Lourdes: A Vampire In The Old West

19. His Left Hand

Church bells ring. Leon Breybinder, in black sopping with sand and sweat, stands at his lectern. His fingers dance and a giddy grin takes up the whole of his face. His eager eyes and raised chin inspect all those before him. The old man presides over his congregation.

"We are blessed!" Breybinder proclaims. "As God gave us the first rays of this day, I burned one of Satan's sons back to ashes! For so very long, this land and its people have been ill, but we are finally rid of disease! I am your priest, I am your doctor, and I am sure grace now smiles on us all! This is the first day in a generation for the Town of Heather where a black cloud doesn't mire the sky!" The pastor strolls out from his podium. "And Providence recognizing this, this very day, emissaries from a righteous parish have come to visit us! Welcomed by Brother Sommers, missionaries from the Church of the Secular Cross have joined this celebration of my great works!" Breybinder claps. Self-congratulatory applause echoes from the old man's own hands, and as a confident stride brings slick boots from the chapel's back room, the solitary ovation becomes a chorus. The vampire Volga crosses in front of the altar. He bows. He smiles. He wears the skin of a sheep. Mr. and Mrs. Sommers stand not far removed. They're pale. Guns gripped by Rohm and Annika kiss the couple's back while the remainder of the vampire's men cheer from the end of the church. The pretend priest turns to the priest forgetting his faith.

"Are you sure you killed him?" Volga whispers.

"As surely as God blessed your visit," Breybinder smiles. Volga smiles back. He takes another step. More hollers from the thugs in the chapel's last row. A moment passes. His men settle.

"God-fearing people, good morning," Volga speaks. His voice soars off his tongue with a certainty that sinks it into the minds of all assembled. "I come to you with a message. No matter how much you've memorized from this book, it doesn't compare to a single work." Volga signals to the Bible at the pulpit. "Your reverend knows the truth. You look around your town. Go on, look. Look beyond this church's walls. Open your eyes." Furtive glances. "What do you see? Sin. Filth. Lies. Do candles stop men from beating their wives? Do hymns empty brothels? Does ingesting bread and wine mean an end to robbery and vice? Has a single prayer done anything to deliver you from evil?" Murmurs from the pews. "No. Instead, it was your priest's brave deed that rid this place of a devil. Your faith is mighty, but salvation isn't the result of faith alone. It's sweat. It's blood. It's how you live your life." The monster slams his hand on Breybinder's Bible hard enough to bring a boom about the sanctuary and fast enough so his undead fist doesn't ignite. Volga leans over the lectern. "Now heed me, while Pastor Breybinder slew a dragon, he did not save your town." Breybinder narrows his eyes. "Sin. Filth. Lies. Did he stop them? No. Satan is more insidious than to disappear with the loss of one of his minions. Reading fairy tales about dead meat will not save you, nor will destroying but one of the devil's pawns." Another boom. Volga knocks the Bible to the ground.

Shouts from the congregation. Gasps. Breybinder marches on the wolf, but one finger freezes the pastor, and Volga waits for silence to return.

"Hell is found in the hearts of all those in your town," A collected voice issues from Volga's throat. "If you wish to save yourselves, you must make your heaven here and now. No deity will do it for you. Do not read about deliverance. Reach for it."

The vampire pulls a goblet from the altar. Lifting the gold cup, he draws a knife from his coat.

"God is not here! Only you and me!" Volga howls. Fervor boils in the demon's voice, and zeal shakes the ceiling. "Will you sit in your homes reciting ancient words, or will you take action against Beelzebub?" A slash. A line of red pours into the chalice. The black priest offers his lifeblood. "Make your heaven here! No psalms by prophets eaten by worms! No bread! No wine! Only my passion! Only my conviction! Only my truth!" The vampire holds the poison cup to the congregation, while red, still spilling from his wrist, pools on the floor. Annika and Rohm push Sommers and his wife forward. The pallid man and woman stand in the scarlet and, with half-hidden guns on their spines, are forced to drink.