Page 13 of Of Faith and Fangs

I sat up straight. “Sworn?”

Mr. Brown looked at me, and for the first time, there was a kind of apology in his face. “You deserve to know,” he said. “This church—our congregation—is one of many fronts for the Order of the Morning Dawn.” He let the words settle. “We are dedicated to stamping out evil wherever it takes root. Witches, warlocks, anything that traffics in the darkness. But most of all—those that return from the grave.”

It was absurd, yet it explained so much. The sermons on vigilance, the secret meetings held late at night. I thought of my father, who never let me wander outside after sundown.

Mr. Brown gestured to the floor at his feet, where someone had chalked a symbol into the flagstones: a half-circle, rays radiating outward, ringed in a language I didn’t know. “The rising sun,” he said. “Our charge is to bring light where darkness looms.”

I looked around the room. Every man was watching me now, gauging whether I was fit to be trusted, or if I would run screaming into the night.

Mr. Brown squared his shoulders. “There is a way to put things right. It is not pleasant, but it must be done.”

He was interrupted by a heavy sound—the groan of the basement door opening behind us. A figure stood in the entry: a woman, stooped and wild-haired, her dress a mess of stains and patches.

Moll Dwyer, the witch from the woods. I’d never seen her, but she looked like those who knew her described her.

The men erupted.

“You can’t bring her in here!”

“She should burn for what she’s done—“

“George, have you lost your mind—“

Moll paid them no mind. She advanced into the circle, a look of contempt on her weathered face. Her eyes were clear and sharp as cut glass, and when she spoke, her voice carried above the shouting.

“Be still, all of you. I am not your enemy tonight.”

A few men lunged for her, but Mr. Brown raised a hand and they halted, if only out of shock. The room vibrated with rage and fear.

Moll fixed her gaze on me, then on Mr. Brown. “You asked for my help. You said you would listen.”

Mr. Brown nodded, his lips pressed so tight the skin went white.

She turned to the men, her voice steely. “You can exorcise a ghost, and you can drown a witch. But a vampire—“ She spat on the floor. “A vampire is something older, and far more clever. You cannot frighten it, and you cannot reason with it. You must destroy its heart, or it will keep coming. No matter how many times you bless the grave.”

The men muttered curses under their breath.

Moll continued, her tone almost mocking. “There is a ritual. One you will not like. But it’s the only thing that works.” She glanced at me again. “It must be performed by one who has not been claimed by the curse. Who cannot contract the ailment that’s befallen so many of you. The boy you seek to save will have contracted it, and any of you who try to do what must be done will fail without protection.”

It took me a moment to realize she meant me.

Mr. Brown finally spoke, his voice trembling but clear. “We need you, Alice.”

I stared at him, at all of them. “And what if I refuse?”

“Then Edwin dies,” Mr. Brown said. “And after him, all of us. The demon that has taken my daughter will devour the entire town if she gains more strength.”

Moll nodded. “It will not stop until it is finished. That is the nature of the thing.”

No one moved for a long time. The candles guttered, their light stretched thin against the darkness.

I looked at the symbol on the floor, at the men whose faces I had grown up with, now twisted by fear. I thought of Mercy, and the peace I’d seen in her face as she died. I thought of the thing at the window, waiting for me to flinch.

“I’ll do it,” I said. My voice was steady, even as my hands shook.

Moll smiled, and it was not a kind smile. “Good,” she said.

She turned to Mr. Brown. “Tell her where to meet me, and bring the others if you have the stomach for it. But don’t wait. The sun will be up soon, and you’ll want this done before then.”

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