Ezekiel shook his head in disgust. He took several slow, deliberate steps toward Bob.
“All you’ve stolen these twenty years would not satisfy me, charlatan.” His voice swelled to fill the tent and reverberated inside Bob’s skull.
There was simmering anger behind the stranger’s dark eyes. Bob knew at that moment he was facing another preacher—a man like himself. He’d played this game. Throw out a smoke screen of righteousness, then go for the wallet. Bob pulled himself up straight and glared back at the visitor.
“You don’t frighten me, brother,” he sneered. “I know this sermon by heart.” Bob was backing up as he spoke. He meant to sprint for the door. He figured he could get to the shotgun he kept behind the seat in his truck before the stranger caught up with him.
He raised his foot to run, but before he could take a step, a slender hand closed around his neck and raised him off the floor. His breath was cut off and he struggled impotently, kicking at the air under his feet and scrabbling with his hands against the iron grip that held him aloft. Bob felt time slow down as he fought to remain conscious. His ears were buzzing and he couldn’t hear the rain and wind any more. His vision blurred and darkened.
Then, as suddenly as he’d been grabbed, he was free. The stranger dropped him unceremoniously, and Bob crumpled into a heap on the ground.
He gasped and wretched. The liquor burned coming up worse than it had going down—and it tasted worse now too. Bob puked until his stomach was empty, then a few times more. Finally, he raised his head and saw Ezekiel standing over him, his face impassive.
“Do you fear me now, Robert Anderson Blossom?”
The voice was mild, but insistent. Bob shook his head.
“Why do you keep saying my name that way?”
“It is who you are.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Can you return the girl to her family?”
“I don’t know which girl you mean,” Bob rasped. His throat was all but swollen shut.
“Does it matter? Can you return any of them their innocence?”
“What do you want from me?”
“I have come on behalf of the girl’s grandmother. You owe a debt you cannot repay.”
Bob scrambled to his feet.
“I’m not afraid of you,” he said, grimacing with the pain in his throat. “You got the drop on me, but you won’t again.”
Ezekiel stepped forward and looked directly into Bob’s eyes.
“Do you fear me now?” he asked again.
At first, Bob thought the stranger was being needlessly repetitive, but a moment later he saw Ezekiel’s face changing. It was twisting to match the vision he’d glimpsed in the lightning. Ezekiel’s eyes glowed a malevolent red and his mouth opened to reveal canines lengthened into glittering fangs surrounded by sharp, jagged teeth.
Bob jumped backward and bumped into a row of folding chairs, tumbling backward and ending tangled in a pile of wood and limbs.
“Demon!” he gasped. “Get thee behind me, Satan!”
Bob heard a dry chuckle from the creature standing over him. Ezekiel’s face had returned to its former, human aspect, but there was something in the man’s eyes that wasn’t human, and Bob couldn’t look at them without feeling dread.
“Why do people say that? I’d think you wouldn’t want the Prince of Darkness lurking behind you—where you can’t see what he’s doing.”
Ezekiel didn’t move as Bob scrambled to his feet again and tried to bolt for the door. By some magic Bob couldn’t see or understand, no matter what direction he turned, the stranger blocked his way, simply standing there, showing no evidence of having moved to each new position. It occurred to Bob that Ezekiel could somehow move faster than the eye could see. It was a ridiculous notion, though, and he rejected it. It was the liquor. It was addling his senses.
“Let me go!”
“A persuasive argument, but…no.”
“Who are you?”
“I told you my name. I am Ezekiel.”
“You’re not real. Demons aren’t real!”
“Do you not preach of demons, night after night? Do you not call on your congregation to cast them out? Do you not lay hands upon the troubled man and woman and command the demons be gone?”
Bob shook his head. “That’s just talk. A show for the rubes.”
Ezekiel’s disgust was evident in the curl of his lip. “You do not believe in anything. The Gospel is naught to you but the patter for your thievery.”
A rumble of thunder and flash of lightning briefly interrupted the hiss of rain against the outside of the tent.
“I believe you’re no more than a man, hired by some girl’s angry kin, come to lean on me for money. Money, brother, now there is something I understand—and believe in. So, let’s cut the nonsense and get down to business.”
“Even if gold could redeem your soul, what you have is but a grain of sand and all the shore would not be enough, Robert Anderson Blossom.”
“Cut the crap, brother. I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. You can lean on me all you want. But you ain’t going to get any more for your trouble. I got what I got, and that’s all there is.”
Ezekiel regarded Bob silently for a moment. The sound of the storm outside was all the preacher could hear. Ezekiel didn’t seem to draw breath, except before speaking. A slight smile crossed Ezekiel’s lips, and he breathed in.
“I am what I am,” he said evenly. “Your belief or non-belief does not change me. It does not change my mission or my intent. I have walked this land for hundreds of years, but seldom have I encountered a soul as impoverished as yours, Robert Anderson Blossom.”
“My soul? What’s that to you?”
“It is everything. A soul has greater value than all the wealth you have coveted and seen slip through your fingers in your pathetic lifetime. You strive for material wealth, but with each day the vitality of your soul dwindles. You are a fool, Robert Anderson Blossom.
“I would give all I am to regain what you are allowing to die without any attempt to save it.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve come to save me,” Bob sneered. “I’ll save myself, thank you very much. If I’m a fool, I’m my own fool. Don’t need any skinny, prissified, city folk coming here to tell me I’m lacking. People listen to me, Brother Ezekiel, or whatever your real name is. People come from miles around to hear me preach. I save more souls in an evening than most men see in a year.”
“Hundreds of years, my great auntie’s nightgown. Who do you think you’re fooling?”
“And how do you explain the face I’ve shown you?”
“You’re one of those hypnotists, like I read about.”
Ezekiel shrugged slightly, turned his back on Bob and went to the cage of snakes. He reached in with a fluid, careless motion, withdrew a six-foot copperhead and allowed it to slowly wind around his arm. It slid up over his shoulder, its triangular head probing at his neck. Then finding nothing of interest; it wound around and down the front of his shirt with liquid grace. The snake showed no sign that it minded being disturbed. Its black and brown markings stood out in high relief as the lamplight glittered off the serpent’s diamond scales. Ezekiel put a hand under the snake’s head and gently brought it up to where he could look directly into its eyes.
“A beautiful creature,” he said mildly.
“That beautiful creature will put enough poison into you to kill you if you’re not careful,” Bob said warily. There was something unsettling about the way the snake reacted, or more to the point, failed to react to Ezekiel—that is, if it was still possible for anything to be simply unsettling.
“They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them. I do not fear the serpent’s tooth; it poses no danger to me. Will you take the creature from my hand?” He held the snake’s head out toward Bob with the body wound around his arm in loose, sinuous loops.
Bob frowned. He’d been handling the snakes during his
services for nigh on twenty years. He always recited a verse from Luke 10, as he brought out the serpents.
“Behold, I give unto you the power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over the power of the enemy: and nothing by any means shall hurt you.”
But he always saw to it they were milked regularly, so their bite wouldn’t be so lethal. He tried to remember just how long it had been since this snake had had his venom drained—too long, unfortunately. Bob licked his lips.
“You care for these creatures well. I can see that.”
“I take care of the tools of my trade,” Bob said carefully.
“But you fear to bring your hand near this innocent animal that bears you no animosity.”
“I can’t figure why he’s taken to you so. They’re usually a bit testier when you disturb their beauty sleep.”
“He is curious about me. He can tell I am not a man—proving that this serpent is more perceptive than you, Robert Anderson Blossom. The serpent is wondering why I’ve taken him up and what I intend to do with him.”
Ezekiel brought the snake’s head back near to his face again and Bob thought he saw the creature’s tongue slip out of its mouth to taste Ezekiel’s cheek.
“So, you talk to snakes. They have anything interesting to say?”
“They do not speak. But they have the power to tell us many things. Take the serpent from my hand, Robert Anderson Blossom, and he shall tell you what you yearn to know.”
“Never wanted to know nothing a snake could tell me.”
“Truly? For I believe many would say you’ve taken the guise of a snake in your spirit, Robert Anderson Blossom.”
There was something in Ezekiel’s voice that told Bob he couldn’t refuse. His nerves were drawn tighter than a fiddler’s bow and the liquor still buzzed in his head, but he knew somehow that if he refused the command, the consequences would be worse than he could imagine. Like all snake handlers, he’d been inoculated with small amounts of venom. But Bob knew that wasn’t complete protection.
He slowly stretched out a hand that trembled like a leaf in the storm outside. There was a triple flash of lightning and thunder so loud it rattled Bob’s teeth and bones. Bob felt his knees going weak. He had to do something or he was going to pass out right here and now.
He jerked his hand toward the snake. It reared back its head and struck him solid through the hand. The stabbing pain was searing. The fangs were embedded in his palm and the copperhead pumped his jaws twice to work more venom into the wound before it pulled away from him.
Bob looked at his hand in horror. He’d been bitten before, but generally only glancing bites—and never delivering a full load of poison. His hand burned like he’d grabbed a red-hot poker, and he could feel it starting to spread up into his wrist.
“Jesus Christ!”
“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain,” Ezekiel said sternly.
“Help me get a tourniquet on this,” Bob whined. “I got to get my snake bite kit. It’s out in my truck.” He squeezed the injured hand in his opposite armpit.
“Remain calm, and the venom will spread more slowly.”
“You gotta help me!”
Ezekiel turned away and took the snake back to its cage, moving deliberately with no sign of urgency.
“The poison might not kill you. So few things in life and death are certain,” he said calmly.
“I’ve seen a man die snake bit,” Bob pleaded. “You can’t let that happen to me.”
“I can.
“But, perhaps I will not see you die. It is your choice. You are now upon the path of knowledge. Your fate is in your own hands.”
“What in hell’s name are you?”
Ezekiel turned back to face Bob, his mouth parted to show his fangs, his eyes glowing an angry red.
“I am a vampire. I must drink the blood of the living to sustain myself. I must walk the night untiring, unchanged, untouched by the Lord’s sunshine or His mercy. I am eternal. I am undead. I am without hope. I am damned.”
Bob shook his head.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“You asked.”
“This is crazy. You made my own snake bite me. If you’re one of those things—like in that movie show, why ain’t you just bit me yourself and killed me? Or are you going to make me eat bugs and go crazy, or something like that.”
“I have not come to kill you, Robert Anderson Blossom. If you die, it will most likely be your own choice.”
“Shouldn’t you talk like that guy?”
Ezekiel shook his head slightly. He looked more amused than anything else.
“I was born in England. Why should I have Mr. Bela Lugosi’s accent?”
“I just thought vampires all came from Transahoovia, or something like that.”
“Mr. Lugosi is Hungarian, I believe. I saw that film—in a theater in Charlotte. It was amusing. But truly, I shall resent it wholly if I have to spend the next hundred years explaining why I do not have a Romanian accent. There are vampires throughout the world. We were on these shores before the first white man came.”
“I’m gratified to know you like the movies,” Bob said bitterly. “But I’m snake-bit and dying here. Could we please move on and get me some help?”
“Do you believe I am undead?”
Bob staggered back a step.
“I’ll believe you’re king of Spain, if that’s what you want. Why are you doing this to me?” he sobbed.
“I told you. I have come to bring you retribution—and salvation if you care to accept it. Though, I suppose enlightenment would be a better word.”
“By killing me?”
“If necessary. The truth shall set you free, Robert Anderson Blossom. It is up to you to accept it and save yourself. Whether you live or die is unimportant, as long as you understand.”
Bob felt a wave of dizziness. He wobbled on his feet. If he could just get to his truck for the snake-bite kit…but the combination of liquor and snake venom was turning his feet to lead. He could hardly lift boot from ground, let alone run fast enough to escape his captor. Just as he thought he would faint, Ezekiel took his elbow and guided him to one of the wooden folding chairs.
“Sit and be calm. If you live long enough to hear me out, you may learn what you need to save yourself.” He sounded almost kindly.
Bob wiped a tear off his cheek with the back of his good hand. His other hand was throbbing. The liquid fire was creeping up his forearm through the veins—they were ribbons of pain.
Ezekiel took another chair and turned it around to face Bob. He seated and composed himself.
“When I finish, you will make a choice. Do try to stay conscious, Robert Anderson Blossom, because you need to know what I am about to tell you.”
“Please, hurry,” Bob whimpered.
“Do not interrupt me.”
Bob slumped down a bit in his chair. There had to be some way to get the drop on Ezekiel, or failing that, distract him enough that he could get to the truck.
Part III, The Power to Tread upon Serpents
Ezekiel sat unmoving, regarding Bob with impassive eyes. Bob was tempted to urge him on again, but restrained himself. If the vampire was just sitting there looking at him, he wasn’t attacking, so there was still hope.
A slight smile came to Ezekiel’s lips.
“Very good,” he said quietly, “patience is the first rule of dealing with vampires. We have nothing in greater supply than time.”
Bob sighed, the poison burning in his veins there wasn’t much time.
“Do you wish to know the identity of the girl you dishonored?”
Bob swallowed hard and nodded.
“Her name was Annabell. Do you recognize it?”
Bob nodded again.
“She is no more.”
“I didn’ do nothing to her. I ain’t seen her for months.”
“Do not lie to me, Robert Anderson Blossom. I am not a fool.”
“Nothing she didn’ ask me for, s
he wanted…”
Anger flashed in Ezekiel’s eyes.
“Silence! If you cannot speak honestly, I will not hear you!”
Ezekiel’s glare ran through Bob like a bolt of lightning. It was hard and malevolent. He found himself trembling in fear.
“You told her you could give her the Lord’s rapture. You told her that what you wanted to do to her was God’s will.” Ezekiel spat out the words as if they tasted foul in his mouth.
“She’s dead?” Bob said, his voice trembling.
“She is no more. But what is that to you? You had what you wanted of her.”
“Didn’ want her dead,” Bob slurred. “Nothin’ against the girl.”
“But you took her innocence, ruined her faith and left her with nothing.”
“I didn’t leave her!” Bob protested. “She ran away.”
Ezekiel’s eyes narrowed and Bob clamped his jaw shut.
“It hardly matters. You are as responsible for this girl’s end as if you had killed her with your own hands.”
Bob didn’t protest.
“Her grandmother is a witch. She summoned me, and commanded me to bring you retribution. Make no mistake. I am not one to take the commands of others. But the witch’s grief was great and her power not inconsiderable. I saw that my own interests might be advanced in her service. This is why I have come to you.”
“A witch? Pull the other one…”
“You amaze me, Robert Anderson Blossom. How can you deny the supernatural while speaking to me? You do not even believe the evidence of your own eyes. How deadly it must be to live in a world bereft of magic.”
“I used to believe,” Bob said quietly.
“Ah, as did I. I was a preacher of God’s word in my life. Did you realize that?”
“I thought I heard a preacher in you.”
“I believed. I took the pulpit and spoke from my heart. That was my youth.
“Then, I allowed the world to corrupt me. I sought power and wealth. My fall was nothing less than spectacular. I was caught dealing with smugglers and with the store rooms of my church filled with contraband. Greed was my downfall. I was condemned to transport to the Colonies, and that is how I found myself upon this shore.
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