Free Damned If You Do by Marie Sexton Page A

Seth false hope. On the other hand, the thought of sitting in the congregation and watching Seth play filled him with a lightness he hadn’t felt in years. It also filled him with a pain he couldn’t begin to define. “If it’s what you want.”
    â€œIt is.”
    â€œUntil tonight then.” Abaddon reached for Seth, but stopped short of allowing himself the contact. “Peace and love to you, brother.” And for the first time ever, he meant it.

Chapter Six
    Even Angels Dig the Doobies
    If it hadn’t been for the music, Abaddon might have gotten tired of the revivals. They were all variations on the same speech. The same bible quotes used out of context. The same strange glances toward Seth as the collection plate filled. But listening to Seth play never got old. The band played the same songs from night to night, but they improvised a lot, jamming on the familiar riffs, allowing Seth and the choir room for ornamentation.
    Abaddon found a seat on the right side of the tent, as he always did, about halfway between the stage and the entrance. He had a clear view of Seth at the keyboards for as long as the audience stayed sitting. His view was often blocked once people started standing, but that only impeded his eyes. Nothing could inhibit his soul sense, or the magic of Seth’s music. And that night, he could have sworn Seth was playing just for him. The keyboard notes resonated against Abaddon’s well of power. They crawled over him like a caress. They hinted at promises of things to come. It was the sweetest torture he’d ever endured, hungering for Seth’s soul, even as he became more and more reluctant to claim it. Abaddon was both enraptured and impatient, loving the experience, yet counting the seconds until he might be able to steal a few moments alone with Seth, and so he didn’t notice the commotion at first.
    It started behind him, at the back of the crowd, just as the revival started to build toward the final act. It began with a low buzz of fear, then a woman screamed. For the first time ever, Seth’s fingers missed a note, and Abaddon sat up, sensing Seth’s sudden agitation, wondering what was wrong. The choir turned as one, not toward the disruption near the entrance of the tent, but toward Seth.
    â€œDon’t worry!” Thaddeus cried, stepping to the front of the stage and spreading his arms wide. “Let them pass! They won’t hurt you!”
    The murmurs from the crowd became more urgent, the hubbub moving like a wave up the rows. The Rainbow Revivalists moved quickly down the center aisle, standing on each side of it with their arms outstretched, holding the congregants back. People strained to see over them, to catch a glimpse of what all the fuss was about. Those close enough to see had wide eyes, their hands held to their lips.
    â€œWhat is it?” people asked.
    And then, Abaddon heard the word.
    â€œSnakes!”
    Snakes . The announcement rippled through the crowd, a breathless, enraptured whisper. Bunches of them.
    â€œLet them pass!” Thaddeus called again. “They are sent by the Lord on this wondrous evening, so that we may witness the strength of my brother’s devotion!”
    Alarm flared in Abaddon’s chest. He turned toward Seth. He’d stopped playing completely. He stood with his head bowed. He didn’t look scared. He didn’t look eager.
    He looked resigned.
    A choir member took his arm and guided him forward, to the front of the stage, and Abaddon caught the admiring glances the rest of the Rainbow Revivalists threw Seth’s way.
    This was what they’d been waiting for, watching Seth every night, hoping for this very thing. Abaddon stood on his chair, straining to see. What he saw made his heart burst into gear.
    It was snakes, all right. Dozens of them. Easily as many as a hundred. Probably more. They slithered over each other in their eagerness, all of them moving with an