figure it’s a fair trade.”

“What did Abraham say to you, Theroen?” Two was filled with curiosity. She could not imagine Theroen, or at least the young priest he had been, willingly accepting the vampire life.

* * *

“If ever your God was listening, little sheep, he has long since gone deaf.”

The voice was no more than a whisper, but it cut through Theroen like a white-hot blade. He sat up, thoughts of Leopold’s actions forgotten, hair on the back of his neck standing on end, adrenaline surging through his veins. The depth of the voice, the malice it contained, was unlike anything Theroen had heard before. He groped at the edge of the bench instinctively, searching desperately for defense against this sudden assault on his courage.

After a moment, he found his shield: anger at the words themselves. Theroen stood, eyes burning into the darkness.

“What creature might speak so to a man of the cloth? Show yourself!”

A chuckle. Unearthly. Theroen was gripped with an animal urge to turn and flee, to simply run as fast as he could in a straight line away from this spot. He resisted.

“Show myself? Would that you knew what you ask, mortal fool.”

“I ask not. I command. I command with the word of the Lord.”

“That word means nothing to me, even should He make such demands of me in person. Run, little priest. Why don’t you run? You lie in mortal peril, and you know it.”

“I shall fear no evil.”

More laughter. “No? We shall see. I answer your demand, priest.”

In the shadows there was movement, red eyes opening in the dark. Theroen took an involuntary step backward. His knees hit the bench, forcing him to a sitting position. Before he could regain his footing, the creature was upon him. Theroen saw only blurred flashes, so quickly did the thing move. Talons now stretching to him, and then an iron grip around his midsection. Red eyes. Gaping mouth. Sharp white fangs. He beat at the creature with his fists, and it seemed he beat upon the stone of the cathedral walls themselves.

Warm breath against his ear, sharp points against his neck.

“I shall fear no evil!” Theroen cried, terrified and desperate. “Save me, oh Lord!”

The creature paused, and that horrible laughter came again.

“Your Lord is busy, perhaps? I bring you death, Theroen Anders. You gave your life to your church, and what has it given you back? Betrayal. It is the way with all such institutes of faith. The Pope in his Vatican stronghold sells indulgences to his people; they buy salvation with gold and diamonds. The English navy is little more than a band of pirates, licensed by the Church. The man to whom you entrusted your soul preaches the evils of debauchery and lust, and yet has spent these last years lusting only for his disciple. For you.

“The church has failed you. It has taught you nothing that you did not already know for yourself. Man is corrupt. Man is evil. And if man, Theroen, is created in God’s image, then is not your God corrupt? Is not your God evil? Do you not, in the depths of your heart, know this?”

Theroen felt hot, angry tears on his cheeks. In this, his last moment, he felt he knew it very well. Father Leopold, the sinner, safe in his church under the eyes of God. Theroen, the faithful servant, trapped here by a creature from the very graves in which soon he was destined to lie.

The vampire caressed the contours of Theroen’s face, grinning above him, seeming to delight in his sorrow. “You are young and strong and beautiful, little priest, and I am in need of an heir. I offer you the only chance for true salvation you will ever receive. I offer you the opportunity to defy your God, to renounce Him and His image. Renounce your humanity and be reborn, remade, in my own image. Become immortal, and escape the black hand of death.”

Thereon was gasping for breath. He tried to force his mind to think rationally, tried to find the faith which had once powered him so completely. He would let this faith guide him into the afterlife, secure in his knowledge that God waited there for him.

He found instead only a memory: the light and sound of eternity from that hospital bed long ago, and his words, spoken not by his mouth but his mind.

Yes. I would live. Until I am dragged, kicking and screaming, to my death, I would live.

Here then was