Hel
The bells stop after the twelfth chime, and we're both frozen stiff.
Michael is still staring at the envelope in my hand, but his expression has changed. The warmth that had appeared between us during the night is long gone.
"You know him," I say.
"I don't know who you're talking about."
"Oh Father, enough of your games already."
His jaw tightens. "Helena—"
"Don't."
The name slips between us like a blade.
He looks toward the window, where the morning light has begun to light up the sleeping town. I watch him carefully, searching his face for the smallest hesitation, the slightest crack in whatever story he has already decided to tell me.
There is one. It's tiny, but I see it. "You know something."
"I know that someone is trying to manipulate you."
"Vera has been manipulating me for two centuries. That doesn't explain the priest."
"No."
"Then explain him," I push.
He says nothing so I step closer. "You came after me because you knew Vera was coming. You knew enough to understand that I was in danger, and you somehow knew Thomas would be involved. Now I find a letter telling me to ask my priest about a man who was present the night she changed me, and suddenly you have nothing to say?"
"I never said I had nothing to say."
"You're thinking very loudly."
That almost earns a smile, but, instead, he takes the envelope from my hand and studies the writing again. "Where did you get this?"
"It was in the box."
"No. I mean where did the person who left it get the information?"
"I don't know."
"You should."
I laugh bitterly. "Wonderful. Now we're back to you giving me orders."
"This isn't a game, bloody hell."
"I know."
My voice comes out sharper than I intended, and he looks at me for a long moment. "I believe you."
Those three words stop me. Not because I haven't heard them before, but because I realise I actually care whether he means them. He folds the letter and slips it into his coat. "We need to go to the church."
"Why?"
"Because if someone wants you to ask me about this priest, they expect you to start asking questions somewhere else."
"And you think the church is the answer?"
"No." He looks toward the front door. "I think it's where we start."
I should refuse, but I just reach for my coat.
Outside, Millbrook is waking. People move along the streets with coffee cups in their hands, shopkeepers unlock doors, and somewhere a dog barks at a passing delivery truck. It is all painfully ordinary.
I have always found ordinary things more frightening than monsters, because at least monsters announce themselves, whereas people don't. Michael walks beside me without speaking.
Then he says, "You should know something before we get there."
I glance at him. "I trust that means you're about to ruin my morning."
"There are records in the church."
"Of course there are."
"Old records."
"How old?"
"Older than the parish."
I stop walking and he takes another few steps before noticing. "What?"
"You said the parish."
"Yes."
"The church records go back further than the parish itself?"
He nods. "Some of them."
I stare at him suspiciously. "You've been keeping secrets."
"So have you."
"I'm considerably more attractive when I do it."
He shakes his head. "Ah, there she is."
I try to hold back a smile, but our playfulness after such dread and reminiscing offers a breath of relief, even just for a while. Then we keep walking.
The church appears at the end of the street, its stone walls pale beneath the morning sun. I've walked past it countless times, sat inside it, listened to Michael preach from its pulpit, but I've never once wondered what was hidden beneath it, yet now I can't stop wondering.
He unlocks the side entrance, and the door groans as it opens. We step inside and the church smells exactly as it always has: like wax, old wood, and dust. But beneath it all, there's something I recognise immediately.
Blood.
Fresh enough to make every instinct in me wake up so I stop to gather myself.
Michael turns. "You smell it."
"Yes."
His hand moves beneath his coat. "Where?"
I close my eyes and inhale slowly. "Down."
His expression tightens. "Down?"
"Yeah, beneath us. For sure."
He looks toward the floor. "There are records beneath the church."
"Then let's see what else is down there."
He leads me toward the sacristy; behind the small room where he keeps his vestments is a narrow wooden door. He takes a key from around his neck and unlocks it. It opens onto a narrow stone staircase, and I stare down into the darkness.
"You've been hiding a basement from me."
"Why would I have thought you'd be interested?"
"I've lived through several wars, Michael. I am always interested in things people are trying to hide from me."
He gives me a quick look and starts down. I follow close behind him. The stairs seem to go farther than they should, and with every step, the air grows colder, and the smell of blood becomes stronger. By the time we reach the bottom, the sound of the church above us has disappeared completely.
The stairs open into a narrow underground passage where shelves line both walls, packed with ledgers, boxes and books so old that some have collapsed beneath their own weight. A thin layer of dust covers almost everything.
Almost being key. I run one finger across the nearest shelf, and the dust is thick everywhere, but there is a clean mark beside it. Someone has recently taken something.
"Michael."
He turns, and I point toward the shelf. He walks over and examines it.
"You're right."
The corridor opens into a larger chamber about twenty feet ahead. There is a wooden table in the centre, two old chairs beside it, and a single oil lamp burning despite the fact that neither of us lit it. I stop at the entrance, waiting for Michael to notice it.
"What?"
"The lamp."
He looks at it but says nothing. The flame moves gently even though there is no breeze. Someone has been here. Michael reaches for the weapon beneath his coat while I close my eyes to follow the scent again.
It's much stronger here, but there is something else beneath it. "He's here," I whisper.
Michael looks at me. "Who?"
"I don't know."
A sound comes from the far side of the room. A slow scrape of something against stone.
Michael moves in front of me. "Stay behind me."
"That's adorable."
"Hel."
Something in his voice makes the joke die before it reaches my lips. We step into the chamber together as the old wooden floor creaks beneath our feet.
The shelves are still, and the lamp continues to burn with everything around it frozen still. Then we hear it.
A voice, low and rhythmic, like someone is praying.
The words are unfamiliar, but the cadence sends something cold through me. It definitely isn't a prayer meant for God. It sounds more like an incantation.
The voice comes from somewhere beyond the shelves, and Michael raises one hand, silently telling me to stay where I am.
Naturally, I don't, so he looks back at me, and I just shrug. His expression says he expected nothing less. We move around the shelves together while the voice continues.
Slower and closer now. I can hear the scrape of something against the stone floor between each whispered phrase until, finally, the prayer stops.
Silence, yet I hear breathing. Not Michael's or mine. Suddenly, something moves behind us. We turn too late, watching a figure step out from the darkness.
He is tall, dressed entirely in black, and at first glance he could almost pass for human. His face is pale, his dark hair damp against his forehead, and there is something unnervingly calm about the way he looks at us.
Then he smiles.
I see his teeth, and they're not fangs like mine. They're something much worse: jagged teeth, too many and too sharp to belong in a human mouth. His eyes are completely black, devoid of both iris and pupil.
I take one slow step backward, and Michael moves forward and in front of me. The stranger's smile widens.
"Helena Blackwood."
My blood runs cold. "You know my name."
"We know everything about you."
Michael's voice hardens. "Who sent you?"
The creature looks at him, and laughs. "Does it matter?"
"Of course."
The creature tilts his head. "Vera."
The name settles over the room like a death sentence, and something cold moves through me. "Why?"
The creature's eyes return to mine. "She wants you frightened."
I stare at him. "That's all?"
He smiles. "No."
He moves fast. Far too fast; I barely have time to react before he launches himself across the room. I duck as his hand tears through the space where my throat had been. Michael catches his shoulder and drives him sideways, sending both of them crashing into one of the shelves.
Books rain onto the floor, but the creature recovers almost instantly and turns toward me. I strike first this time, closing my hand around his throat, and for a moment I have him pinned against the stone wall. His skin is unnaturally cold beneath my fingers.
Out of nowhere, again, he smiles. His hand closes around my wrist, and pain explodes through my arm right before he throws me across the room. I hit the stone floor hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs.
"Hel!"
Michael is suddenly there, driving his fist into the creature's jaw, and the impact echoes through the chamber. The creature barely reacts and swings again. Michael ducks, grabbing him around the waist, and drives him into the wall.
The creature snarls, and his black eyes flick back toward me. "You should have listened to her."
I push myself upright. "What the hell does she want?"
The creature smiles. "You, of course."
He lunges toward me again, but Michael intercepts him, and they collide with enough force to shake dust from the ceiling.
He shoves the creature backward. "You're not taking her."
The creature laughs. "You still think this is about taking her?"
Michael's expression changes. "What does that mean?"
The creature's smile widens. "She wanted you frightened, Helena. Nothing more."
I stare at him. "Then why send you?"
"Because you needed to remember what hunts in the dark."
He attacks again, but this time Michael meets him head-on, and they crash into the wall. I move toward them, fearing the worst.
"Michael!"
"Stay back!"
The creature swings, but Michael ducks as something in his face changes. His eyes darken, not completely, but enough for me to freeze. He grabs the creature by the throat and lifts him from the ground. Now, the creature's expression changes. For the first time, he looks afraid.
Michael's voice is no longer entirely his own. "You came into my church." He slams the creature against the wall. "You came for her." Another impact. "And you thought I would let you leave?"
The creature's claws dig into Michael's arms, and blood runs down his sleeves, but he doesn't seem to notice.
I have seen vampires fight before and fought wars myself. I have watched men tear each other apart with swords and watched creatures far older than me turn cities into feeding grounds, but I have never seen anything quite like this.
"Michael," I whisper, but he doesn't hear me.
The creature does, and his black eyes turn toward me. "Your priest doesn't want you to know what he is."
Michael's head snaps toward him. "Enough."
The creature laughs. "You think you can hide forever?"
Michael drives him into the wall again. "Leave."
The creature looks at me. "Ask him about the orders."
Michael's expression becomes something unrecognisable. He releases the creature, and it lands on its feet. For a heartbeat, neither moves. Then it lunges, but Michael meets it halfway.
The impact sends both of them crashing through a wooden shelving unit, and the books scatter across the floor.
I move toward them again.
"Hel!" Michael's voice cuts through the room. "Get out!"
"No."
"Now!"
The creature rises behind him, and Michael turns. His eyes meet mine, and now, there is something in them I have never seen before. Fear.
Not for himself but for me. "Please."
The word stops me. He's never asked me for anything, so I take one step backward, then another, and the creature attacks again, but again, Michael intercepts it.
"Go!"
I hate myself for doing it, and I hate him for making me, but I run. I reach the top of the stairs just as something crashes beneath me. The entire building seems to tremble, and then another impact follows.
After it…silence.