Part 10 (1/2)

As I stand there in that dank and grave-chilled sanctuary, I feel almost drunk with a sudden realization: In an hour, I figure, we'll be well away from here and Chet will have cured me of my curse forever. Good-bye, vampires. Good-bye, midnight hour. Good-bye, Tch'muchgar, the Melancholy One, Vampire Lord.

We walk back down the aisle. Over in the side aisle, rolled up, lies a mildewed cloth banner with faceless felt figures in bright colors. A stack of songbooks leans up against a wall. Someone has poured a bucket of red paint all over them.

In the hallway, one of the men with the bleeding arms leans up against the window frame, smoking.

”Christopher has spoken with the Melancholy One,” Chet announces beatifically.

Several men walk over. They all look at me. I nod.

”s.h.i.+t, great,” says the guy smoking the cigarette. ”What . . . I mean, what did he say?”

Chet looks at me, scratching the corner of his mouth with his pinkie.

I squirm for a minute. Then I say, ”He proclaims that he shall lead us all to Victory. With a capital V.”

Dr. Chasuble looks at the others. ”Great!” he says.

”Yeah, great!”

Dr. Chasuble, Chet, and I go back into the parish hall. Everyone looks up at us. Dr. Chasuble and Chet smile at them to rea.s.sure them. Some of them smile back, and on so many faces, I see fangs.

What looks like a middle-aged lady dressed in cornflower blue rayon slacks is standing by the food table as we pa.s.s. ”Go well?” she asks.

”Yes, indeed,” says Chet.

She gestures toward the two ca.s.seroles. ”Would you like some of Jennifer or Dave?”

”No, thanks,” says Chet.

She looks at me and offers, ”Jennifer Carreiras, fifteen, of Haverhill, or Dave Philips, fifty-three, of Springfield? Dave has a broccoli garnish, and Jenn has Doris Blum's special cornflakes crust - lots of crunchy bits.”

”No, thanks,” says Chet. ”We have someone waiting for us out in the car.”

”Oh! Bon appet.i.t,” says the woman in cornflower blue.

The teenagers are staring at me from their corner. The kid with the tattoo has tilted back in his chair and is looking at me enviously and with a little bit of hate. I want to get the h.e.l.l out of there.

Dr. Chasuble is talking quietly with Chet as we walk out. They talk about the technical aspects of spells and when spells are to be cast.

We are outside. A chill wind is blown in rags and tatters through the trees. One lone frog is belching in the swamp.

Suddenly, I say to Dr. Chasuble, ”I thought you only sucked blood. Why are you eating flesh?”

He looks at me curiously for a second. ”We,” he says softly. ”Not 'you.'”

I can tell Chet is angry about the slip.

The bullfrog calls through the trees.

Dr. Chasuble says, ”Eating flesh is a disgusting habit. I agree. We do it mostly for the little ones, the kids, when they haven't yet become vampiric. It's important to accustom them to the idea of taking human life for food. Otherwise, they can prove very dangerous and difficult to the family when p.u.b.erty hits.”

Chet nods. ”The family that preys together, stays together.”

Dr. Chasuble laughs and puts his arm around my shoulder. ”But look. Forget about eating. Drinking - that's the thing. Exsanguination - draining blood - is a beautiful act, Christopher. At first, of course, it will be messy. Before you get the hang of it, you'll gag, and lap, but after a while you'll learn how to really use your fangs to your best advantage. When you're a real pro, the pumping of the heart will send the blood squirting right into your mouth. Effortless. Sweet. Thick. Tart.

”And then it's a beautiful moment. Lying on top of someone, feeling the quivering of their heart and just slowly, smoothly, silently pulling their lifeblood out of them. It's a very gentle-feeling death. Eventually, they just stop struggling.”

He stands back from me. The frog is silent in his pond. ”And remember,” he says. ”Lolli is up for a date whenever you want to have your first experience. I imagine Chet can teach you a thing or two, but Lolli has a good head on her shoulders and can show you the ropes. If you don't feed soon, your blood-l.u.s.t is going to become overpowering, your fangs will come out, and people will start to notice things.”

Chet holds out his hand. ”We'll be in touch,” he says.

”Chet,” says Dr. Chasuble, shaking.

”Nice to meet you,” I say.

”And we'll be in touch, too,” says Dr. Chasuble. ”Hope you'll join us during the Sad Festival of Vampires. Long reign Tch'muchgar.”

”Long reign Tch'muchgar,” I agree hastily.

”Hey, ditto,” says Chet the Celestial Being.

We walk down the drive toward Chet's car.

Tom and Jerk are toppled in the back seat. Jerk has curled up awkwardly with his cheek on his knee, and there is drool on the denim.

Without talking, Chet starts the car, puts it into drive, and heads back down the cracked road. We drive for a ways before we start to pa.s.s small bungalows in the woods, some of them with sagging aluminum toolsheds or car trailers for boats, resting on the pine needles.

Chet seems mildly triumphant. ”Very well done,” he says. ”You cut it a bit fine there at the end. With the 'you.'”

”Now do you cure my vampirism?” I ask.

”Yes, of course,” says Chet. ”I'll send someone around. I'm not authorized to do it myself. But I'll arrange for an annulment of the curse. Do you know your social security number?”

”No,” I say.

”Hm,” he says, pondering as he taps on the steering wheel. ”It may take a couple extra days then. But there will be someone, don't worry.”

”Have you figured out any more about how I got cursed?” I ask. ”I mean, I don't think I've ever been bitten or anything.”

”No, I haven't. As to guesses? Difficult to say. It might have been years ago, and it's just taking effect now because of p.u.b.erty and hormonal changes, sort of like asthma or allergies. In any event, we'll have you fixed up in a jiffy.”

We approach the highway. And we are soaring along it, the wind whiffling in through the back window.

We drive along, and I am half dazed by what I have seen. In my head I am picturing what I will be able to say to Rebecca during the Sad Festival of Vampires: We are standing by the reservoir, and the air of the summer's night is as sweet as wine, and she's saying, ”Come on. Did you really enter Tch'muchgar's world and set in place the seed of his destruction?”

”Yes!” I say, laughing. ”Didn't I just say that?”

”You did just say that, but also you were lying.”