Page 16 of Vampire Claus

Their walk had brought them back to St. Stephen’s. The sounds of another service taking place, surely midnight Mass given the late hour, made Taviano pause. He looked at the belfry high above. “I was on the roof there when I spotted the muggers coming after you earlier.”

“Lucky for me. Talk about the worst dudes. That could have been bad.” Paul stopped next to him, also craning his neck. The muffled sound of a choir carried through the closed doors of the church. Paul must have caught the wistful look on Taviano’s face. “Did you, like, go into the church earlier?”

Taviano shook his head. “No. It’s forbidden.”

Paul wore a puzzled frown. “What does that mean?”

“It means a bloodbeast can’t enter a holy sanctuary.”

“Holy to whom? And you were on the roof earlier. Why is it different?”

Taviano thought about that. “I don’t know. Bronislav never explained, beyond telling me that we couldn’t enter a holy place.”

“So, like, you never tested it?”

“Of course not,” Taviano exclaimed, scandalized. “A church is sacrosanct. I’m hosting a demon that doesn’t belong in there.”

Paul’s eyes scanned the front of the church and moved to the belfry. “There’s a big-ass crucifix on top. Does it drive you away? Or make you hurt?”

“Well, no,” Taviano admitted cautiously, and Paul snorted.

“You know what? I’m calling bullshit on Bratislava.”

“Bronislav.”

“Whatevs. Here’s what I think.” An edge of excitement had crept into Paul’s tone, and he bobbed his head briskly. “This demon thing and not entering a holy place and all that is just crap.” He twined his arms around Taviano’s waist. “You can touch a church. You choose to feed only from bad guys. You gave a bunch of homeless kids Christmas, for fuck’s sake.” Eyes glinting fiercely, he declared, “You aren’t a demon, Taviano. You’re an angel.”

The words moved Taviano. He didn’t believe them for a moment but it was a sweet thing to hear. Still, he shook his head in denial. “I’m a killer.”

“Not really. You try not to kill when you eat, even if it’s some evil dude. That doesn’t sound like a monster to me, any more than a meat eater who survives on cows and pigs is a monster.”

Taviano brushed Paul’s hair out of his eyes. “I appreciate the way you see me. But you can’t feel the thing inside me and what it wants to do. It’s completely amoral. Everyone is food.”

“Even me?”

That made Taviano pause. “Well, no. For some reason, that isn’t how it thinks of you.”

“Exactly!” Paul cried, as if he’d proved a point. When Taviano continued to show doubt, Paul expelled a loud sigh and said in a frustrated tone, “You don’t believe me.” After a moment’s thought, he took Taviano’s hand. “Try. For me. As a Christmas present.”

“Try what?”

“Let’s see how close you can get to the church before you actually feel something, like, pushing back. Or just weird even.”

“I don’t know…” But he allowed Paul to coax him closer to the building.

“Step by step. Look. The doors are closed.” Paul waited for Taviano to join him at the top of the stairs leading to the church. He looked at the sky. “No lightning bolts. No smoke or brimstone.” Eyes again on Taviano, he tilted his head. “Do you feel anything different?”

Taviano shook his head slowly. The bloodbeast didn’t recoil from proximity to the church. Come to think of it, neither had it recoiled earlier, when he crouched on the belfry. He hadn’t noticed then, and still he sensed nothing unusual in the air.

Tentatively he stretched to brush fingers over the wooden doors, ready to pull back at the first burn or pain. Nothing happened. The door was merely wood.

Paul grinned and pulled open the side closest to him. He stepped inside and turned around to face Taviano. “One finger maybe?”

If Taviano’s heart could change rhythm, it would pound. The combined scents of the Mass, wafting through the opened door, pulled at his memories. He extended his hand slowly until he broke the plane of the threshold. Nothing like the eldritch, otherworldly force that protected a home interfered at the church door. Clearly too many people went in for the barrier magic to shield the public spaces. Still, Taviano expected the sanctified ground to repel him. At any moment he anticipated searing pain or, well,something.

Seconds passed with only his hand in the narthex of the church.

Could it be true?