystal’s pussy.”

“Sweet Lord,” Mitch breathed, staring at his wife like she was a stranger.

“You both desire your daughter, and there is nothing wrong with that,” Mark said. “In fact, you should fuck your daughter. If you’re watching, Crystal, you burn to fuck your parents. It’s time the Council of Family Values understands that love between family members is never wrong. Incest is so wonderful.”

“It is the best,” I agreed. “Now, I want to see some pussy licking. Martha, Megan Keily is going to climb onto the table and let you lick her pussy through those nylons just like she wants. You’ll taste how wonderful she is. And Mitch, your wife needs a hard cock up her ass.”

“Give it to her,” Mark grinned. “Megan, you heard Mary. Start moving.”

“And you can make all the noise you want,” I said as Mark pulled me to his lap. I realized now how we could have our fun and still keep our contract.

I wasn’t wearing panties and I had a skirt on.

“Camera guys and producers, no cutting away,” Mark commanded. “Let the world see the reborn Council of Family Values live. Because there is nothing wrong with sex. It should be celebrated.”

I shuddered as Mark’s commands went out on the airways as I settled down on his lap, his cock so hard against my ass. I ground on him, loving this wonderful game. Our power was so intoxicating. We were going to change the world, set people free of the morality that had shackled them from their true desires.

Like poor Mitch and Martha Greenstaff. Those two would learn the delight of incest, sharing their daughter, strengthening their love. True family values.

* * *

Mark Glassner

I groaned as Mary settled herself on my lap, her plump ass so soft through my slacks. Megan Keily crawled on to the table, pulling up her skirt. The cameramen were all focusing on her. The entire crew watched with wide eyes as the beautiful blonde spread her legs, exposing the dark pantyhose clinging to her pussy. You could see her shaved lips through the sheer material, thick and aroused, her juices soaking through the nylon.

“Oh, yes,” Martha gasped leaning over the table while her husband pulled up her skirt.

“Mitch, lube your cock in your wife’s pussy first,” I commanded. “Then fuck her ass.”

“Yes,” he groaned, eyes wide.

“You are so considerate,” Mary purred, her hand reaching between her thighs to unzip my slacks. I rested my head on her shoulder, my hands sliding up from her belly to squeeze her breasts through her dress. Her nipples were so hard.

“I just enjoy spreading love,” I whispered in her ear as the zipper rasped down, hidden by her skirt spread over our laps.

“Oh, yes,” Martha moaned as she took her first lick up Megan Keily’s pantyhose-clad pussy.

The blonde host shuddered, savoring the sensuous rasp of nylons against her cunt. I bet it felt wonderful to her. Martha licked again, her pink tongue dragging across the black material. I had just the right angle to see and since her hair was pinned up in a bun, nothing obscured the wicked sight.

I hoped the cameras had an equally unobstructed view.

Mitch finally pulled down his wife’s long skirt up and her plain, boring panties. He unbelted, pulling out his cock, and then rammed it into his wife with a groan. She moaned, pressing her face tighter into Megan’s pussy.

Mary pulled out my cock. She shifted, and I seized her waist, lifting her with my new strength. The Gift had changed me. I was strong now. Lifting her was easy. I shuddered, my cock brushing the wet folds of her pussy.

And then I lowered her down my cock.

“Oh, yes,” moaned Mary as I impaled her on my dick. “Mmm, I love riding my horny stallion.”

“Naughty filly,” I groaned, sliding her up and down my cock as we watched Martha lick and tongue at Megan Keily’s pussy through the nylons while her husband fucked his cock through her pussy, getting himself nice and lubed for her asshole.

“What does her pussy taste like, Martha?” Mary asked, her cunt clenching down on my cock.

“So sweet,” moaned Martha. “Delicious.”

Megan Keily gasped, shuddering as Martha licked harder. The host of the show leaned back on her elbows, her tongue licking her lips as she humped and ground her cunt into Martha’s lips. Her head lolled back, blonde hair spilling to the table top. She let out a low, throaty moan, loving it.

My dick ached in Mary’s pussy as I slid her up and down my cock, grasping her hips as she fucked me on the chair. She helped out, planting her feet on the ground, lifting her body up with her firm thighs. I groaned, savoring the heat of her pussy on my dick, loving how her auburn curls brushed my face, smelling like vanilla.

I was so glad I could share this exciting moment with the woman I loved. My naughty filly was wonderful. The cameras were watching us and the debauchery on the table. People around the nation were glued to their TVs. I hoped they were masturbating. Maybe they even realized they didn’t need to hide their desires, but could explore them with other consenting adults.

Fathers with their daughters. Mothers with their sons. Brothers with their sisters. And sisters with their sisters.

“That’s it,” I growled. “Love each other. Express yourselves.”

“So good,” moaned Megan while Mitch ripped his dick out of his wife’s snatch. “I love the feel of nylons on my pussy. Mmm, yes. It’s so exciting. My clit tingles and… Yes, Martha, nibble on my pussy lips. Oh, God.”

Mitch moved his dripping cock to his wife’s ass. I groaned, watching Martha’s face as her husband thrust forward. His lubed cock slid into her virgin asshole. Martha moaned, her face turning red as she shuddered, her husband’s cock filling her bowels. She let out a wordless moan, her face pressed into Megan’s crotch. Cream covered Martha’s face, bleeding through Megan’s nylons. It was so hot. I trembled, clutching Mary’s hips, bouncing her faster and faster on my cock.

“That’s it,” Mary gasped, her pussy clenching and relaxing, her voice throaty with pleasure. “Enjoy yourselves.”

“Like you are, Mare?” I grunted.

“Oh, yes,” she gasped. “I love riding your big, thick cock. It’s the best. It fills me up. It makes me soooo wet. Your dick is stirring me up, Mark. Oh, yes. I love it. I’m going to cum so hard on your dick.”

“Do it, Mare,” I groaned. “You naughty filly. Cum. Let the world hear your passion.”

“Yes,” she gasped

I slammed her down my cock, savoring the wet sound of her juicy cunt sliding down my shaft. She bucked. Her pussy spasmed about my dick as she came. I grunted, loving the feel of silk massaging my cock. I lifted her body, working her pussy up and down my shaft, keeping the pleasure alive for her while watching Martha gasp and moan as her husband buggered her.

He had his dick buried in her asshole. He fucked her hard, making the prudish woman moan and gasp. Megan Keily seized Martha’s bun of black hair, pulling the married woman tight against those dark nylons.

“Eat me,” screamed Megan, her body shuddering. “Yes, yes, make me cum, you naughty lesbian. You secret dyke. Devour my pussy.”

“Yes,” Martha purred while her husband just pounded her hard, his face twisted with ecstasy as he enjoyed his wife’s tight, hot bowels. He reamed deeper and deeper into her asshole, his balls swinging, smacking, the table rocking. “Megan, I love your pussy.”

Nylons tore. Martha ripped through them and buried her lips directly into Megan Keily’s dripping snatch. The host’s eyes widened. She shuddered as Martha’s tongue slid into her pussy’s depths. She bucked.

And came on the lips of one of the leading voices of conservative, puritanical values in America. Martha, like a lesbian whore, drank down the flood of juices gushing from Megan Keily’s pussy while her husband fucked his cock harder and faster into her asshole.

“Martha,” he grunted, face arching.

“Cum in her,” hissed Mary, her pussy still spasming on my dick, massaging me, making my balls boil.

I grunted and slammed my fiance down my cock. I kissed at her neck, my balls tensing. And then my cum exploded into her depths, hidden from sight by her skirt. My balls contracted with each eruption of cum.

“My horny stallion’s cumming in me,” Mary moaned.

At the same moment, Mitch buried into his wife, face twisted into rapture as he flooded his wife’s ass on national television. The pleasure shot through me. I savored the debauchery as Mary’s spasming cunt milked my dick. I grunted, thrusting up. I held my fiance, loving the tight glove of her pussy.

“So good, Mare,” I moaned as my orgasm peaked, ecstasy burning hot through me. “Oh, yes, I love this.”

“Mmm, I do, too,” Mary moaned as Megan Keily fell back on the table, gasping and heaving. Martha lifted her face, eyes wide, smeared with pussy juices, as she stared at the cameras.

“And, we’re out to commercial,” the producer said, her voice strained, her hand rubbing at the crotch of her jeans.

“Everyone, you believe that it was the best segment ever,” I moaned.

The producer squealed as she rubbed herself. “The ratings are going to be bananas!”

“Uh-huh,” I groaned, holding Mary, loving our trip to New York City. Fucking on national television was a new high.

* * *

Wednesday, July 3rd, 2013 – Doug Allard – Jebel al-Lawz, Saudi Arabia

My wife typed away angrily at her computer in our tent at the base of Jebel al-Lawz, a mountain in the Saudi Arabian desert. She was writing down everything Mark and Mary did, preserving the truth for future generations. The deviant Warlocks had spent the last two days fucking on national television, warping America more and more with their sexual perversions.

The shadow had started to spread.

“I need to take a walk,” I told her, finishing off the last bite of manna, the life-sustaining bread we found around our camp every morning, provided by the angels who watched over us.

We were among the last servants of Heaven left, charged with preserving the world’s future by Maryām, the ancient Mother Superior of the Order of Mary Magdalene. She was still out there, a last beacon against the darkness. But what could she do? She sent us into the wilderness to wait for forty years, guarding the original copy of the Magicks of the Witch of Endor for the day it would be needed.

The arrival of the Prophet.

I stepped out into the Saudi Arabian desert. Jebel al-Lawz rose behind me, a mountain of red rock rearing above the sere desert. The top of the mountain was burned black, scorched by fire. The peak was the true Mount Sinai, not the small hill on the Sinai Peninsula which was declared to be the biblical site by a Byzantine Empress.

Here we would wait out the end of the world.

It was a desolate place. Nothing grew out here. There were no plants on the slope of the mountain or in the surrounding desert as far as I could see. The sun hammered our small camp, a tent with a generator and…

There was a second tent. It was smaller, a dull blue instead of the khaki yellow. I blinked in surprise. Where had it come from? Why was it here? I turned around quickly and spotted the road leading towards the mountain. Dust billowed on it.

A car approached.

I trembled, wondering if I should summon my celestial gold sword and armor. This was supposed to be a sanctuary. Angels warded it, forming a mirage around the mountain to hide us from sight. But the car approached. It wasn’t turned back.

“Tina,” I shouted to my wife. “Get out here.”

She popped her head out a moment later, wearing a tank top and khaki shorts. She looked young and beautiful. We both did. When we were given the Gifts of the Spirit, our bodies were transformed becoming fit and strong. We both looked eighteen even though we were in our forties.

“Is that a car?” she asked.

I nodded. “And there’s a new tent.”

Tina turned and blinked. “Where did that come from?”

“Where does the manna come from?” I asked as the car came closer. It was a jeep, the top down. Sunlight glinted off the windshield, hiding the occupants.

The car slowed to a stop. A large Black man climbed out from the driver’s seat. A slim, White woman stepped from the passenger side, her black hair blowing in the wind. They moved forward, the woman coming to the man, taking his arm. He loomed over her.

“This is the sanctuary?” the man said, his accent French, his words rolling.

“Have we arrived?” the woman asked, a wedding ring glinting on her finger. “We dreamed of this place.”

“You have arrived,” I said in shock. “Why have you come?”

“Because of him,” the woman said. “Mark Glassner. The Beast. His Miracle is a sign.”

“The end of the world comes,” nodded the man. “My wife and I dreamed we would find safety here. A refuge against the darkness.”

“You have,” my wife said. “I’m Tina Allard and this is my husband Doug. Welcome.”

“Damien and Christiane Desjardins,” the Black man said, extending his hand.

I clasped it. His grip firm. Something was happening. Another dust cloud gathered on the horizon. When I glanced behind me, a third tent, pea green with a domed top, was now pitched. It seemed my wife and I would not spend our forty-year exile alone.

To be continued…

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