The animals had known that Darkness was coming. I remembered when I had been back home, before any hint of evil. The ravens had known, taking wing in huge flocks that blotted out the sun. I saw no sign of any of them as we traveled.
I squinted, spying something white in the distance: a structure, with a gravel road leading up to it.
Alex and Ginger and I traded glances.
"What is it?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. I had never seen a house washed that white.
"It's a church," Alex said.
"If it hasn't been defiled, this could be good." Ginger sighed happily.
I regarded it closely as we approached. Plain folk didn't have churches. Our worship services took place at our homes, on a rotating basis. We'd listen to sermons in backyards and on front lawns. In that way, our whole space had been sanctified. We lived and worked with God.
I had never been in a church before. The white structure was small, perhaps a story and a half, with wooden siding covered by paint that was beginning to peel. The windows were peaked, but closed with shutters. A large cross was nailed to the peak of the roof, and the gravel drive led up to the front door. A small stream meandered behind it. I doubted that it could contain half as many people as were held on my backyard on Sundays.
A hand-lettered sign on the front lawn read CALVARY PENTECOSTAL APOSTOLIC CHURCH. ALL ARE WELCOME.
I shuddered. I hope that wasn't enough invitation for the vampires.
I ran my fingers over the black painted letters of the sign. I knew that the Pentecost was when the Holy Spirit descended upon the disciples of Jesus, after his resurrection. "A Christian church, then," I said, comforted a bit by the idea of a traditional God that I could recognize.
Alex stared at the sign. "Yes," he said. "Pentecostals have an experiential belief in God. They believe that the Holy Spirit can move within them, work miracles, make them speak in tongues, grant special rapport with animals . . ."
I pressed my lips together and thought about what that might mean. "Interesting." Plain folk believed that God and man were separate. My body seemed confused and crowded enough with just my spirit inside. How strange it would feel to have God inside me as well . . .
Ginger climbed the steps. "Let's see if anyone's home."
She rapped on the whitewashed front door. It was tall with black hinges. We waited, hearing the sound echo in the structure. A mourning dove was disturbed from one of the gutters and flew away in a flurry of cooing.
She knocked again.
I heard thumping inside, creaking, like something come to life. I held my breath as the door opened.
Ginger gasped and backed away.
An old man stood in the doorway, covered in snakes. The reptiles wreathed his head and shoulders and outstretched arms: blacksnakes, garter snakes, copperheads. He said something unintelligible, his rheumy eyes taking us in.
"Oh, yeah," Alex said. "I forgot to mention the snake handling."
CHAPTER THREE
The old man's eyes fixed on us. The garbled words from his mouth untangled, and he clearly said:
"Welcome, friends."
His voice boomed like a drum, and he smiled beatifically. His beard and mustache were white. A tiny garter snake peeped out and disappeared in the knotted mass, possibly down the collar of his flannel shirt. His eyes were so brown that they were nearly black.
I stood, rooted in place. I was afraid-I could feel the hair standing up on my arms-but also fascinated. The snakes seethed over his shoulders, wrapping around his arms. I was reminded of an old tree I knew as a child that had been struck by lightning. Half of it had turned black and rotted. The other half sprouted green leaves in winter. In the rotted half, snakes had moved in: large blacksnakes that wound around the wood, making it churn and still seem alive. Our Hexenmeister said that it had been touched in a bad way by lightning, by God's wrath.
We all avoided that tree.
"Hello," I squeaked.
Alex held up his open hands. He wasn't holding his knife. That was probably a good sign. I took his lead. "We don't mean you any harm."
"We're not vampires," Ginger said, unnecessarily.
The old man laughed. "Darkness hates sunshine. You aren't Darkness."
I shuddered. He reminded me a bit of my old Hexenmeister. Though this man seemed hale and barrel-chested, there was something about his laugh and the way that he looked past us, through us. Something . . . that made me think he saw things that I couldn't.
"And what have we here?" The old man walked down the wooden steps, regarded each of us in turn.
He paused before Ginger. He took in her borrowed Plain clothes, glasses, and her short haircut. "A mother without her children."
"I'm Ginger," she said softly. "Ginger Parsall." She laced her hands behind her back. I was pretty sure that she didn't want to shake hands.
He looked Alex up and down. "A lost scholar."
Alex nodded. "Fair enough. I'm Alex Greene."
He approached the horse. "This is your prophet."
Horace didn't react to the snakes. Most horses I knew were terrified of them. This one simply looked at the man through his pale lashes.
And then he turned to me. "And a Plain girl who is not yet filled with God."
I swallowed, lifted my chin. "Ja. I am Katie."
The old man mumbled to himself, again in the unintelligible language. He squinted at the sun lowering on the horizon. "I'm Pastor Gene. You'd best be getting inside before the sun sets."
My hands wound in Horace's reins.
"And the horse, too. The Darkness will come and tear him apart if you leave him."
He turned and disappeared inside the church.
Alex, Ginger, and I stood rooted in place. None of us wanted to go first.
"Snakes or vampires?" Alex asked.
"The snakes . . . I don't understand." I shook my head.
"That's part of the Pentecostal belief system. He believes that the Holy Spirit keeps him safe from venom," Alex explained.
"I hate snakes," Ginger said. I could see the pulse thudding along her collarbone and sweat prickling her brow. "But I hate vampires more."
"Ja," I said. "The least of the things to fear."
"'And the serpent said to the woman, 'You will not surely die.'" Alex's mouth turned down. "That's what they said in Genesis, anyway."