‘This isn’t the way I generally perform baptisms,’ the priest said, coming closer. The cross hanging around his neck gleamed dully in the light from the stained-glass windows, like an instrument of torture. Closer it came, and closer, until I could almost touch it – if I’d wanted to, and if my arms weren’t clamped to my sides. The one, my right, was slightly freer than the other, as Crow was trying to hold me still and keep me quiet at the same time, so I used it to try to punch the Father in the gut. Unfortunately, the blow had little power, and the priest saw it coming anyway, and smartly stepped back, out of reach.
He moved around to the opposite side of the font, took a small bowl from the rim, dipped it in the liquid and muttered a few words in Latin.
Then he threw the water at me.
Acid! He’d thrown acid in my face. Christ, but it burned!
A gurgling scream forced its way out between my crushed lips. My skin was melting off my bones, I was certain of it.
‘Ego te baptizo in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti,’ the priest cried, and threw some more.
The agony made me moan, the pain of it so great that I sagged in Crow’s arms, only his strength holding me up.
Yet more water was thrown over my head to trickle down my face and strip away my scalded skin.
I think I fainted.
When I came to, the priest was making the sign of the cross on my forehead with slick, oily fingers, and saying yet more words in Latin. I hung there, in Crow’s embrace, drained and empty, free from pain.
The burning agony had left me, to be replaced by a thick white cloth which the Father draped over my shoulders.
‘Bring her to the altar. I have to pray,’ he said.
Crow swept me up and carried me like a small child, deep into the heart of the church, following Father Andrew to the altar. I watched with tired eyes as the priest lit a candle and knelt by the little step, his head bowed, all the while muttering in Latin.
I guessed he was talking to God.
Chapter 36
Crow
Olivia Parr was a slight girl, but after a while Crow had to admit she got a bit heavy. He held her for as long as he could, then he slipped into a pew, disentangled her, and sat her down next to him.
She appeared dazed, slightly vacant. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was suffering from PTSD. Shell-shock, they used to call it. She looked as though she’d been through a trauma and had yet to come out the other side.
He wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened. Olivia was undoubtedly calmer, but Crow had yet to be convinced it was a good thing. He preferred spitting wildcat fury to catatonia.
He waited as the Father crossed himself and had regained his feet, then Crow said, ‘What was all that about?’
Father Andrew turned around with considered slowness. Whatever the priest had done, it had taken an effort on his part. There were darker shadows under his eyes and his skin had a sallow hue. ‘Come into my office. I think we could all do with a nice cup of tea.’
Crow narrowed his eyes as he tracked the Father’s progress towards the same door he’d followed him through yesterday. Making his mind up and wanting answers, Crow swivelled in the pew and gently shook Olivia’s shoulder.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked her.
‘Huh?’
‘Are you all right?’
‘I think so.’
‘Can you stand?’
‘Of course I can bloody well stand. What do you think I am, an invalid?’
Crow suppressed a chuckle. Her spikiness was returning, so she must be okay. ‘Good,’ was all he said in response. ‘Father Andrew is making tea. Would you like a cup?’
Olivia’s incredulous look nearly set the chuckle free, but he bit it back down, not wanting to set her off again. Although, if she wanted to storm off, he didn’t intend to stop her this time. He’d done enough restraining for one day. Besides, she might slap him.
‘It’ll give us an opportunity to talk to him,’ was all he said.
She nodded. When she rose, he noticed she was a little wobbly for a moment, but she soon rallied, so he kept his offer of help to himself. He was pretty sure it wouldn’t be appreciated or accepted.
‘What the fuck did you think you were playing at?’ were the first words out of Olivia’s mouth when she stalked into Father Andrew’s office.
‘Tea? Or would you prefer coffee? I’ve got a jar of instant around here somewhere.’ The priest patted at the desk as if he expected the coffee to pop up and announce itself.
‘Water. Please.’
She’d remembered her manners, despite her foul mouth. Crow crossed his fingers that it would last long enough to get a few answers out of the good Father.
Olivia threw herself into a chair, folded her arms across her chest and looked murderous. Crow lowered his bulk into the seat beside her, and surreptitiously rubbed his shins. For a little one, she couldn’t half pack a wallop. He’d probably have a bruise or two by tomorrow.
Father Andrew placed three steaming mugs on the desk. Olivia had tea, Crow noticed, whether she wanted it or not, along with the requested water.
‘I think you need to explain what’s going on,’ Olivia said, her mouth a hard line, her eyes even harder.
‘Did your man tell you about his sister?’ Father Andrew asked.
‘He’s not my man, thank God.’
‘Pity. You look good together.’
Olivia’s glare could have dropped a bull at forty yards, and this time Crow did chuckle. But he quickly turned it into a cough when she directed her ire towards him.
‘I don’t suppose either of you know much about baptism?’ Father Andrew said. ‘Let me give you a crash course, and then you’ll see why it was necessary—’
‘You think actual physical assault and being held against a person’s will is necessary, do you? Well, let me tell you—’
‘Let him speak,’ Crow interrupted. ‘You can shout at him later.’
‘I’ll be shouting at you too,’ Olivia warned, but she subsided, and Crow relaxed back into his chair.
‘Baptism is a mild form of exorcism, if you will,’ the Father began. ‘I offered up two prayers, beseeching the impure spirits to leave and asking that Olivia be open to the Word of God. The sacrament of baptism is the beginning of supernatural life—’
‘I thought that was the very thing you were trying to avoid?’ Crow interjected.
‘If someone isn’t baptised there’s an absence in them, a darkness where there should be light. They’re said to be in a state of original sin. Baptism alleviates this spiritual vacuum and allows people to enter a state of sanctifying grace, where God is present in the soul.’
Out of the corner of his eye, Crow noticed Olivia’s sceptical expression. He bet if he asked her right now whether God was present in her soul, she’d tell him where to go, he thought.
‘Once someone is baptised, no one, not even God, can reverse it,’ Father Andrew continued. ‘I suppose you can say that the hole which original sin left in the soul, is now full of God, leaving little room for Satan’s minions to wheedle their way in.’
‘If that’s the case, then why do so many men and women who claim to be God-fearing Christians sin so much? Or do they think they can say a couple of Hail Marys and all will be absolved?’ Olivia demanded.
‘That’s a discussion for another time,’ the Father said, firmly. ‘For now, all you need to know is that only we, ourselves, can renounce our baptism, which we will do if we commit a mortal sin; but no one else can take it from us. Not God, and certainly not Satan.’
Olivia rolled her eyes, but at least she didn’t interrupt.
‘Baptism removes all mortal and venial sins, together with the punishment due for them, and makes a clean sweep of everything. Of course, the person who is being baptised is usually truly sorry for their sins and wants to make atonement for them, but we can’t have everything, and in your case we were a little pushed for time. Anyway,’ he dusted his h
ands together. ‘The three sacraments of the baptism leave a permanent mark on your soul. The saying of the words “I baptise you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, the anointing with holy water and the anointing with oil, together with the wearing of white clothing, the lighting of candles and observing mass, all serve to drive out sin and allow a person to enter a state of grace.’
‘Why the Latin?’ she wanted to know.
‘Latin has more power; there are much older languages than that, but I’m not schooled in them. In the fight against evil, one can only use the weapons at one’s disposal.’
More eye-rolling from Olivia. Crow coughed again and when she met his gaze, he shrugged.
Father Andrew continued, ‘All you and Crow need to know is that when God comes into the soul, darkness disappears, like when a light is turned on. There is no space in there for evil, unless you invite it in. Talking of inviting evil in, did you allow the vampire to step over your threshold?’
‘Excuse me?’ Olivia said.
‘The one you call Rochdale. Although I don’t for one minute believe that’s the name he was born with. He’s probably had many.’
‘And his name shall be legion?’ Crow said. He’d watched a fair few movies in his time.
‘The quote is “My name is Legion, for we are many” and it refers to the devil and his demons, not specifically to vampires, although vampires tend to have many names because of how old they are. They have to change them every now and again to avoid detection.’
‘Are you honestly telling me that I’ve been under the influence of a vampire and you think Rochdale is one?’ Olivia was shaking her head.
‘Tell me, my dear, do you still lust after him, or have those licentious thoughts disappeared from your mind?’
Crow turned his head to stare at Olivia when she inhaled sharply.
‘How... I mean...? she stammered.
She coloured quite prettily. Some pink in her cheeks suited her.
‘It’s how he operates best, my dear. Of course, they can bend anyone who is susceptible to their will without the need for sex, but we’re all at the mercy of our basest desires, and sex is a very base desire indeed.’ Father Andrew steepled his hands under his chin. ‘I dare say you feel more like your usual self now,’ he added. ‘Then there’s the little matter of not being able to tolerate the cross or holy water, and not being able to abide being inside a house of God. You’re clearly over all that now aren’t you, my dear?’
Olivia’s expression could only be described as “rabbit caught in headlights”. Crow knew how she felt – he’d been blindsided too (he still was) but he’d had a wee bit longer to get used to the idea.
‘I don’t believe it,’ she breathed, shaking her head again, then in a firmer voice, ‘Vampires don’t exist.’
‘I think you’ll find they do.’ The priest was adamant.
‘They’re made up, figments of people’s imagination, probably mixed with a good dollop of superstition,’ she argued.
‘God exists. You don’t have to believe in Him for it to be true. The earth goes round the sun; just because you believe it’s the other way around, doesn’t make it any less true.’
‘But everyone knows the sun is at the centre of the solar system,’ Olivia said.
Crow sat back to watch the performance; he was looking forward to seeing how she fared against the elderly theologian.
‘They do now. They didn’t five hundred years ago,’ the priest pointed out.
‘So, you’re saying that in five hundred years’ time, we’ll all know that vampires are real?’
‘Actually, no. I suspect we’ll be so far removed from spiritual matters that God will be abandoned, and Satan will have a field day. We’re heading in that direction already.’
‘Okay, let’s say I actually believe vampires exist? Let’s say Rochdale is one? What now? How do we stop him?’
Father Andrew took his time answering. He finished off his tea, although it was probably tepid by now; he stroked his chin; he furrowed his brows. Eventually, he spoke.
‘You have to destroy him.’
Chapter 37
Olivia
Stakes, a cross, garlic (not so sure about that one), holy water. Determination. Balls. Apparently, that was everything a vampire-killer needed. Oh, and a good dose of religious fervour wouldn’t go amiss, either.
Crow and I stood in my living room (yeah, silly me, I’d let him back into my house) regarding the assorted “weapons” with some degree of trepidation and a whole lot of scepticism. A stake, I ask you; and not any old stake, either. For these oversized pencils to be of any use, they had to be made of ash. Or hawthorn could work. So could elder, apparently.
‘Any kind of wood, then?’ I’d sarcastically said to Father Andrew, only to be given a lecture on the history of staking the undead. I still wasn’t any the wiser regarding the necessity of a certain kind of wood.
Some of Father Andrew’s words continued to ring in my mind, though. Like when he told me vampires will get you by whatever means they can. Sexual desire and attraction play a big part in their arsenals.
When I’d asked him about men, he’d insisted Rochdale had the same effect on them.
He’d also insisted that I must withdraw Rochdale’s invitation into my home, if I ever got the opportunity. I’d already decided never to answer the door to the fucker again, but I tucked the suggestion away in case I ever needed it.
‘He’ll sense you’re no longer under his spell, and he’ll try to get you back,’ Father Andrew had warned. ‘Make sure you wear the cross at all times.’
I wasn’t entirely comfortable with that. Firstly, it wasn’t mine; it belonged to the Father. Secondly, it wasn’t exactly discrete, being a substantial chunk of metal, which weighed my neck down and was visible even under my top. Thirdly, I didn’t believe a symbol such as this could work against the kind of mind-games Rochdale played.
Vampire, indeed.
I uttered a small snort. I wasn’t convinced which one of them was the weirder of the two, Rochdale or Father Andrew.
‘I’m famished,’ I announced as soon as we arrived back at my house. ‘You can stay for supper, then I want you to go.’ I’d a sneaky hope he’d offer to do the cooking because he was actually quite good at it.
‘He’ll come back,’ Crow warned.
I shrugged. If he did, I was ready for him. The drug must have finally worked its way out of my system; I was free of him, no longer filled with dark and sordid lust. In fact, the whole episode now filled me with shame and disgust, and I tried not to think about the effect he’d had on me. Nasty didn’t describe it. Rochdale wasn’t even my type. But I guessed some people were more charismatic than others, and with his lack of an aura (I still needed to think about that) and whatever drug he’d used on me, it proved to be a potent cocktail.
I was wise to him now and free of his influence. He wouldn’t find me so easy to control next time.
Crow prowled around my house, checking and rechecking doors and windows, while I made a Thai chicken curry and fragrant rice. We spoke very little while we ate, but the elephant in the room grew larger as the plates grew emptier, until eventually the subject had to be tackled.
I went first. ‘I’m not sure if I should thank you or punch you.’
‘I’m not sure, either.’
‘Surely you don’t believe all that nonsense?’
‘Yes. No. I don’t know. I’ve no idea what to believe anymore. Do you?’
I hesitated, about to say of course I didn’t believe in Father Andrew’s claptrap. ‘I don’t think so,’ I said, instead.
‘You can’t deny Rochdale’s hold over you.’
My face flamed. ‘No, I can’t.’
‘And what about the way you acted in church?’
I gave him a level stare. ‘Would you have reacted to being attacked then forced to go somewhere against your will any better?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘Well, th
en.’ I pushed my plate away and sat back, still hungry but needing to talk more than I needed to eat.
‘What about your reaction to the crucifix and the holy water last night, and again today?’ Crow asked.
‘Coincidence.’ I sounded much more certain than I felt.
Crow didn’t buy it. ‘I don’t think so.’
Neither did I, but what other explanation could there be? Apart from Father Andrew’s outrageous claims that vampires are real. Pfft.
I got up, strode into the living room, and returned clutching one of the sharpened lengths of wood. ‘Are you telling me that a man who has a supply of these in his cupboard is normal? And he expects us to kill someone with them?’
‘Now that you put it like that...’
‘I don’t care what Rochdale has done, I’m not going to prison for murder.’
A slow smile spread over Crow’s lips. ‘I notice you don’t say you don’t want to kill him,’ he drawled. ‘Rather, you don’t want to get caught?’
‘You’re not wrong. I want to drive this stake right through his nasty, black heart for what he did to me, and to your sister. But wanting something isn’t the same as actually doing it, is it? I don’t think I could ever kill anyone.’
‘It’s surprising what we can do, if we have to.’ Crow’s expression darkened. I wondered what deep secrets lay hidden in his depths.
‘Unless it’s a life or death situation, I don’t think I’ve got it in me to hurt anyone,’ I insisted.
‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’
Chapter 38
Olivia
Crow hadn’t wanted to leave but I insisted, and at last I was on my own. My soul let out a deep, long breath of relief as I closed the door behind him and leant against it. feeling lighter than I’d done for days, more peaceful, more me. Maybe now I could get back to normal. I had work to do, lots of it, and it needed to be done sooner rather than later if I wanted to keep a roof over my head and put food in the fridge.
The house was quieter and emptier without him. I told myself this was a good thing, but every so often his blue eyes would intrude on my serenity and an image of his face would flash across my inner eye. Then there was the breadth of his shoulders, the way his biceps flexed under his shirt, the depth of his chest, the way he’d looked at me, the concern in his eyes. He even smelled nice.
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