At the Advent of Dusk

Chapter 1It was the perfect night for a bloodbath. The pale moon, fat and luminous, sulked behind the Chicago skyline, but it was the utter stillness of the air that made Gideon Keel throw his head back and inhale. Nothing moved. He couldn’t even hear the ripples of Lake Michigan lapping at the shore. When the screams came, they would rip through the night before drifting in shallow echoes to the ground. He’d wear their blood like rags. His only regret was that he couldn’t do it twice. Gideon prowled through the darkened streets, his step silent, his shadow long. Windows glowed behind their heavy curtains, but his attention never wavered. He wasn’t interested in their pitiful attempts at protection. Any vampire worth his salt knew how to lure dinner from its home anyway. No, his prey rested at the end of the avenue, its manicured lawn a swathe of ebony that led up to its double doors. Even from that distance, he heard the hum of their hearts, the murmur of voices as they prepared to settle in for their midnight mass. The congregation was larger than he expected, though considering the community, he shouldn’t have been surprised. There were a lot of Bible babies in this part of town; they looked to God to assure them that the travesties assailed on them by the white people would be reconciled in the afterlife. “God doesn’t give a f**k,” Gideon wanted to tell them. “So grab your d**k, find your girl, and have some fun before somebody tears your throat out.” Tonight, that somebody was going to be him. Considering his iron hold on the city of Chicago, Gideon thought they should consider themselves lucky. They’d be famous for a few days because of him. He planned on making their deaths truly spectacular. The church was like any other he’d ever seen—tall and puffed up with its own importance. Light shone through the stained glass windows, spilling out onto the grass, but the front doors were shut, no more welcome for the neighborhood apparently. Gideon slunk around the edge of the property, looking it over, but when he caught no signs of other vampires, he returned to the front. No back doors for him. The best way to anything worthwhile was always head-on. “Excuse me? You look a bit cold tonight.” A young black man touched his arm and smiled. “Why don’t you come in and warm yourself?” Gideon swept a calculating gaze over his would-be host. Small and wiry, like a rat constantly on the run. Good teeth, though. Would make a hell of a vamp if he wasn’t such a runt. Dismissing the stranger as inconsequential, he adopted his best apologetic smile, the one that usually worked on the housewives when he pretended to be lost and needed to use the phone. “I’m not from around here. I’d hate to intrude.” “Oh, of course it’s not an intrusion. Anybody and everybody are always welcome. It’s too cold to be wandering around Chicago on your own tonight.” The man opened the door and held it there, waiting for Gideon to take that first step inside. A fresh wave of heat and hearts rushed out, slamming into Gideon’s senses. Centuries of practice kept his reaction tempered, even if his c**k hardened in rabid anticipation. “Maybe I’ll just sit in the back and watch.” “Do whatever makes you comfortable. But if you feel the spirit…don’t be shy. We’re all family here.” He held out his hand before Gideon could enter the building. “I’m Marcus Brooker, the assistant pastor.” He shook it, but only briefly. The tantalizing smells wafting out drew his focus. The entry was deserted, but he hung back as the assistant pastor smiled and hurried past him into the nave. It didn’t have the sounds of any other mass he’d attended. Of course, the last time he’d sat through an entire service had been a century earlier; usually, Gideon got bored and then anything could—and did—happen. But this was different. He wasn’t hearing words about God. He was hearing words about battles. And they were coming from a woman’s mouth. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb as he surveyed the congregation. The church had more people in it than he would have imagined for a midnight mass, but the number of white people dotting amongst the black was oddly disproportionate. Maybe Brooker hadn’t been lying about everybody being welcome. Especially since there wasn’t a sign of segregation to be seen. White sat next to black. Black sat in front of white. And up on the pulpit came the source of the sermon, but from the most exquisite holy person Gideon had ever seen. She was tall and slender, with the long limbs of a gazelle in flight. She had flawless skin the color of the darkest soil and eyes a man could sink into and never return, but the simple skirt and sweater did nothing to highlight her lean curves. No collar, either. She was the least likely pastor Gideon had ever seen. “That’s Mary Straughn,” Marcus provided at his side. “She usually sticks around after the service to meet the new faces. Here, why don’t you have a seat?” He gestured at an empty spot on a nearby pew. “Oh, excuse me.” Gideon barely noticed the other man scurrying away. As captivating as the woman in front was, he was here for a very specific reason. There were other things to take account of, instead of her gorgeous legs. Like how many people were scattered throughout the room. Where the other exits were located. Who might try to play the hero and who would be the first to scream. Silently, he pulled the door shut behind him. He couldn’t lock it, but it would slow down anybody who might run. There was another at the side of the altar that would lead to the clergy’s private offices, but only a fool would attempt to pass Gideon to try and reach it. The energy shifted in the room, harder, more intense. The woman’s voice rose, her voice passionate, and everybody leaned forward in their seats, drawn to her. It wouldn’t be long until a cloud, that peculiar blend of excitement, and anticipation, and lust, and love, and hunger, and everything that made their blood so delicious, began to permeate the small space. He could already taste it on the back of his tongue. He was poised to wait there until he felt that cusp when something this Mary Straughn said distracted him from savoring the anticipation any longer. “Wait a minute.” He said it loud enough so that his voice carried easily up the center aisle, cutting her off in mid-sentence. “Preaching to the choir is one thing. But you don’t honestly believe any of this actually makes any kind of difference in the long run, do you?” “It will make a difference.” She didn’t miss a beat, her dark eyes narrowing on him. “Every person in this room has already made a difference.” “Because you…what? Pat each other on the back and commiserate on what a mean, awful world this is?” With a derisive snort, he pushed off the jamb and sauntered toward her, long strides slow and confident. “Nothing changes. And when it does, it doesn’t happen because of words. It happens because someone, somewhere, spilled a little too much blood, and somebody else got scared and made a change. That’s all.” “Somehow I’m not surprised that it’s a white man coming into my church, uninvited, and telling us everything we’re doing wrong. So what do you suggest? We declare war?” “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. Well, I would if I got a front row seat.” “If bloodshed is what you’re after, then you’ve come to the wrong place. That’s not what we’re about here.” Gideon reached the front of the church but didn’t stop, climbing the two short steps onto the pulpit. Mary didn’t flinch, even when he circled her once, deliberately looking her over. Distance had not done her justice. “That’s why you’ll lose, then. Because the people you’re trying to convince aren’t in here to hear you.” “Then we’ll go out to them.” Her voice didn’t waver as he moved closer, invading her personal space. Nobody in the church made a sound, not even the annoying and over-eager assistant pastor. “And we’ll find them and we’ll make them listen to us until they can’t ignore us anymore. Our brothers and sisters in Alabama and Georgia have already proven you wrong.” Gideon halted in front of her, his back to the congregation, and tilted his head as his gaze raked over her. She was nearly as tall as he was, her scent overpowering that of all the others in the room. This one, he was going to leave for last. She was going to be absolutely delicious. “I’m not wrong. But I’d be willing to let you try and convince me in private, if you want.” Mary took a step toward him, erasing more of the space between them. She dropped her voice to an intimate level. “Don’t let my preference for passive resistance fool you, mister. If you don’t leave now, you’ll get a taste of that bloodshed you’re so keen on.” “You know what?” He leaned toward her until their noses were almost touching. “That’s kind of what I’m counting on.” Without otherwise moving, his hand shot out and grasped the throat of the young man who’d tried approaching him from behind. Gideon smirked at Mary before turning toward the congregation, letting his fangs descend at the same time. A collective gasp of horror rippled through the group. “You’re all idiots.” Ignoring the hands clawing at his, he dangled the man in front of them, shaking him for good measure. “You think a few pretty words mean anything? The world doesn’t care. The world’s laughing at you, because while you’re sitting in here singing your songs and trying to coax God out of retirement, it’s moving along, and it’s going to leave you behind.” “You’re right.” Mary’s voice drifted from behind him, still calm despite the rich wave of fear coming from her followers. “Talk is cheap. And you’ve already done too much.” Gideon heard her take a step, felt the heat from her skin as she moved closer to him. The man he was holding kicked out, the toe of his boot connecting hard enough to sting a little. Gideon shifted his weight to his other foot, just as a burning pain radiated through his back. Startled, he looked down to see the tip of a crucifix sticking out of his chest. There was that split second where panic—raw and ravenous—raced through him. She’d staked him. He’d seen how cool she was, and he’d turned his back on her anyway, and…the b***h staked him. This was not how he was supposed to go out. Not him. Not Gideon Keel. He wouldn’t have a human sneak up on him, and he wouldn’t have a damn cross shoved through his back to crumble him into ash. Except he had. On both counts. The only difference was…he wasn’t crumbling. With a roar, he threw the man he’d been holding into the front row, satisfied when he crashed through the pew and took several people with him. Whirling around, Gideon snarled when he came face-to-face with a determined Mary. “Don’t start feeling all sanctimonious because you’ve managed to finally put a crucifix to some use,” he said. “All you’ve done is delay the inevitable.” She gripped the bit of wood protruding from his body and pulled him closer. He reached, intent on ending her. He was so intent on getting his fingers around her throat, he didn’t notice her knee. Until it connected solidly with his balls. His reaction was instinct. Shoving her away, Gideon curled for a second at the waist, fighting back the fresh pain radiating through his groin. He heard the congregation react to their leader’s fall, rising from their seats and surging forward, but he refused to allow them the satisfaction of being the ones to take him down. It wouldn’t happen tonight, even with as close as Mary Straughn had gotten. Summoning all of his strength, Gideon bolted for the door at the side of the pulpit, smashing through it and the exit that led to the rear of the church without regard to what damage he was leaving behind. Time to lick his wounds, nurse his pride, find sanctuary while he considered how he’d take his revenge. Time to run. The night was a cool mistress, waiting to take him back into her embrace. He took flight, his feet barely touching the ground, and melted into the darkness.