The veil that had torn open in Claremore had brought creatures into their quiet valley that Father Claremore had never imagined truly walked the earth. Beings he had once believed belonged only in old tales now stood in his church cellar.
Manlius, the sorcerer whose presence hummed faintly with power. In the flickering torchlight he looked almost regal and otherworldly. Boaz, a hulking werewolf with the scent of wildflowers and soil clinging to him
And they were not the only ones.
Outside, beyond the stone walls, others waited in the night, waiting to hear what would be done with the vampire.
Father Claremore didn’t know the answer to that question either.
Truthfully, he didn’t want the creature anywhere near his church. The very thought of it made his stomach twist with dread. But he also couldn’t ignore the truth gnawing at his conscience: these beings had protected the valley tonight.
If the demons had crossed fully through the chasm, the valley and every soul living in it would have been the first to fall.
As frightened as he was, gratitude kept his mouth shut.
“I hope so,” Boaz said, dragging the sleeve of his tunic across his brow. The cloth had once been white, but it was now stiff with dirt and drying blood. “The stake seems to have weakened him.”
“What’s going to happen to him?” Manlius asked, studying the coffin thoughtfully. “He’s weakened now. But he will rise.”
“I know,” Boaz said.
A heavy silence settled over the cellar as all three of them stared at the vampire lying inside the iron coffin.
“He was infected by the demon that attacked him,” Manlius continued softly. “And there’s no telling what he will become when he wakes.” His gaze flicked toward Boaz. “Perhaps we should kill him while he’s still weak. I don’t think anyone here wants to fight him again.”
Father Claremore held his breath, his fingers tightening around the crucifix as he waited for Boaz to say something. Anything.
“That’s not our decision to make,” Boaz said at last. “He’s the king of vampires. They should take responsibility for him.”
Manlius lifted a pale eyebrow. “Do you think they would kill their own king?”
“No,” Boaz said without hesitation. “They’ve already lost a lot tonight. I don’t think they could handle something like that too.”
“Shit,” Manlius muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand down his face. “If only we’d managed to close the chasm before the war started.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Boaz said. “You did everything you could. We might not have saved everyone… but we saved a lot of lives tonight.”
“I know,” Manlius said. His shoulders sagged a little. “It just doesn’t feel like it.”
For a moment, none of them spoke. The only sounds were the distant crackle of torches and the faint murmur of voices from outside.
“Perhaps he can heal himself,” Boaz finally said, his gaze drifting back toward the vampire in the coffin. “He’s a born vampire. Maybe his body will fight whatever the demon did to him while he sleeps.”
Manlius tapped his chin thoughtfully. “You think?”
“I don’t know,” Boaz admitted with a tired shrug. “But it’s worth a try. I really don’t want to deal with more death tonight. We’ve already lost too much. It wouldn’t hurt to give him a chance.” He rubbed his eyes, then added, “Though it’s not just our decision.”
“We should talk to the others then,” Manlius said, turning toward the staircase.
He started up the stone steps. Boaz lingered a moment longer, casting one last look at the vampire sealed inside the coffin, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
Then he turned and followed Manlius.
Father Claremore hurried after them, nearly tripping in his haste. The thought of being left alone in the cellar with the creature made his skin crawl.
Cool night air brushed against Father Claremore’s face as they stepped into the courtyard. But the scene waiting for them depressed him more.
Low groans of the wounded drifted through the courtyard, filling the silence. Some sat slumped against the church walls while others moved among them, tending wounds and whispering healing spells.