Page 56 of Of Faith and Fangs
As I freed Father O’Malley’s left wrist, the church doors burst open. More Order members poured in, these armed with crossbows, silver knives, and stakes.
“Down!” Desiderius shouted, shoving an Order member aside to reach us.
I pulled Father O’Malley from the cross just as Silas pushed through the melee, drawing out a crucifix—the same one that Silas told me the vampires stole, the one I “awakened” before my turn. It glowed with a sickly blue light.
“You should have stayed loyal, Desiderius,” Silas called. “Now you’ll burn with the rest of these abominations.”
He raised the crucifix high, and a beam of light shot forth like liquid fire. It struck Sarah first as she turned to flee. She didn’t even have time to scream before her body crumbled to ash, the particles drifting through the sanctuary like obscene snow. Elizabeth was next, the light catching her mid-leap as she tried to attack Silas. Her face registered a moment of perfect surprise before she too dissolved into dust.
“No!” I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat with such force that the stained glass windows shuddered in their frames.
Martha pushed me behind her, her maternal instinct asserting itself even in undeath. “Run,” she commanded. “Get the Father out—“
The light struck her full in the chest. For a heartbeat, she remained whole, her eyes meeting mine with a strange peace. “It doesn’t hurt,” she whispered, before disintegrating like the others.
Grief struck me like a physical blow, driving me to my knees. These women had been my victims, then my progeny, and finally my responsibility. In the space of seconds, three of them had been reduced to ash—their second deaths on my conscience just as their first had been.
Ruth and Rebecca had taken cover behind the altar, their eyes wide with terror. Desiderius moved to stand between us and Silas, his ancient face twisted with fury.
“That weapon was created to destroy demons, Silas” he snarled. “We are not demons. You pervert its purpose, just as you’ve perverted everything the Order once stood for.”
Silas laughed, the sound echoing off the church’s vaulted ceiling. “God’s creatures? You’re an abomination, Desiderius. All of you. That you can stand on consecrated ground changes nothing.”
“It changes everything,” Father O’Malley said weakly, leaning heavily against me. “It proves what I’ve been telling Alice—that faith and love, not nature, determines one’s relationship with the divine.”
Silas’s face contorted with rage. “Blasphemy!” He raised the crucifix again, this time aiming directly at me and the priest.
What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Desiderius launched himself forward with supernatural speed, placing his body directly in the path of the light. The beam struck him full force, and he screamed—a sound of such agony that I felt it in my own dead heart. His ancient flesh began to burn, blackening and peeling away in layers, but unlike the others, he didn’t immediately turn to ash.
His advanced age must’ve given him more resilience. Or, perhaps, it was something else. An innate holiness, despite his unholy form. The same kind of righteousness Father O’Malley promised me was available, if I was willing to take up my cross, if I was willing to subject my darkness to the light of the world.
The scent of charred flesh filled the sanctuary, thick and choking. Desiderius remained standing, his body smoking but intact, his golden eyes fixed on Silas with centuries of hatred.
“Run,” he gasped to me, his voice barely recognizable through his ruined throat. “I can’t hold much longer.”
Father O’Malley clutched my arm. “Alice, we must go. Now.”
The crucifix’s light seemed to be weakening, its glow dimming as if whatever powered it was being depleted. Silas noticed too, cursing as he shook the artifact.
“Ruth! Rebecca!” I called. “To me!”
They darted from behind the altar, keeping low, their faces contorted with pain from both the consecrated ground and the loss of their sisters. As they reached us, I saw Ruth’s hands were still flickering with flames—smaller now, but present.
“Can you create cover?” I asked her.
She nodded grimly. “Enough to get us out the side door.”
I looked back at Desiderius, still standing between us and Silas, his body a charred ruin that somehow refused to collapse. His sacrifice—the debt he claimed to owe Father O’Malley—had bought us precious seconds.
“Thank you,” I said, knowing he could hear me even across the chaos.
His head inclined slightly in acknowledgment. Then, with a roar that shook dust from the rafters, he summoned what strength remained and lurched toward Silas.
With Desiderius occupying Silas, I saw my chance. The processional torch stood in its holder near the altar, its flame dancing like a beacon in the chaos. I moved with preternatural speed, snatching the heavy brass pole from its stand. The metal felt cold against my dead skin, but the weight was nothing to my vampiric strength. It was a long-shot, but I had to try. I couldn’t join in the fight—that crucifix might burn me alive like it had the others. Not to mention, Silas had a talisman of some kind that weakened me when I got too close. This was the best chance I had.
When I launched the torch, it cut through the air, its flame trailing behind it like the tail of a comet.
Silas turned at the last second, perhaps sensing the danger. His eyes widened in shock—the look of a man who believed himself untouchable suddenly confronted with his mortality. The torch struck with such force that the brass pole punched through his neck, pinning him to the wooden panel behind him. His mouth opened in a silent scream as blood fountained from the wound, spraying across the marble floor.
