Not Your Kind of Heathen

“If you accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior, you’ll receive everlasting life.” A girl with a “Hello, my name is Sarah” nametag waved a tract in Rachel’s face. Sarah’s rosy-cheeked smile testified of apple pies, family dinners, and summer vacations at the beach. Rachel had never been to the beach.

“No thanks,” Rachel mumbled without stopping, hoping to lose the evangelist in the downtown foot traffic.

But the girl was fast, taking two steps for one of Rachel’s. “Faith in Jesus got me through a really dark time. The steps to Salvation are listed right here.”

Rachel took the tract, but Sarah’s expression crumpled as Rachel wadded it into an unrecognizable lump. “Go talk to drunks and fornicators. I’m not your kind of heathen.”

Sarah’s gaze landed on the cross around Rachel’s neck, and her blue eyes went from troubled to annoyed. “You know, crosses aren’t a fashion statement. You shouldn’t wear one if you don’t believe in what it stands for.” Her fingers touched her own cross necklace.

“I believe.” Venom soaked Rachel’s tone. “That’s what pisses me off.” Then she stalked off, leaving a speechless Sarah in the middle of the sidewalk.

In the past, maybe Rachel would have actually talked to Sarah, tried to explain how things really worked. There was big evil out there; evil way more tangible than the faceless sin brandished in pulpits every Sunday. But the people spouting religious ideals the most vehemently never believed the truth, and Rachel was tired of trying.

Two blocks down, One Eyed Pete’s sat between a European-style bistro and a trendy martini bar. With a flickering neon sign in the shape of a pirate and a cowbell over the door, Pete’s was the block’s eyesore. Rachel was the only woman in the joint, but none of the patrons seemed to care. The few that glanced up at her entrance went right back to staring into their drinks, as if alcohol gave meaning to their fucked-up lives. And maybe it did—who was Rachel to say?

She straddled a stool and caught the eye of the pot-bellied geezer behind the bar. “The usual, Frank.” He poured the whiskey and slid it down the bar into her waiting hand. Her first sip burned all the way down.

“Rough day?” Frank limped closer.

Rachel shrugged and pushed her windblown dark hair out of her face. “They all suck.”

“I read about that kid in the warehouse district. Your dad would be proud. Werewolves are tough bastards.” Frank had been her dad’s best friend, one of the few who knew the truth and didn’t run screaming.

“Dad would have called me sloppy for letting the kid go to the papers.”

“John would be proud.” Frank patted her shoulder, and Rachel stiffened. She didn’t like to be touched.

“It’s not like I have a choice. My family’s on the line.” Rachel downed the rest of the whiskey in one gulp, and Frank poured her another without waiting to be asked.

Behind them, the cowbell clanked. The newcomer strolled up to the bar and ordered a beer. He was gaunt with eyes so light gray they appeared colorless. Dark stubble stained his chin and filled the hollows of his cheeks. His shoulders hunched under the weight of a flannel shirt, and a backwards baseball cap held back the oil slick masquerading as his hair. Even sopping wet, he would weigh less than Rachel, but she knew he was more than he seemed. She always knew. It was the “gift” her father had passed down to her. Rachel sighed and glanced meaningfully at Frank who limped to the other end of the bar.

“I love girls in leather,” the newcomer said.

Rachel glanced down at what, to the casual observer, appeared to be a typical black leather jacket. She’d had it custom made with pockets for all her necessities and easily removable buckles made of solid silver. “Lucky me.”

“I’m Earl,” he announced, oblivious to her sarcasm. He gestured to her still-full glass. “The next one’s on me. Barkeep, another for the lady.”

“Hold that, Frank.” Rachel downed her drink and threw a crumpled bill on the bar. “I’m outta here.”

Earl scowled. “I was just tryin’ to show you some hospitality.”

“I’m not into scrawny weasels.” Rachel sneered. “Try the waterfront. With enough cash, even you can find a girl there.” She nodded to Frank and headed for the back door, located down a tiny hallway past the restrooms.

She paused, her hand on the door, to see if Earl would take the bait. He seemed like the kind with something to prove. If she was wrong, she’d have to go stalker girl on his ass. An instant later, she heard his footsteps pounding after her and slipped outside.

The alley behind Pete’s was narrow and stretched back a few yards from the street. Trashcans lined the buildings, spilling over with bottles and food waste. A chain-link fence cut off the alley on the far end. The moon bathed the alley an eerie silver glow.

When Earl burst through the door, a pair of elongated canines peeked from beneath his upper lip and his eyes glinted silver. “Think you’re too good for me, bitch?”

“I don’t think so,” Rachel shot back. “I know so.” Rachel pulled a stake from her pocket and slammed it toward him, her other hand going for the cross around her neck. This was the hard part. They were stronger—the vampires, werewolves, and other monsters. They were always stronger. Even the runts.

Earl snarled and dodged the stake easily, just as Rachel planned. While he focused on the stake, she pulled her necklace over her head and brandished it between them. A vampire couldn’t stand the power behind the cross. God existed, and in the fight against evil, that was her number one weapon.

Blue light formed around the silver charm, creating a wall between Rachel and Earl. He cowered back against the wall, his eyes rolling as he dodged flickers of the holy light. Then, before she could get close enough to use the stake, he scooped up a glass bottle and threw it with all his considerable strength. The bottle passed harmlessly through the wall of light; she ducked, and the bottle shattered against the wall behind her. Before she could correct her balance, Earl slammed into her. His fingers blistered wherever the light touched, but he managed to knock the cross out of her hand and kick it into the shadows. Without the cross to focus it, the light flickered and died, leaving Rachel unprotected.

Rachel smashed her fist into his jaw, the skill and strength of two decades of martial arts training behind her punch. One of his fangs ripped the skin of her knuckles. She hissed and danced backwards.

Earl savored the drop of blood on his tongue. “Sweet.”

Her kick struck his torso, knocking him back. Rachel thrust the stake toward his heart, but, with a burst of preternatural speed, the vampire lunged sideways and knocked her backwards. Her head hit the bricks with a crack, and the stake fell from nerveless fingers.

“Get away from her!”

Sarah stood in the mouth of the alley, her blonde hair glowing under the streetlight. Before Rachel could yell a warning, Earl punched her in the face and pain exploded behind her eye. He dropped her, and Rachel stumbled against the wall, trying to stop the alley from spinning by sheer force of will.

“I have pepper spray.”

Rachel opened her good eye to see Sarah take a few tentative steps into the alley, a finger on the trigger of a can of pepper spray so tiny it wouldn’t scare a jaywalker. Across the street, a live band began to play on an outdoor patio. Bass thumped in time with the throbbing of Rachel’s face.

Sarah’s glance flicked to Rachel, and her eyes widened slightly in recognition. “Leave now and I won’t call the cops,” she said.

“But then I’d miss dinner and dessert.” Earl advanced on Sarah, allowing her to see his face, fangs and all.

To her credit, the girl didn’t scream at her first sight of the undead. A minute stream of liquid arced from the can of pepper spray, missing Earl by a foot. He snickered, and Sarah shot Rachel a panicked glance. Rachel pointed at her throat, and hoped Sarah had watched enough horror movies to understand. Then Rachel pretended to lose her balance and fall into a trashcan, doing her best to look concussive and completely out of it.

The noise caught Earl’s attention and he smirked at Rachel before returning his attention to Sarah. “Good, I can take my time.”

Sarah shrieked as the vampire attacked, but managed to pull her necklace over her head. Light streamed from the cross clutched in her fingers, but Sarah, mesmerized by the vampire, didn’t look down. Rachel realized what Sarah was going to do a moment too late. Sarah flung the cross at Earl; the silver charm glanced off of his forehead and fell uselessly to the ground.

Earl grabbed Sarah around the waist and pressed her against his chest, pulling her deeper into the alley. The vampire sank his fangs into her slender throat. Sarah whimpered as the points pricked her skin. Blood speckled her white collar.

Before Earl got more than a taste, Rachel smashed a garbage can into the back of his head. He staggered, losing his grip on Sarah, who sprayed him with pepper spray at point-blank range. Temporarily blinded, Earl spewed forth obscenities and scrubbed at his eyes, which only made things worse. Rachel swore as Sarah followed her into alley instead of racing for the street.

Tears slid down Sarah’s cheeks, but she stood under her own power and showed no signs of fainting. “Why did God abandon us?” Her eyes widened in horror. “Am I a vampire now?”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “It takes more than a nibble to change you. Tell me when he starts to come out of it.” She reached into an inside pocket for her backup cross and swore again when it came out as several useless hunks of wood, too small to even use as stakes. She knelt to paw through a pile of trash. “Where is that damn cross?”

“The cross didn’t work.”

Something moist and sticky touched Rachel’s hand, and she knew better than to look too closely. “A cross isn’t a bomb. Its power comes from your faith, so you have to hold it.”

“I think he’s coming out of it,” Sarah warmed.

Something silver gleamed, and Rachel snatched up her cross without pausing to wipe off the alley sludge. Across the street, the band finished their song and the crowd cheered as they started another. Earl advanced slowly, squinting at them through red-rimmed eyes.

“You should’ve run,” Rachel murmured to Sarah.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Rachel gripped her last stake. When the vampire attacked, Sarah squealed and jerked backwards into the fence, but Rachel held her ground, the cross hidden in her palm. She sidestepped his lunge and grabbed his arm, pressing the cross into his icy skin. Blue light exploded between her fingers and glowing tendrils wrapped around his arm. His skin blistered and oozed.

“Get it off,” Earl howled. At the club, electric guitar wailed. He spun and shook, but the more the vampire became spasmodic, the tighter she held on. Using him as an anchor, Rachel plunged the stake through his sternum and into his heart. Earl crumpled to the ground and the faith light died. Rachel kicked him once for good measure anyway.

“Is he dead?” Sarah crept up beside Rachel.

“Yeah.” The clasp on Rachel’s necklace hadn’t broken in the struggle, so she slipped it back on, sludge and all.

“I thought vampires turned to dust when you staked them.”

“You watch too much TV.” Rachel produced a silver flask and a match book. “There’s only one way to get rid of the body.” She unscrewed the cap on the flask and took a swig of the whiskey inside. She offered it to Sarah, who shook her head; then Rachel sprinkled it over the vampire’s corpse and struck a match.

Flames gorged on the vampire’s unnatural form, devouring it in seconds. Sarah choked on the acrid smoke. When the fire had nothing left to feed on, it died as quickly as it began.

Rachel brushed as much debris off her clothes as possible and wiped her face with a clean handkerchief. All she wanted to do now was go home, but Sarah’s shell-shocked expression made her pause. Rachel sighed and handed Sarah the handkerchief to wipe the blood off her neck. Without the crimson streaks, the puncture wounds were much less noticeable.

Suddenly, Rachel found herself wondering if Sarah would understand now. She’d seen the evil and, judging from the light when she’d held the cross, her faith was strong. Briefly, Rachel allowed herself the fantasy of not being alone.

Sarah took off her shirt and found the white T-shirt underneath mostly clean. While Sarah repaired her appearance, Rachel scanned the front of the alley for the tell-tale glint of silver. Sarah’s cross had landed amidst a pile of glass shards. The chain had broken, but the cross itself was intact.

When Rachel turned around, Sarah looked better. Not normal, but not like vampire fodder, either. Rachel handed Sarah the cross; Sarah took it with trembling fingers, staring at it as if she’d never seen it before.

“Keep that with you at all times,” Rachel advised gruffly. “And don’t go anywhere alone with someone you haven’t seen in full daylight. Shade doesn’t count. If you go inside, Frank will call you a cab. He knows the safe ones.”

Sarah glanced up at Rachel, tears in her eyes. Before Rachel could think better of it, she reached out to the other girl. Sarah flinched away with a horrified expression, and Rachel jerked her hand back, the door slamming on her hope. Who the hell had she been fooling? Besides, she had her family’s curse to deal with; she didn’t have time for strays. Rachel turned on her heel, but Sarah’s quavering voice stopped her.

“Thank you,” Sarah stammered. “For saving me.”

“I didn’t do it to save you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to.” Rachel hardened her heart. The girl thanked her just because it was the right thing to do. The cowbell clanked and Rachel glanced back. Sarah was gone; Rachel was alone—everything was back to normal. As Rachel started the long walk back to her motorcycle, she told herself that her dad would approve.