The Afterliving (His Blood & Silver Series Book 1)

by Fernando Rivera

  I laugh at my train of thought. Here I am, doubting my commitment to Discipleship one minute, then building a practice list of people I’d like to save the next. But thinking back on what I read in the Vulgata, isn’t that how it’s supposed to be? Aren’t I expected to be sown in doubt and raised in faith? Sown in weakness and raised in strength? Maybe this uncertainty is normal, and I’m not supposed to have all the answers? Maybe I am ready?

  “If I believed, if I said yes to the Afterliving, who would be my Sire?”

  “That’s up to you. Who would you want?”

  Does he even have to ask? “I’d want the man who raised me to do it, the man I know as Father. That’s the only person I would trust. So if that person is you…”

  James’ eyes glisten with pride. “Are you saying…?”

  I nod.

  “Oh, Emmanuel, yes. Of course. Of course I’ll Sire you. It would be my honor.”

  “Then I guess it’s settled.” Tonight, I become Saved.

  Six days ago, I came to Devil’s Dyke out of obligation: duty to my mother. Three days ago, I stayed in Devil’s Dyke out of curiosity: Was Isidore really murdered? Today, I find myself in Devil’s Dyke because of something greater: destiny.

  I take one last look in the mirror before joining Micah and James in the Phantom — white linen shirt, white wool trousers, and white-strapped sandals. Ready.

  It’s funny. I’ve spent the last several days fighting to stay alive, and now I’m volunteering to be killed. But I won’t be dead for long — three days of conversion, according to James — and I won’t be alone, either. “Lucy knows I’m being baptized, right? You told her?”

  “Of course,” James replies.

  “And she’s being baptized, too, right?”

  “Why?” He tenses. “Would that affect your decision?”

  “No.” It sure would reinforce it.

  “Good. But to put your mind at ease, you and Lucy will both be Saved.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “Great.” This day couldn’t get any better.

  During the drive into Brighton, I can’t help but wonder: If James didn’t kill Isidore, who did?

  “What were you trying to tell me,” I ask Micah, “with those messages in the Vulgata?”

  Micah’s been uncharacteristically quiet since accepting my decision to be saved by James. I can understand why. He’s probably had his heart set on baptizing me since Isidore was slain, but now that I’m aware of the role James played in raising me, Micah knows there’s no way I’d reconsider my choice of Sire.

  “What messages are you referring to?” he replies.

  “The underlined passages.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “But isn’t that why you put the book in my bag, so I would read them?”

  “Manny, I never put the Vulgata in your bag.”

  No? I turn to James. “Did you?”

  “I wasn’t even aware you had a Vulgata,” James replies.

  Maybe I did pack it by mistake. And it was already underlined by a previous owner…? That would be an incredible coincidence.

  I sit back. “Never mind, then.”

  The Baptism has already commenced by the time the Phantom stops in front of St. Nicholas Parish. Disciples by the hundreds are scattered about the church lawn, dressed in pastel blues, pinks, yellows, and purples. Eleven pairs of Sires and candidates walk side by side down the cobblestone path leading to the narthex, stopping every so often to receive congratulatory praises. It’s all very exciting, especially because none of the guests are wearing sunglasses.

  I exit the Phantom with an overwhelming sense of pride and gratitude and stare in awe at the spectacle before me.

  “What’s wrong?” James inquires.

  “Nothing. I just feel…something.”

  He smiles. “It’s the Afterliving. The presence of the Supreme Sire. It’s all around you.”

  “I didn’t feel it at the funeral.”

  “Because you didn’t believe at the funeral,” he answers with a wink.

  James is right. As I look out into the crowd, I recognize the same groups of Disciples who sat in the pews at Isidore’s funeral, but they no longer feel like strangers. They feel close to me — like family.

  “I wish my mother was here.”

  James sighs. “I do, too.”

  “But at least you are.” I squeeze his hand. “Thank you.”

  I notice the perimeter of the parish grounds are being monitored by an antisocial group of suited Disciples. I point them out to James. “Voloccults,” he says. “They keep the Living out of our business.”

  We observe the guards exchanging words with a group of locals and tourists, and at the end of their conversation, the onlookers go about their business as if this procession is just another common occurrence in Brighton.

  “Compulsion has its perks,” James adds.

  I’m happy to see Michelle in attendance. She’s dressed in a beautiful white-laced baptismal gown and sandals — a stark contradiction to the runaway girl from the pasture. “So Michelle got a spot?”

  James nods. “Micah and I made some arrangements.”

  Michelle smiles from ear to ear as she approaches the entrance of the narthex, her right arm interlocked with that of her Sire — or rather, her Alma. Before she passes through the red doors, Anthony gives her one last hug and a parting kiss on the forehead. Then he follows the line of Sires to the south entrance of the church, but not before giving me a courteous nod. It leads me to believe a future relationship between us could be tolerable.

  When James and I reach the narthex, he cups my cheeks with his hands and touches his forehead to mine. “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  He grins. “Good. It’s only a matter of minutes now.” James kisses my brow and leaves me with the rest of the candidates. I join the future Saved and shut the double doors behind me.

  Every inch of church beyond the glass partition is covered in white. Bouquets of baby’s breath and white roses adorn the chairs and altar, while snowy silk fabrics are draped from column to column along the north and south sides. It’s hard to imagine this is the same parish where my father’s funeral was held.

  Even the layout is different. The chairs have been rearranged to face the center of the nave, where the floor has been removed to reveal a full-immersion baptismal pool in the shape of a cross. Before the ceremony, James explained these fonts are hidden features of churches operated by the Afterliving. “We keep the smaller fonts in place to maintain appearances,” he revealed, “but baptizing infants is strictly a Living practice.”

  Now that I think about it, the area of floor that camouflages the Disciple font is where Wolfgang tapped his cane on the way to the pulpit during Isidore’s service. It’s like he wanted every Disciple in the room to know he knew where the pool was hidden — what arrogance. It’s no wonder they treated him so rudely when he rose to speak at the podium. Wolfgang had just mocked them.

  On the far side of the font, twelve Disciples in white robes and red sashes are positioned shoulder to shoulder, each holding a polished wooden chalice in their hands. James is at the far left, then Anthony, two girls and a guy I remember seeing at the allotment, and seven others I don’t recognize. Behind them are a dozen identical black caskets, our homes for the next three days of conversion. Temporary homes, I have to remind myself. Your death will only be temporary.

  Guests from the lawn file in through the side doors, enhancing the warmth of St. Nicholas with their colorful wardrobe. The candidates crowd by the window, waving to their future Sires and other friends who have come for support.

  My eyes search the narthex for Lucy, but she isn’t here.

  Michelle makes her way to me. “Hey. Remember me, the other American?” she laughs.

  �
��I do. Hello again. You’re looking better.”

  She blushes. “I’m so sorry you had to see me like that.”

  “You don’t need to apologize. I get it. This is all very…crazy.”

  Michelle smiles. “It is, isn’t it? I mean, vampires, right?”

  I give her a cautionary shush.

  “Oh, right. Sorry.”

  I take note of her golden eyes. “Memoreaper, huh? Cool.”

  “Yeah.” She points to mine. “Voloccult?”

  “Yup. And I just found out about you and Anthony. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. It’s so bizarre how he and I met. Like, fate, seriously. I wasn’t even living in Brighton at the time, but something just drew me here and — Sorry, I’m gonna start babbling,” she laughs. Michelle fans herself and exhales a nervous sigh. “Anyway, the night you and I met, that was the night he first — ” She motions to her face.

  “Grimmed?”

  “Yeah. And I freaked. I totally freaked.”

  “I can imagine. But you’re better now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. And hey, I’m sorry for getting in the way of your Baptism. I had no idea that was the case,” I confess.

  “Don’t even worry about it. Lucy switched with me.”

  My jaw drops. “She what?”

  “Yeah. Said she’d wait for next month.”

  But James just said… “When did she tell you?”

  “Oh, it was super last-minute. Like, an hour ago,” she laughs. “That girl, so amazing. And such a big help in calming me down, too.” Michelle looks through the partition. “There she is, right over there.” She points into the crowd and waves.

  I’m half-relieved and half-disappointed to see Lucy on the other side of the glass — she should be in here with us — but I can’t say I don’t admire her sacrifice. When Lucy spots us, she tenses her shoulders in excitement and mouths, “I’m so proud of you.”

  I wave back, elated, but also upset I have to wait on the next New Moon for her to be baptized.

  “Shh.” One of the female candidates gestures for the room to keep quiet. “It’s starting.”

  Micah approaches the pulpit. “Before we begin this glorious celebration, I want to take a moment to acknowledge a most grievous loss. This week, two of the Afterliving’s members were called upon by the Sire, Brother Gabriel Bedford and Brother Henry Linden. While ceremonies will be held in their memory later this week, I ask we bow our heads for a moment of quiet reflection, to honor their sacrifices to the Afterliving.”

  James mentioned Micah would do this. He also told me he’d ensure Micah wouldn’t mention my mother’s name with the deceased — despite Micah’s prophecy or how he feels about her recent Fellowship desertion.

  After several seconds of silence, the robed Disciple closest to the south entrance approaches the cross-shaped pool. He’s an older man — late seventies or so — but I wouldn’t be surprised if my assumption was a few centuries off. When he reaches the water, he turns to the pulpit.

  Micah continues. “Brother Lawrence, who do you bring to be baptized with the living waters of our Lord?”

  “I bring my friend and True Follower of Christ, Robert Crownley.” Lawrence extends an upraised palm in our direction, and the door to the nave is unlatched. The eldest of our group takes his cue and enters the church.

  We crowd at the window and watch as Robert approaches the base of the font. When his sandaled feet reach the water’s edge, Micah addresses him: “Do you desire to be baptized, Robert?”

  Robert stands, speechless, and his hands begin to shake. He looks from Micah to Lawrence, then out into the congregation. “I — ” His voice catches, and he wipes the sweat from his face. “Can you repeat the question?” Robert whispers.

  “What’s he saying?” the man beside me exclaims.

  “Is he even talking?” another boy inquires.

  “Is he having second thoughts? Are we still allowed to have second thoughts?” a girl squeaks, the same one who shushed us just moments ago.

  Tension in the narthex builds.

  “Do you desire to be baptized?” Micah asks once more, maintaining the calm in his voice.

  After a beat, Robert shouts, “Yes!” causing several Disciples to jump. Then he clears his throat and speaks in a more appropriate volume. “I’m sorry. I’m just a bit nervous. Yes. I do wish to be baptized.”

  Several parishioners giggle at Robert’s enthusiasm, and Lawrence, his Sire, breathes a sigh of relief.

  “Very well,” Micah replies. “And have you chosen a Patron?”

  “We have, Brother Micah,” Lawrence says. “From this day unto the return of the Supreme Sire, Robert Crownley will be known to his Brothers in Blood as Brother Sebastian.”

  “Excellent choice.”

  “Thank you,” Robert barks, eliciting more chuckles from the congregation.

  Micah smiles. “Brother Lawrence, will you support Brother Sebastian with your prayers and example as he grows in Christ?”

  “I will.”

  “And Brother Sebastian, will you obey and regard Brother Lawrence with the utmost respect and authority in your walk with the Supreme Sire, continuing in the Apostles’ teaching and Fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in due time, sharing the blood of our Lord, the living water of Christ, to other True Followers, committing yourself to a life of Discipleship into the Afterliving?”

  “I will.”

  “Will you forgive others as you are forgiven?”

  “I will.”

  “Will you seek to love your neighbor as yourself — human or Disciple, friend or adversary — and strive for the peace of this world?”

  “I will.”

  “Will you accept the cost and obedience of following Jesus Christ?”

  “I will.”

  “Will you put your devotion and duty toward the fruitful abundance of the Afterliving before any and all personal pursuits?”

  “I will.”

  “And will you see this through unto the return of our Lord?”

  At this, the congregation responds, “I will.”

  Lawrence steps forward and presents his wooden chalice to Robert. Then he pulls a small knife from beneath his robe and slides the blade across his right hand, allowing Disciple blood to drain into the cup. When the chalice is nearly full, Micah proceeds. “Brother Sebastian, please repeat after me: I believe…that Jesus is the Christ…the Son of the Living God…my True Lord…and my Supreme Sire.”

  When Robert has recited all of Micah’s words, he’s instructed to drink Lawrence’s blood. After consuming every drop, Lawrence takes the empty chalice from his Saved’s hands and passes it off to a nearby parishioner. He then kisses Robert’s forehead, tilts his head to the side, and pulls the white linen collar away from Robert’s neck.

  We push our foreheads against the partition, and the window fogs from our heated breaths. “You’re breathing too hard. I can’t see,” the dramatic girl complains.

  “You’re breathing too hard,” a man fires back.

  “Shh,” several others remark. One of the boys wipes the condensation away with his white sleeve, and we agree to hold our breaths as much as possible for the duration of the ceremony.

  Lawrence grims, allowing his pupils to engulf his steel-gray irises. Then he lowers his mouth to Robert’s neck and punctures the skin. Robert braces his hands against Lawrence’s arms, but instead of pushing away, he pulls his Sire closer. The two hold each other in a warm embrace until Robert’s knees fold, and he faints.

  James told me Sires can drink as much or as little of their Saved’s blood as they want, depending on how young they’d like to become. Lawrence drinks his fill, and the change in his body is instantaneous. The transformation starts with Lawrence’s hair and works its way down: The thinning gray fluffs into a fu
ller black; the wrinkles around his eyes become less pronounced; the lines across his forehead disappear; and the skin around Lawrence’s cheeks and neck snaps back, revealing a tighter jawline and more defined throat. The proportions of his robe change, as well, becoming fuller around his shoulders and chest and looser around the waist.

  Once Lawrence’s alteration is complete, the church proclaims in unison, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a man be reborn of living water and Holy Spirit, he cannot enter the Afterliving of God.”

  Lawrence lifts Robert into his arms and descends three steps to the bottom of the baptismal pool. He cradles Robert’s neck while positioning his Saved with his arms outstretched, reminiscent of Christ on the cross. “Brother Sebastian,” he says, “I now baptize you in the name of the Sire, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, for the forgiveness of your sins, and with the gift of everlasting life.” Then Lawrence removes his hand from behind Robert’s neck and presses down, immersing his Saved below the surface of the water.

  Five seconds… Ten seconds… Fifteen… Robert’s arms and legs begin thrashing from below the surface of the font, splashing water across the feet of the Disciples closest to the pool, but Lawrence never lets him up for air.

  We watch with bated breath as a Sire converts his Saved, and in the backs of our minds, we’re all thinking the same thing: I’m next.

  Temporary, Manny. Remember, it’s only temporary…

  After what seems like an eternity, the water stops churning, and Robert’s battle for air comes to an end. Lawrence lifts his dead body out of the pool, cradling Robert like a sleeping child. He carries his Saved to the front of the nave and places him in the last black coffin on the right, then resumes his former position in line.

  The ceremony continues, and another Disciple approaches the font. Then another. And another. One by one, each Sire undergoes the same age-defying change as they baptize their Saved. The younger Disciples are mindful to drink less blood than the elder, lest they regress to too young of an age.