“A very strong human?” she asked.
The image of Winter's bulging arms flashed into my mind. “Maybe, but that kind of strength …”
“Under pressure, little old grannies have lifted entire cars.”
She had a point. “How would you like to visit the Church of Eternal Life?” I asked.
“Thinking about joining up?”
I frowned at her.
She laughed. “Okay, okay, stop glowering at me. Why are we going?”
“Last night they raided the party with clubs. I'm not saying they meant to kill anyone, but when you start beating on people”-I shrugged-“accidents happen.”
“You think the Church is behind it?”
“Don't know, but if they hate the freaks enough to storm their parties, maybe they hate them enough to kill them.”
“Most of the Church's members are vampires,” she said.
“Exactly. Superhuman strength and the ability to get close to the victims.”
Ronnie smiled. “Not bad, Blake, not bad.”
I bowed my head modestly. “Now all we got to do is prove it.”
Her eyes were still shiny with humor when she said, “Unless of course they didn't do it.”
“Oh, shut up. It's a place to start.”
She spread her hands wide. “Hey, I'm not complaining. My father always told me, 'Never criticize, unless you can do a better job.”
“You don't know what's going on either, huh?” I asked.
Her face sobered. “Wish I did.”
So did I.
34
The Church of Eternal Life, main building, is just off Page Avenue, far from the District. The Church doesn't like to be associated with the riffraff. Vampire strip club, Circus of the Damned, tsk-tsk. How shocking. No, they think of themselves as mainstream undead.
The church itself is set in an expanse of naked ground. Small trees struggled to grow into big trees and shade the startling white of the church. It seemed to glow in the hot July sunshine, like a land-bound moon.
I pulled into the parking lot and parked on the shiny new black asphalt. Only the ground looked normal, bare reddish earth churned to mud. The grass had never had a chance.
“Pretty,” Ronnie said. She nodded in the building's direction.
I shrugged. “If you say so. Frankly, I never get used to the generic effect.”
“Generic effect?” she asked.
“The stained glass is all abstract color. No scenes of Christ, no saints, no holy symbols. Clean and pure as a wedding gown fresh out of plastic.”
She got out of the car, sunglasses sliding into place. She stared at the church, arms crossed over her stomach. “It looks like they just unwrapped it and haven't put the trimmings on yet.”
“Yeah, a church without God. What is wrong with this picture?”
She didn't laugh. “Will anybody be up this time of day?”
“Oh, yes, they recruit during the day.”
“Recruit?”
“You know, go door to door, like the Mormons and the Jehovah's Witnesses.”
She stared at me. “You've got to be kidding?”
“Do I look like I'm kidding?”
She shook her head. “Door-to-door vampires. How”-she wiggled her hands back and forth-“convenient.”
“Yep,” I said. “Let's go see who's minding the office.”
Broad white steps led up to huge double doors. One of the doors was open; the other had a sign that read, “Enter Friend and be at Peace.” I fought an urge to tear down the sign and stomp on it.
They were preying on one of the most basic fears of man, death. Everyone fears death. People who don't believe in God have a hard time with death being it. Die and you cease to exist. Poof. But at the Church of Eternal Life, they promise just what the name says. And they can prove it. No leap of faith. No waiting around. No questions left unanswered. How does it feel to be dead? Just ask a fellow church member.
Oh, and you'll never grow old either. No face-lifts, no tummy tucks, just eternal youth. Not a bad deal, as long as you don't believe in the soul.
As long as you don't believe the soul becomes trapped in the vampire's body and can never reach Heaven. Or worse yet, that vampires are inherently evil and you are condemned to Hell. The Catholic Church sees voluntary vampirism as a kind of suicide. I tend to agree. Though the Pope also excommunicated all animators, unless we ceased raising the dead. Fine; I became Episcopalian.
Polished wooden pews ran in two wide rows up towards what would have been an altar. There was a pulpit, but I couldn't call it an altar. It was just a blank blue wall surrounded by more white upsweeping walls.
The windows were red and blue stained glass. The sunlight sparkled through them, making delicate colored patterns on the white floor.
“Peaceful,” Ronnie said.
“So are graveyards.”
She smiled at me. “I'd thought you'd say that.”
I frowned at her. “No teasing; we're here on business.”
“What exactly do you want me to do?”
“Just back me up; look menacing if you can manage it. Look for clues.”
“Clues?” she asked.
“Yeah, you know, clues, ticket stubs, half-burned notes, leads.”
“Oh, those.”
“Quit grinning at me, Ronnie.”
She adjusted her sunglasses and did her best “cold” look. She's pretty good at it. Thugs have been known to shrivel at twenty paces. We would see how it worked on church members.
There was a small door to one side of the “altar.” It led into a carpeted hallway. The air-conditioned hush enveloped us. There were bathrooms to the left, and an open room to the right. Perhaps this is where they had … coffee after services. No, probably not coffee. A rousing sermon followed by a little blood, perhaps?
The offices were marked with a little sign that said “Office.” How clever. There was an outer office, the proverbial secretarial desk and etc … A young man sat behind the desk. Slender, short brown hair carefully cut. Wire-frame glasses decorated a pair of really lovely brown eyes. There was a healing bite mark on his throat.
He rose and came around the desk, hand extended, smiling at us. “Greetings, friends, I'm Bruce. How may I help you today?”
The handshake was firm but not too firm, strong but not overbearing, a friendly lingering touch, but not sexual. Really good car salesmen shake hands like that. Real estate brokers, too. I have this nice little soul, hardly used at all. The price is right. Trust me. If his big brown eyes had looked any more sincere, I would have given him a doggie biscuit and patted his head.
“I would like to set up an appointment to speak with Malcolm,” I said.
He blinked once. “Have a seat.”
I sat. Ronnie leaned against the wall, to one side of the door. Hands folded, looking cool and bodyguardish.
Bruce went back around his desk, after offering us coffee, and sat with folded hands. “Now, Miss …”
“Ms. Blake.”
He didn't flinch; he hadn't heard of me. How fleeting fame. “Ms. Blake, why do you wish to meet with the head of our church? We have many competent and understanding counselors that will help you make your decision.”