Bloodliner

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  "You'll have your chance later," said the hooded man. "When the prize is found and open for the taking. I'll set aside the minutes as you like, though we both know you'll go without supper that day."

  Genghis stroked a single talon in a circle on the hooded man's belly. The two locked gazes for a long moment, passing silent fire back and forth.

  Then, Genghis swept the talon up to point over the hooded man's shoulder. "No, Thomas," he said. "The truce stands." Genghis' lips curled in a wicked grin as he held the hooded man's gaze. "For now."

  The hooded man heard Thomas' disappointed growl close behind him. "Aw, come on," said Thomas. "Please, can I eviscerate him?"

  "You're welcome to try and fail just as your master," said the hooded man, "but only after our hunt is done and this dark union dissolved."

  "You heard the man." Genghis laughed. "Hunt now, gut later."

  Thomas stomped over and glared up at the hooded man. "William Shakespeare," he said with disgust. "What a dick."

  Shakespeare lowered his hood and smiled. "When this labor's ended and the truth is out all 'round, I'll yet see you wish you'd never said those words."

  "Yeah?" said Thomas. "You gonna beat them out of me again?"

  "I'll not lay a finger on you, but you'll see." Shakespeare rubbed his bearded chin and nodded. "You'll of your own accord convert, renouncing curse and condemnation with the fervor of a priestly vow."

  Thomas sneered. "Dream on."

  "Life's full of surprises." Shakespeare grinned, his vampire's fangs glinting in the moonlight. "Or hadn't you noticed?"

  *****

  Chapter 5

  Mavis Kirkellan stood in the church pulpit and shook out her long, red hair, letting the gleaming, crimped locks fall around her shoulders.

  She cleared her throat and straightened her white button-down linen blouse. She smoothed her tan slacks over her slender hips.

  Then, she patted the four-leaf clover taped to the underside of the podium. She rubbed the rabbit's foot that lay on the ledge on the other side.

  A minister using good luck charms...in the pulpit, no less. This is so wrong.

  Mavis' father, who'd been pastor before her, had put them there. He'd used them to get him through every church service until he died.

  And now Mavis would end up using them to get through a service on Sunday...her first official solo service as pastor of her father's church.

  It wasn't a big church by any stretch. In fact, the congregation of Desert Wind Christian in Tucson, Arizona topped out at sixty-three on most Sundays.

  But Desert Wind Christian had been her father's church. After his death a month ago, Mavis had stepped in by the terms of his will to take over Desert Wind.

  She was only nineteen years old, with zero formal religious education and even less religious calling—and she had to take over for her father.

  How is that even possible?

  She'd never been able to do much right for her daddy before. Why he hadn't left his congregation to someone else was a mystery to her.

  Unless he was trying to force me to measure up.

  That was one theory. For as long as Mavis could remember, her father had been pushing her to develop an interest in the church—an interest in anything. The truth was, since her mother's death, Mavis just hadn't cared much about applying herself. Why bother, when life can end so fast and without meaning?

  So Mavis had become a ball of bad attitude, getting into trouble again and again, not caring about school. She'd barely graduated and hadn't even considered going to college—all in spite of her father's nagging and constant attempts to straighten her out.

  So why was she in his pulpit now? Why was she even making an effort?

  I don't want to be here! I can't even do this!

  Mavis shut her eyes and flung up her hands. She took deep breaths, trying to steady her out-of-control nerves.

  Why am I doing this?

  Slowly, she lowered her hands and opened her eyes. She pictured the congregation fanned out in the pews in front of her...all sixty-three members, with a few curiosity-seekers thrown in for good measure.

  They didn't look happy. In fact, they looked downright hostile.

  Her heart pounded. She fiddled with the good luck charms and shuffled papers on the podium.

  She stopped and read one of them—a list of public speaking tips from her father.

  Picture family members and friends in the audience.

  Great idea, she thought. Just one problem: she had no family members or friends to picture.

  Her father was dead, and her mother had died long ago, when Mavis was just twelve years old. She had no brothers or sisters. Other relations were out there somewhere, but she'd hardly known them.

  Maybe the next tip on the list would be more practical.

  Picture your audience naked.

  Mavis tried it, but it didn't work out so well. With or without clothes, her imaginary audience glared at her with the same hostility.

  The front row had big red letters painted on their chests, spelling out, "LOSER."

  "Even my own figments hate me," said Mavis, and then she dropped her head to the podium. Her long hair fell around her in a shroud of red.

  I'm just not cut out for this line of work.

  "I have to try."

  Why? To make up for treating your dad like a jerk? To prove you measure up?

  To find out if you're good for something after all?

  Tears burned Mavis' eyes. "How do I know what to do?"

  You're in church, right? What do people do in church?

  They pray.

  Still white-knuckling the pulpit railing, Mavis bowed her head. "Sure. Why not?" She hadn't prayed since before her mother died. "Um, okay. Send me a sign, God. Tell me what to do."

  Nothing. No answer.

  The church was silent except for her breathing. It was about what she'd expected, but still...a direct answer would have been nice.

  Keep trying.

  "Come on, God. Just a little sign?"

  It was just then that the heavy oak door in the rear of the church swung open.

  Hot desert air swelled the room. Mavis' head leaped up, and her eyes flew straight to the two figures in the doorway.

  One was a woman with long, black hair and dark horn-rimmed glasses. She wore a red leather jacket over a short, black dress.

  The other was a scrawny young man in a black Jethro Tull t-shirt and bluejeans. He must have dyed his shoulder-length hair, because he didn't look anywhere near old enough for it to have gotten pure white like that naturally.

  They look like they just came from a nightclub.

  "Hello, Pastor." The woman closed the door behind the young man. She had a slight Italian accent. "My name is Stanza Miracolo."

  "Yes?" Mavis frowned, instantly suspicious. It was after eleven-thirty on a weeknight—not usually a big time for drop-ins with good intentions.

  Can't believe I didn't lock that door.

  There was no one else in the building, so she was outnumbered two to one. If her guests had trouble in mind, Mavis wasn't crazy about her chances.

  Stanza took a few steps down the aisle, then stopped. "Look, Mavis," she said. "Don't mean to freak you out, but I have to move things along here."

  Mavis was surprised when Stanza used her name...but then she remembered it was on the marquee outside. "Okay," she said, glancing around the church as casually as she could.

  What if they have a partner?

  "Thing is, your life's about to change," said Stanza.

  "Really?" Mavis continued looking around, wondering what nearby objects she could use as weapons. "How's that?"

  "For one thing," said Stanza, "you're about to meet family you might not have known about until now."

  Stanza turned and swept an arm toward the young man at the door. "Meet Jonah Ivory," she said. "Your cousin."

  "What?" Mavis stopped looking for weapons and locked eyes with Jonah.

  "What?" Jonah
looked surprised.

  "Now we've got to get out of here fast," said Stanza. "A pack of vampires will be here any minute now."

  *****

  Chapter 6

  I knew it.

  Mavis rubbed her eyes and smiled to herself. She had been worrying so much about her first day as Pastor, it was kind of a relief now that the other shoe had dropped.

  I knew something was going to go horribly wrong.

  "Hmm." Mavis stared at a tall brass candlestick beside the altar as if she were considering what Stanza had told her. In reality, she was thinking about using the candlestick to club Stanza and Jonah on the head. "When you say vampires..."

  "Bloodsucking creatures of the night, yes." Stanza drummed on her hips and looked impatient.

  Jonah stepped in front of her and hiked a thumb in Mavis' direction. "When you say cousin..."

  Stanza looked at Jonah. "Mavis's grandmother was your grandmother's sister," she said. "The two of you have the same great-grandfather. I told you we were going to trace your family tree, didn't I?"

  Jonah frowned back at Mavis. "But I've never even heard of her."

  Mavis nodded as if she shared his lack of information. As if she hadn't heard of him, either.

  It was better that way.

  The truth was, she did know about Jonah. She hadn't recognized him, because she hadn't seen him since he was a child, but she knew who he was. She knew about his parents, too.

  How could she forget the people who had ruined her life?

  "Why didn't I know about her?" said Jonah.

  "There was a family split," said Stanza.

  Mavis raised her eyebrows with mild interest...but on the inside, she was burning and churning.

  Family split. That's one way to put it.

  More like family abandonment.

  "Wow." Jonah shrugged and smiled at Mavis. "Well, nice to meet you, cousin."

  "Likewise," Mavis said with a smile of her own.

  Be sure to thank your parents for screwing me over.

  Years ago, when Mavis' mother and father had died, Jonah's parents could have taken her in and given her a home. They were her closest relations, her own aunt and uncle; there was no reason they should have turned her away.

  But they had. Jonah's parents had refused to take her in, sentencing her to a succession of abusive, loveless, and/or just plain irresponsible foster parents.

  Mavis had survived, no thanks to Jonah's parents. She'd gotten through the darkest times and made something of herself...but oh, the precious memories. Oh, the scars.

  Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Ivory.

  And now, the son of the very people who could have given her a good life but had chosen not to stood there in front of her.

  It was enough to make Mavis redouble her determination to get away from Jonah and Stanza as soon as possible.

  Mavis folded her hands behind her back and eased out of the pulpit. She still had her eye on that candlestick.

  "Back to the vampires." Mavis thought, if she could keep Jonah and Stanza talking, that she might distract them from her hit-and-run escape plan. "You said they'll be here any minute now?"

  "Yes," said Stanza.

  Mavis stared thoughtfully at her. "And you know they're coming because...?"

  "I have a sixth sense." Stanza tapped the side of her head. "About vampires. More like a seventh sense, I guess."

  "You can feel them," said Mavis.

  "Among other things." Stanza nodded. "Your only chance is to come with us."

  "What about crosses?" As nonchalantly as she could, Mavis kept moving toward the candlestick. "Don't crosses drive them off? This place is full of crosses."

  "Wives' tale," said Stanza.

  "I have some holy water around," said Mavis. "That hurts them, doesn't it?"

  "If you drown them in it, maybe." Stanza checked her watch. "We'd better get going."

  Mavis stopped two steps from the candlestick and second-guessed her plan.

  Since when am I a warrior princess? I haven't been in a fight since the third grade. And I've never been bulletproof at all, which won't do me any good if one of them has a gun.

  Stymied by indecision, Mavis stalled for time. "I've got garlic downstairs in the kitchen. Vampires hate garlic, don't they?"

  Stanza shrugged. "No more than anyone else."

  "Okay, then." Mavis clapped her hands together. "Sunlight!"

  "Their pupils are permanently dilated," said Stanza. "Any bright enough direct light source blinds them. Of course, sunglasses take the edge off."

  Mavis gathered her courage and took the last steps over to the candlestick.

  Count of three. Come on now.

  She swallowed hard and pretended to straighten the candlestick. Her heart pounded, and blood rushed in her ears.

  Wait a minute. Bloody candlestick, bodies in the nave, blood on my hands, police investigation. Front page headlines. Why do I have the feeling this might not go a long way toward me keeping my job?

  Mavis let go of the candlestick.

  "Look," she said. "Forget the vampires. What do you really want?"

  Stanza stared at her, a smile nipping at the corners of her mouth. "You're so cute," she said. "It must be nice, being so totally naïve."

  Mavis smiled and reached for the candlestick again.

  "We need to go now," said Stanza. "Chop chop."

  "Go where?" said Jonah.

  "Trace your roots," said Stanza. "Family history. It's our only chance."

  "To do what?" said Mavis. "Do vampires have a weakness for family trees?"

  Stanza grimaced again. "Long story."

  Mavis frowned and rubbed her temples. The weirdness was giving her a headache.

  "Look, I'm going to get some aspirin from my office." Mavis turned, fully intending to do exactly what she said.

  And maybe dial 911 on the way.

  But she didn't get far.

  Stanza's shout stopped her before she'd taken a single step. "Don't move!"

  "But I'm just..." Mavis didn't finish her sentence.

  As she turned, she saw Stanza swing a machine gun over her shoulder on a strap. Until that moment, Mavis had thought the strap belonged to a backpack or bag.

  "You're coming with us!" said Stanza.

  Oh God! I knew I should have used the candlestick!

  "Now get down!" Stanza aimed the gun in Mavis' direction. When Mavis hesitated, Stanza shouted again. "Do it now or you're dead!"

  Mavis dropped and threw her arms over her head.

  She closed her eyes as the machine gun chattered, opening fire in the middle of the church.

  *****

  Chapter 7

  As Mavis hunkered down beside the altar, she heard the stained glass skylight shattering overhead...then, machine gun ammo pinging off metal and marble and stuttering into wood. She could almost picture the damage as it happened, the bullets denting the crosses and candlesticks, chipping the altar, splintering the pulpit.

  Then, she heard something she could not quite identify. As if the bullets had hit something softer.

  And wetter.

  The next thing she heard was not so hard to identify: a man's voice.

  Screaming in pain.

  Before Mavis could look up to see who it was, she heard a loud splattering noise. Something wet and cold splashed down over her, almost knocking her down.

  Mavis wiped the wet substance from her eyes and opened them.

  This time, she was the one screaming.

  Her hands were covered with what looked like blood. There was blood on the floor all around her, and all over her body.

  Blood dripped from her hair and elbows, ran down her sides and legs. It poured over her face, refilling her eyes...flowing into her mouth.

  As soon as it passed between her lips, she spat it out furiously.

  Oh my God!

  Mavis grabbed hold of the altar and scrambled to her feet. She pulled the red cloth cover from the altar and used it to wipe as much of the
blood from her face as she could.

  She screamed again and kept on wiping.

  "What was that?" she shouted. "What was that?"

  "Vampire," said Stanza. "On the stained glass skylight."

  "You're insane!" said Mavis.

  "More on the way," said Stanza. "Take cover."

  No sooner had Stanza said the words than a dark-haired man dropped headfirst through the open skylight. As Mavis watched, he plunged straight down and landed on his hands on the altar.

  When his wide, wild eyes met hers, she froze in place.

  Why can't I run? What's going on here?

  Stanza's machine gun chattered as the man leaped off the altar. In the space of a heartbeat, he did a smooth backflip that landed him neatly behind Mavis.

  Then, his arm curled around her throat.

  The machine gun stopped firing.

  "Drop the gun and open the door, beautiful." The man hissed loudly and poked a sharp-taloned finger at Stanza. "Let in the rest of the rescue team."

  "That what you're calling it now?" Stanza's voice was cool and even.

  "Rescuing these precious children." The man laughed and kissed Mavis on the cheek. "We got here in the nick of time, didn't we, sweetheart?"

  Just then, someone pounded on the door outside. Stanza didn't flinch, but Jonah looked nervous.

  "You can go your merry way, Bloodliner," the man said to Stanza. "We're only interested in your two clients here. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to...wait, I'm already dead, aren't I?"

  "Lazy moron." Grinning, Stanza let the gun fall free at her hip and swung up an arm, pointing it right at him. "Left your sunglasses in the coffin, didn't you?"

  Mavis caught a glimpse of a round lens poking out of the red leather sleeve of Stanza's jacket. Then, everything melted in a flare of white light.

  The vampire howled and let go of Mavis. Her paralysis suddenly let go, too, and she stumbled forward blindly.

  Just as Mavis tripped and started to fall, someone caught her. She felt a strong arm loop around her shoulders and heard Jonah's voice in her ear.