Guilty Pleasures

35

I was back at the church at 8:45 that night. The sky was a rich purple. Pink clouds were stretched across it like cotton candy pulled apart by eager kids and left to melt. True dark was only minutes away. Ghouls would already be out and about. But the vampires had a few heartbeats of waiting left.

I stood on the steps of the church, admiring the sunset. There was no blood left. The white steps were as shiny and new as if this afternoon had never happened. But I remembered. I had decided to sweat in the July heat so I could carry an arsenal. The windbreaker hid not only the shoulder rig and 9mm, plus extra ammo, but a knife on each forearm. The Firestar was snug in the inner pant holster, set for a right-hand cross draw. There was even a knife strapped to my ankle.

Of course, nothing I was carrying would stop Malcolm. He was one of the most powerful master vampires in the city. After seeing Nikolaos and Jean-Claude, I'd say he ranked third. In the company I was judging him against, third wasn't bad. So why confront him? Because I couldn't think of what else to do.

I had left a letter detailing my suspicions about the church and everybody else in a safe deposit box. Doesn't everybody have one? Ronnie knew about it, and there was a letter on the secretary's desk at Animators, Inc. It would go out Monday morning to Dolph, unless I called up to stop it.

One attempt on my life and I was getting all paranoid. Fancy that.

The parking lot was full. People were drifting inside the church in small groups. A few had simply walked up, no cars. I stared hard at them, Vampires, before full dark? But no, just humans.

I zipped the windbreaker partway up. Didn't want to disturb services by flashing a gun.

A young woman, brown hair style-gelled into an artificial wave over one eye, was handing out pamphlets just inside the door. A guide to the service, I supposed. She smiled and said, “Welcome. Is this your first time?”

I smiled back at her, pleasant, as if I wasn't carrying enough weaponry to take out half the congregation. “I have an appointment to see Malcolm.”

Her smile didn't change. If anything it deepened, flashing a dimple to one side of her lipsticked mouth. Somehow, I didn't think she knew I'd killed someone today. People don't generally smile at me when they know things like that.

“Just a minute; let me get someone to handle the door.” She walked away to tap a young man on the shoulder. She whispered against his cheek and shoved the pamphlets into his hands.

She came back to me, hands smoothing along the burgundy dress she wore. “If you'll follow me?”

She made it a question. What would she do if I said no? Probably look puzzled. The young man was greeting a couple that had just entered the church. The man wore a suit; the woman the proverbial dress, hose, and sandals. They could have been coming to my church, any church. As I followed the woman down the side aisle towards the door, I glanced at a couple dressed in postmodern punk. Or whatever phrase is common now. The girl's hair looked like Frankenstein's Bride done in pink and green. A second glance and I wasn't sure; maybe the pink and green was a guy. If so, his girlfriend's hair was a buzz so close to her head, it looked like stubble.

The Church of Eternal Life attracted a wide following. Diversity, that's the ticket. They appealed to the agnostic, the atheist, the disillusioned mainstreamer, and some who had never decided what they were. The church was nearly full, and it wasn't dark yet. The vampires had yet to show. It had been a long time since I'd seen a church this full, except at Easter, or Christmas. Holiday Christians. A chill tiptoed along my spine.

This was the fullest church I'd been to in years. The vampire church. Maybe the real danger wasn't the murderer. Maybe the real danger was right here in this building.

I shook my head and followed my guide through the door, out of the church, and past the coffee klatch area. There really was coffee percolating on a white-draped table. There was also a bowl of reddish punch that looked a little too viscous to be punch at all.

The woman said, “Would you like some coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

She smiled pleasantly and opened the door marked “Office” for me. I went in. No one was there.

“Malcolm will be with you as soon as he wakens. If you like, I can wait with you.” She glanced at the door as she said it.

“I wouldn't want you to miss the service. I'll be fine alone.”

Her smile flashed into dimple again. “Thank you; I'm sure it will be a short wait.” With that she was gone, and I was alone. Alone with the secretary's desk and the leatherbound day planner for the Church of Eternal Life. Life was good.

I opened the planner to the week before the first vampire murder. Bruce, the secretary, had very neat handwriting, each entry very precise. Time, name, and a one-sentence description of the meeting. 10:00, Jason MacDonald, Magazine interview. 9:00, Meeting with Mayor, Zoning problems. Normal stuff for the Billy Graham of Vampirism. Then two days before the first murder there was a notation that was in a different handwriting. Smaller, no less neat. 3:00, Ned. That was all, no last name, no reason for the meeting. And Bruce didn't make the appointment. Methinks we have a clue. Be still, my heart.

Ned was a short form of Edward, just like Teddy. Had Malcolm had a meeting with the hit man of the undead? Maybe. Maybe not. It could be a clandestine meeting with a different Ned. Or maybe Bruce had been away from the desk and someone else had just filled in? I went through the rest of the planner as quickly as I could. Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary. Every other entry was in Bruce's large, rolling hand.

Malcolm had met with Edward, if it had been Edward, two days before the first death. If that was true, where did that leave things? With Edward a murderer and Malcolm paying him to do it. There was one problem with that. If Edward had wanted me dead, he'd have done it himself. Maybe Malcolm panicked and sent one of his followers to do it? Could be.

I was sitting in a chair against the wall, leafing through a magazine, when the door opened. Malcolm was tall and almost painfully thin, with large, bony hands that belonged to a more muscular man. His short, curly hair was the shocking yellow of goldfinch feathers. This was what blond hair looked like after nearly three hundred years in the dark.

The last time I had seen Malcolm, he had seemed beautiful, perfect. Now he was almost ordinary, like Nikolaos and her scar. Had Jean-Claude given me the ability to see master vampires' true forms?

Malcolm's presence filled the small room like invisible water, chilling and pricking along my skin, knee-deep and rising. Give him another nine hundred years, and he might rival Nikolaos. Of course, I wouldn't be around to test my little theory.

I stood, and he swept into the room. He was dressed modestly in a dark blue suit, pale blue shirt, and blue silk tie. The pale shirt made his eyes look like robin's eggs. He smiled, angular face, beaming at me. He wasn't trying to cloud my mind. Malcolm was very good at resisting the urge. His entire credibility rested on the fact that he didn't cheat.

“Miss Blake, how good to see you.” He didn't offer to shake hands; he knew better. “Bruce left me a very confused message. Something about the vampire murders?” His voice was deep and soothing, like the ocean.

“I told Bruce I have proof that your church is involved with the vampire murders.”

“And do you?”

“Yes.” I believed it. If he had met with Edward, I had my murderer.

“Hmmm, you are telling the truth. Yet, I know that it is not true.” His voice rolled around me, warm and thick, powerful.

I shook my head. “Cheating, Malcolm, using your powers to probe my mind. Tsk, tsk.”

He shrugged, hands open at his sides. “I control my church, Miss Blake. They would not do what you have accused them of.”

“They raided a freak party last night with clubs. They hurt people.” I was guessing on that part.

He frowned. “There is a small faction of our followers who persist in violence. The freak party, as you call it, is an abomination and must be stopped, but through legal channels. I have told my followers this.”

“But do you punish them when they disobey you?” I asked.

“I am not a policeman, or a priest, to mete out punishment. “They are not children. They have their own minds.”

“I'll bet they do.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“It means, Malcolm, that you are a master vampire. None of them can stand against you. They'll do anything you want them to.”

“I do not use mind powers on my congregation.”

I shook my head. His power oozed over my arms like a cold wave. He wasn't even trying. It was just spillover. Did he realize what he was doing? Could it actually be an accident?

“You had a meeting two days before the first murder.”

He smiled, careful not to show fangs. “I have many meetings.”

“I know, you are reeal popular, but you'll remember this meeting. You hired a hit man to kill vampires.” I watched his face, but he was too good. There was a flicker in his eyes, unease maybe; then it was gone, replaced by that shining blue-eyed confidence.

“Miss Blake, why are you looking me in the eyes?”

I shrugged. “If you don't try to bespell me, it's safe.”

“I have tried to convince you of that on several occasions, but you always played it … safe. Now you are staring at me; why?” He strode towards me, quick, nearly a blur of motion. My gun was in my hand, no thinking needed. Instinct.

“My,” he said.

I just stared at him, quite willing to put a bullet through his chest if he came one step closer.

“You carry at least the first mark, Miss Blake. Some master vampire has touched you. Who?”

I let out my breath in one long sigh. I hadn't even realized I'd been holding it. “It's a long story.”

“I believe you.” He was suddenly standing near the door again, as if he had never moved. Damn, he was good.

“You hired a man to slay the freak vampires,” I said.

“No,” he said, “I did not.”

It is always unnerving when a person looks so damn blase while I point a gun at them. “You did hire an assassin.”

He shrugged. Smiled. “You do not really expect me to do anything but deny that, do you?”

“Guess not.” What the heck, might as well ask. “Are you or your church connected in any way to the vampire murders?”

He almost laughed. I didn't blame him. No one in their right mind would just say yes, but sometimes you can learn things from the way a person denies something. The choice of lies can be almost as helpful as the truth.

“No, Miss Blake.”

“You did hire an assassin.” I made it a statement.

The smile drained from his face, goof. He stared at me, his presence crawling along my skin like insects. “Miss Blake, I believe it is time for you to leave.”

“A man tried to kill me today.”

“That is hardly my fault.”

“He had two vampire bites in his neck.”

Again that flicker in the eyes. Unease? Maybe.

“He was waiting for me outside your church. I was forced to kill him on your steps.” A small lie, but I didn't want Ronnie further involved.

He was frowning now, a thread of anger like heat oozing through the room. “I am unaware of this, Miss Blake. I will look into it.”

I lowered my gun but didn't put it away. You can only hold a person at gunpoint so long. If they aren't afraid, and they aren't going to hurt you, and you aren't going to shoot them, it gets rather silly. “Don't be too hard on Bruce. He doesn't do well around violence.”

Malcolm straightened, pulling at his suit jacket. A nervous gesture? Oh, boy. I'd hit a nerve.

“I will look into it, Miss Blake. If he was a member of our church, we owe you an extreme apology.”

I stared at him for a minute. What could I say to that? Thank you? It didn't seem appropriate. “I know you hired a hit man, Malcolm. Not exactly good press for your church. I think you are behind the vampire murders. Your hands may not have spilled the blood, but it was done with your approval.”

“Please, go now, Miss Blake.” He opened the door as he said it.

I walked through, gun still in my hand. “Sure, I'll go, but I won't go away.”

He stared down at me, eyes angry. “Do you know what it means to be marked by a master vampire?”

I thought a minute and wasn't sure how to answer it. Truth. “No.”

He smiled, and it was cold enough to freeze your heart. “You will learn, Miss Blake. If it becomes too much for you, remember our church is here to help.” He closed the door in my face. Softly.

I stared at the door. “And what is that supposed to mean?” I whispered. No one answered me.

I put away my gun and spotted a small door marked “Exit.” I took it. The church was softly lit, candles maybe. Voices rose on the night air, singing. I didn't recognize the words. The tune was Bringing in the Sheaves. I caught one phrase: “We will live forever, never more to die.”

I hurried to my car and tried not to listen to the song. There was something frightening about all those voices raised skyward, worshipping … what? Themselves? Eternal youth? Blood? What? Another question that I didn't have an answer to.

Edward was my murderer. The question was, could I turn him over to Nikolaos? Could I turn over a human being to the monsters, even to save myself? Another question that I didn't have an answer for. Two days ago I would have said no. Now I just didn't know.