Page 54 of Of Faith and Fangs

“It won’t be easy,” I told them, softening my tone. “But nothing worth doing ever is. It takes discipline, prayer, and determination to find faith, glory, and beauty even in pain and suffering, to find light even in our darkness.”

Rebecca’s laugh was brittle, but she no longer challenged me directly. “If you’re wrong, we burn for nothing.”

“If I’m right,” I countered, “we take the first step toward something more than mere existence. Toward actual redemption. To being more than monsters.”

St. Mary’s parish loomed against the night sky like a fortress, its stone walls and stained glass glowing in the moonlight. I crouched behind a tombstone in the cemetery, with my progeny beside me. Nightwalkers from Desiderius’s brood patrolled the grounds, their pale faces like death masks. Order members, in black coats, entered the church, unaffected by holiness that repelled vampires. Something was amiss. Desiderius’s voice echoed from within the church, though he should have been in agony on consecrated ground. Instead, he moved freely inside while his brood stayed outside.

“How is he in there?” Ruth whispered. “The sanctity should be burning him alive, right?”

I shook my head, uneasy. “I don’t know. But it means something.”

Rebecca’s fingers dug into the earth beneath us, her hunger making her restless. “There are too many of them. We’ll never get past.”

“We don’t need to fight them all,” I said, studying the patterns of movement around the church. “We just need to confuse them long enough to slip through.”

Martha touched my arm, her cold fingers steady despite the danger. “What are you thinking, child?”

I pointed toward the eastern side of the church where shadows pooled deepest. “The side entrance there—I think it’s used for funeral processions. It’s our best chance. But we need a distraction.”

Sarah, who had been silent until now, spoke up. “I can draw them off.” She didn’t close her eyes this time. Instead, she brought her fingers to her lips and let out a series of sharp, reedy whistles, mimicking the distress call of a rabbit, followed by the deeper, guttural bark of a fox. It was uncanny, the sounds indistinguishable from actual animals. A distant rustling in the undergrowth answered her call, growing closer. “It’s done. But it won’t last long.”

“That’s not witchcraft,” I said, a new understanding dawning. “It’s clever, though.”

Sarah nodded. “Of course it isn’t witchcraft. The Order needs witches to justify its existence. I tried to prove it, to argue that my methods weren’t magical at all, but Silas didn’t buy it. They were just looking for a reason to kill me.”

Ruth nodded, understanding blooming on her face. “I can create a distraction.” She extended her hands, palms slightly cupped. For a breath-taking moment, nothing happened. Then, a tiny, almost imperceptible shimmer appeared on her right palm, and with a faint, almost inaudible pop, a small, pale flame flickered to life, dancing for only a second before vanishing as quickly as it appeared. It wasn’t the roaring inferno I’d once imagined her capable of, but a brief, startling flash, like a match head igniting and quickly blowing out.

My initial awe quickly gave way to a dawning, uncomfortable understanding. The faintest whiff of something sharp, acrid, like burnt matches, reached me. I remembered stories from the county fair, travelling showmen demonstrating “chemical wonders.” A sudden, almost shameful insight hit me. Phosphorus. That was it. I’d read about its properties in some of Father’s old scientific journals—how it could ignite on contact with air, how a tiny amount could create a sudden, brief flash. It wasn’t some mystical fire-working ability at all, but clever chemistry.

Ruth, catching my discerning glance, just rolled her eyes. “The Order dismisses anything they don’t understand as witchcraft. I suppose those new automobiles would have been condemned as powered by sorcery a hundred years ago, but now it’s understood as ingenuity.”

“Brilliant.” I turned to Elizabeth and Rebecca. “You two come with me and Martha through the side door. Sarah and Ruth will create the diversion and follow when they can.”

Rebecca’s eyes glowed brighter with anticipation. “And once we’re inside?”

“We find Father O’Malley and get him out,” I said firmly. “No matter what.”

We waited, tense and silent, until the first animals began emerging from the woods—foxes, raccoons, even a few deer, moving with unnatural purpose toward the church grounds. The Nightwalkers patrolling the perimeter turned toward the disturbance, confused by the sudden presence of so many creatures.

“Now,” Ruth whispered, and with a blow from her palm sent a flame arcing through the air. It landed among dry autumn leaves, which caught fire immediately. More flames followed, creating a semicircle of fire that drove the animals into greater frenzy and forced the enemy Nightwalkers to scatter.

We moved quickly, using our supernatural speed to cross the open ground between the cemetery and the church. As we approached the side entrance, I felt the others hesitate, their bodies instinctively recoiling from the invisible barrier of sanctity.

“Keep moving,” I urged. “Remember, the pain is real, but it won’t destroy you. Focus on the goal, press into the pain.”

Martha was the first to step forward, her jaw clenched against the pain. “I’ve birthed eight children in my life,” she said through gritted teeth. “This is just another kind of labor.”

Elizabeth followed, then a reluctant Rebecca. I stepped across the threshold last, bracing for the agony that never came. The others noticed my lack of reaction immediately.

“How?” Rebecca gasped, her face contorted with pain as the holy ground seemed to burn through her dead flesh.

“Like I said, the pain purifies. I’ve gone through it already.”

My admission seemed to strengthen their resolve—I’d been through it, I was proof that the pain was worthwhile, that there was a way to get beyond it and come out better than before.

I led them deeper into the church, past the vestibule and toward the main sanctuary where I could hear Silas’s voice accusing Father O’Malley of conspiring with Satan. Just hearing it made my ice-cold vampire blood boil. It was all I could do to hold back. If this plan was going to work, charging in fangs bared wasn’t the most likely strategy to succeed.

We paused at the sanctuary doors, peering through the crack between them. The sight within froze the dead blood in my veins.

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