Dorin led the way up a flight of stone steps. The ascent brought them to a gothic alcove sheltering a massive wooden door that appeared hearty enough to resist the most determined assault by battering ram. Iron spikes reinforced the unwelcoming nature of the fortresslike entrance. The only thing missing was the moldering skeleton of a political rival chained to the wall.

“Homey,” Rory said under his breath.

Madelyn giggled.

“What did you say?” Dorin leered. “I didn’t quit hear you.”

“I said roomy,” he lied. “You have plenty of room.”

“I certainly do!” Dorin grasped an oversized iron handle and pushed the door open. “The castle has sixty rooms, if you count the servants’ quarters, which I do.” He motioned for Madelyn to enter. “Ladies first.” He stood aside for Rory. “Gentlemen second.” One glance at Hank and he bit down on his lip. “And what shall we do with you?”

Hank bumbled past. “You could start by getting me a drink.” Taking in the grandeur, he rolled his eyes toward the frescoed ceiling, painted with snowy peaks and forests. “Are those the Rocky Mountains?”

“No.” Dorin drew his lips taut. “The Carpathians.”

“Too bad.” Hank shrugged. “I’d like to the see the Rockies someday, and I’ll take a bourbon if you have it.”

Dorin turned his back and led everyone down a long hallway stuffed with antique tables and portraits of bearded and beady-eyed characters donning clerical robes. “My brethren.” He pointed to a row of dour-faced monks in brown sackcloth. “Each a disowned and defrocked priest. Unjustly disgraced in life, I have given them a place of honor in my castle.”

Rory glanced at Madelyn. She looked back, but he couldn’t read her expression. What did she think of all this? Was this business as usual in her world, or was something seriously off? He couldn’t shake the feeling that they had willingly walked into a trap.

Pausing in front of one portrait of a particularly hoary-looking man with a white goatee, Hank stopped. “What does defrocked mean?”

Dorin appeared irritated by Hank’s lingering. “On occasion, for just—or more often unjust—reasons, the clergy will overlook its own hypocrisy, declare a fellow priest a heretic, and cast him out of sacred orders.”

Hank made a rude puffing sound. “I thought they only kicked out perverts.”

“That too.” Dorin gestured for everyone to resume walking. “Please, may we move on? I am anxious to view the contents of the case, and no doubt you want your money.”

“Hell ya.” Hank shuffled forward.

They came to a spacious room, furnished with heavy carved chairs that looked like they required at least two footmen to budge them, and an oversized rustic table that could seat several dozen diners. A broad fireplace wide and tall enough to roast an ox dominated the far wall. A bar, generously stocked with hundreds of bottles of liquor in every color and shape imaginable, filled a second wall.

Dorin patted the countertop of the bar. “Help yourselves.”

Madelyn’s hand grazed Rory’s sleeve. “Would you like a brandy? I’m having one.”

“Sure.” He did not intend to actually drink it, but it would look better if he behaved normally and not like a starving vampire ready to snap.

She walked behind the bar and inspected the many choices, finally settling for an elegant, goosenecked bottle of amber liquid. Pouring the contents into two snifters, she handed one to Rory.

He swirled the fragrant liquor in the glass, savoring its caramel scent and wishing he could still enjoy this sort of thing.

Dorin walked to a dark-wood armoire, opened it, removed a black briefcase, and set the case on a long table dented and battered by time. He opened the case to reveal neatly bundled stacks of bills. “Twenty thousand. No bill over fifty. Madelyn, Hank, get over here and start counting.”

Disregarding the direct order, Hank went to the bar to pour himself a drink. “Hold on a second.”

Madelyn reached into the case, took out a few stacks, and lined them up on the table. “Hank, I’ll count. You write it down.”

Rory’s gaze traveled around the room but kept returning to Dorin, who openly stared at his every move. The ceiling cornices featured dozens of tiny impish faces hidden among carved foliage. The effect was slightly unsettling, like being watched from a wood.

Hank riffled through the bar shelves, reading the labels. “Nothing’s in English. How do you know what you’re getting? A-B-S-I-N-T-H-E? What’s that? And who wants to drink green booze anyway. Where’s the rye?”

“Take a chance, Hank!” Madelyn fanned her thumbs against a stack of twenties. “Try new things.”

“No thanks.” Hank pushed the absinthe aside. “I have a delicate stomach, so I’d better stick to what I know.”

“Mr. Ravenscroft.” Dorin positioned himself at the head of the table and leaned against it. “I’ve delivered what I promised. Please bring me my suitcase.”

Rory carried the case to the table, set it down in front of Dorin, and turned away to allow the man some privacy. “It’s unlocked.” He went to join Madelyn at the far end of the table.

“Wait.” Dorin motioned for Rory to return. “Aren’t you curious?”

He was. “It’s your suitcase.” Actually, the suitcase was Tomlinson’s and apparently had led a colorful life; only the contents belonged to Dorin.

“Stay.” Dorin’s order was firm. “I want you to see this.”

Madelyn set a stack of bills down and glanced up, obviously curious as well.

Dorin smiled at her. “You may watch as well. I am so grateful for your invaluable assistance in this matter.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t do much.”

“Your lovely presence in my home is more than enough. Come.” Dorin pulled out a chair and offered her a seat beside him.

Madelyn rose from her chair, leaving Hank alone to count the money, and joined Rory and Dorin. She drew her scarf a little closer around her and shivered.

Dorin noticed her slight shudder. “Are you chilly, Miss Porter? Shall I have a servant light a fire?”

The fireplace looked like it required an entire tree to fill it.

Madelyn waved Dorin’s comment away. “I’m not that cold.”

“But you’re trembling. There’s no need for that. We’re all friends here, are we not?” Dorin’s gaze fixed on Rory. “Be a gentleman. Loan the lady your jacket.”

He hesitated. His gun was in the pocket, and his body heat was so low, it would do nothing to warm Madelyn, at least not initially.

Madelyn shook her head. “Don’t bother, I’m fine.”

“I insist,” Dorin hectored. “It’s my fault that a woman dressed in a stunning gown cannot be comfortable in my home. This is such a drafty old house. I’d offer you my coat, but my circulation is slow and alas, I am always on the cool side.”

Seeing that he had no choice that would not raise suspicions, Rory removed his jacket and slid it over Madelyn’s shoulders. She thanked him with a nod. He stood at her side, like her own private guardian vampire, hoping the jacket would offer some comfort.

Hank counted out loud in a droning tone. “Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, three hundred. Twenty, forty...”

Dorin opened the suitcase and peered inside. “Shall we? Of course you have already glimpsed one of the treasures at the nightclub, but you may find the rest just as intriguing. Please bear in mind, you are seeing it out of context. All of this would be more compelling when viewed as it should be, in its sacred niche behind glass. Sadly, its secure repository was destroyed, and I was forced to gather and relocate it.”

“Sixty, eighty, four hundred...”

Madelyn turned. “Hank, could you please count silently?”

“Twenty, forty, sixty,” Hank whispered.

Madelyn slapped the table. “That’s not silent. You just got quieter.”

“Damn.” Hank stopped. “I lost count. I’d better start again. Twenty, forty...”

Dorin clapped his hands, demanding Madelyn and Rory’s attention. “This case contains the essence of a man’s life. Are you ready to see it? I’ll present it as a puzzle and perhaps one of my clever guests can figure out the mystery.” He reached into the case and pulled out a red silk bag, heavy with golden embroidery. The ties of the bag were loosened, and its contents were gently emptied onto the table to reveal a gray snakelike pile of twine and fibers resembling an aged piece of rope that appeared ready to crumble out of existence. Then he unwrapped a sheet of felt from a twisted bit of wood that had demonic faces carved into every inch of it. Finally, a cardboard box was opened containing a gruesome wooden mask of a monster with a bulbous nose and tufts of horsehair glued to the top of it. All in all the entire frightful collection was unappealing.

Rory stared at the odd hoard on the tabletop. This was the essence of a man’s life and a treasure worth transporting halfway around the globe? It didn’t look like it.

Madelyn seemed equally perplexed. “What is all this?” she whispered to Rory. “I thought it would be drugs, gemstones, or something valuable.”

“This is something valuable!” Dorin gnashed his teeth. “But I don’t expect you to understand that. I was foolish to think you might.” He focused his attention on Rory. “Mr. Ravenscroft, would you join me in the library.” Pointing toward a polished dark door, he indicated Madelyn and Hank should remain were they were. “Someone has to stay behind and count the money. We’ll only be a few minutes.”

He was reluctant to allow Madelyn out of his sight, especially since he’d been hired as a sort of bodyguard for her and she now possessed the gun entrusted to him. “I should stay with the lady.”

“Don’t worry.” Dorin dismissed Rory’s assertion. “You’ll be only a few feet apart. I have some business to discuss, and the details of this conversation are for your ears only.” He opened the door to the library. “Follow me, please.”

Rory glanced at Madelyn’s wary expression and then followed Dorin, who closed the door behind them.

The formal library was dour, with dark walls and fabrics, and looked better suited to a Victorian-era household than a modern estate. Wingbacked chairs upholstered in eggplant-purple velvet flanked an imposing fireplace guarded by twin carved dragons. The teak paneled walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A most displeasing scent, akin to a rodent’s nest or sweat-soaked dirty laundry, hung in the air.

Pacing the room, Dorin appeared anxious. “Would you like a drink? You never touched your brandy.”

It seemed unlikely that he would be offered what he really needed. “No, thank you.”

“Not even Țuică? Are you not curious to try new things?”

Considering the life he’d led, a plum-based liquor didn’t seem like it was pushing boundaries. “I’ll pass.”

“Then so shall I.”

An odd scratching sound emanated from the walls, followed by a thump.

“Rats.” Dorin sat in one of the chairs and motioned for Rory to join him in front of the unlit fireplace. “Every old house has them. Ignore them.”

It made him nervous to have Madelyn out of his sight. “What did you wish to discuss?”

“Where to start? I have so much ground to cover.” Dorin knotted and released his fingers in a continuous cycle. “Did you know that God loves a bad pun? God, or whatever that all-knowing creature that watches over us all really is, has a dark sense of humor and laughs at its own jokes.”

He did know.

“For instance, I was born Dorin Saint Ardelean. The name Dorin means ‘stranger’ in Romanian. Ardelean means ‘forest of Transylvania.’ At my birth, I was not a stranger to the people of my village, nor a saint of the forest, but that’s exactly what I became. You see, God marked me with a name and then yoked me to a fate.”

So they were going to play a guessing game. The sooner he guessed correctly, the sooner he could be with Madelyn. “What was your fate?”

Dorin’s gaze intensified. “To live eternally and be a stranger.”

Odd answer. “How so?”

“Don’t play coy, Mr. Ravenscroft. My contacts are discreet and international. I’ve been watching your movements in the world for years. In fact, we’ve crossed paths once before, in Paris, 1924. I’m saddened I did not make a greater impression on you, but that’s not your fault. My appearance was greatly altered from how I look today, and I used another name, one I no longer remember. You see, I know what you are and I respect it immensely.”

Rory shifted uneasily in the cushy chair, which offered little comfort during this line of questioning. “What am I?”

“A miracle, like me.” Dorin crossed his hands over his heart.

“A rainbow is a miracle.”

“You and I were gifted by God with something special that sets us apart.”

He straightened his legs. Was God truly responsible for what happened to him, or was the grand scheme of creation broken in spots that would someday mend and forever obliterate its rare flaws? Would the day come when a world without vampires would be God’s new preference? Did he care? “And what exactly sets us apart?”

Dorin’s furtive pacing was becoming irritating. “We are keepers of God’s shadow and living proof that God misbehaves. In willful acts of naughtiness, God has thrown us both into limbo realms and inflicted dark appetites upon our souls, then watches enraptured as we struggle against them. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? The hunger. The desire. The bitter resistance not to give in to the one thing we were reengineered to do. What personal lessons do you believe God extracts from our suffering?”

Muffled animal squeaks floated from the walls. Those were large rats. “I have no idea. What sort of beneficent being allows an A-bomb to be dropped on civilians? It’s pretty fucking tragic, don’t you think, to look for morality where there is none? I’m no longer certain God is watching anyone anymore.”

“Neither am I, and fear we’re on our own down here. Left to our own devices and vices, we shall tailor a world that fits. Following rules is the province of children. Writing the rules is the pursuit of masters. Don’t you agree?”

Rory crossed his leg over his knee. There seemed to be no way to get comfort in this chair. “Do you see yourself as a master? Speaking for myself, I’ve mastered nothing. You haven’t told me yet why you say we are alike. I’ve crossed paths with vampires many times. Recognition is instant. You, Mr. Saint Ardelean, are no vampire. You claim you are eternal, but what are you?”

“I wish I knew! It’s a question I’ve been asking for nearly five hundred years. Perhaps you can help me find an answer?”

“I doubt it. I don’t even know what you are.”

Halting behind a massive chair, Dorin picked at a bit of lint that had collected on its back. “I am an enigma. A one-off. An artist’s proof, and I have never met my like. I wish you’d accepted my offer of a drink, Mr. Ravenscroft. You appear antsy, and unfortunately for you, I have a long story to tell. But I must take my time. The details are important. I want you to hear them and tell me what you think.”

This guy was just too full of himself. “You know what I am, yet you offer me fermented fruit?”

Dorin’s eyes flashed. “Would you prefer something a little more bracing? Shall I summon Miss Porter into the study?”

“No!” he boomed. The thought of wrapping his arms around her and biting the perfumed skin of her throat as she swooned against his chest was almost too much to resist. “Leave Madelyn out of this.”

“Ah. I hear a hint of territorial pride in your voice. On some level, you’ve already staked a claim on her, haven’t you? Tell me, do you enjoy playing with your food? Do you befriend it, fall in love with it, and then obliterate it? She’s very much alive, at least for now, and you’re undead. How do you picture this relationship ending?”

Was he doing this because of Madelyn? Damn him if he was. “It’s not a relationship, and that’s none of your business.”

“You’re right. I suppose it’s not. We’re all adult supernatural creatures here, and allowed to make up our own minds, aren’t we?”

His patience wore thin. “Who are you, Mr. Saint Ardelean, and what do you want from me? Stop dancing around it and just say it in plain English. You’re annoying me.”

“I will, but first, story time. Stop gripping the arms of that chair like you’re swaying on the back of an elephant. Hospitality will be offered, I promise. You have only to endure a few more minutes of my prattle, and all will be made clear.”

He glanced away. This was his nightmare. Bloodlust raged at the surface, threatening to hijack his self-control, and Dorin knew it. By not looking out for himself, he’d been manipulated into a situation that would soon bring him to his knees and possibly make him do something he’d forever regret. “Could we get on with it? I have other places to be tonight.”

“That’s not true. This is your only stop. It was planned that way. You see, Mr. Boven and I have been in close communication for some time now. Yet I’ve somewhat kept him in the dark about the true nature of my endeavor. I did not wish to be off-putting. Mortals fear the unknown so irrationally. Only today did he discover all is not as it appears. But not to worry. I plan to make him a very wealthy man, and all will be forgiven when his bank balance rises—along with the dead.”

His head ached and his fangs flickered in and out at the gum line, ready to descend for the hunt. “Tell your fucking story so I can leave!”

“Don’t be so combative.” Dorin leaped from behind the chair and paced the carpet. “Or so rude. There’s no need. I’ll jump straight into my tale.” He drew a deep breath. “In 1467, I was a priest in the rustic village of Ardeal, isolated in a little valley in the Carpathian Mountains—”

Oh hell no! “1467? Really? That’s where your story starts. I’m not sitting still for five centuries of bullshit.”

“Please, Mr. Ravenscroft. The story has a payoff. I promise. The village of Ardeal was surrounded by dense forests and snow-laden peaks that made travel in all but one season challenging. Many people, especially the women and children, never journeyed beyond the accessible paths that ringed the valley. It was said that starving frost giants roamed the mountain peaks, snatching travelers off the road and gobbling them alive. Believe me, that ridiculous tale was enough to discourage springtime foot traffic.

“Worse, there were legends of demons who lived in the darkest loam of the forest floor. It was said these unholy entities were from another realm of creation and waited unseen beneath the leaf litter to grab errant hikers and drag them into the hollows of great trees where they would feast upon their blood.”

Dorin stopped pacing long enough to loiter beside the fireplace, stroking the snout of a dragon. “Every once in a while, someone would become lost in the forest only to return, battered and pale, with the most harrowing tale of their escape from the clutches of demons. Those unfortunate souls, I’m sorry to say, were treated with suspicion for having come in such intimate contact with otherworldly evil, and most of them were promptly stoned to death by frightened villagers and clergymen.

“I was one such clergyman. In those days, I was naïve, but by the standards of my village, I was worldly and wise because I had traveled many days and countless miles to a distant monastery in a neighboring land to learn letters, Latin, and speak with men who read great and forbidden books from the southern kingdoms, smuggled into Christendom during the Crusades.”

Rory shifted in his chair. The rats in the walls had grown quieter, but he still heard the slightest shuffling. “You’ve covered about thirty years of your epic tale. Any chance you could speed this along and simply say ‘the end’?”

“No.” Dorin clasped his hands and bowed. “May I continue? One day, a boy went missing from our village. His mother was hysterical, and search parties fanned around the edges of the forest carrying torches, but dared not enter the wild realms beyond the path. Days passed. Hope waned. Even the mother began to tell wishful tales that perhaps the boy had been taken-in by a childless couple who lived on the far side of the ridge, and all was well.”

Dorin’s strides slowed, and he lingered near the mantle with his gaze cast toward the carpet. “Then against all expectations, the boy returned to our village, gaunt and skeletal with eyes so haunted it was too disturbing to look upon him. He rattled an incoherent story about bloodsucking wraiths that sometimes took the form of men. If he wasn’t babbling, he was screaming, and he never slept. This condition lasted for days. As he deteriorated further, I consulted the few books our modest church possessed and within one worm-eaten tome, I found a reference to a blood-drinking creature not of heaven or earth called a vampyr. So evil was this creature, it became clear to me that in this situation only the harshest remedy might have effect. I reasoned that the boy’s body had been corrupted by evil beyond redemption, but his soul might still be saved. I did what I believed to be essential and unavoidable. I tied him to a stake while muttering fervent prayers, and burned him to ashes.”

He’d heard enough. This all seemed pointless and sad. “That’s disgusting. You killed a traumatized child.”

“I know. But I didn’t know it then. Be patient. Karma catches up to me. Believe it or not, I was praised for what I had done. The people of Ardeal were fed up with demons lurking in every shadow, and they certainly did not want them walking into their village in the guise of children. As a man of God who had traveled beyond the valley walls and back and not hesitated to take evil by the horns, I became a symbol of hope. My church was filled to capacity each evening—not just Sundays. Over many months, word spread, and soon pilgrims from far away braved the mountain pass to visit our church and leave offerings on the altar to ‘Saint Ardelean,’ the demon slayer. Mind you, I did not call myself a saint, but I did not deny the unearned accolade as vigorously as perhaps I should have.”

Rory straightened his spine to stretch. The story was tedious, especially when he needed to feed so badly. “So, you are a false prophet? How dismal. Are we finished?”

“We have not even started.” Dorin’s hands shot upward. “Give me my moment in the limelight. I have been silent on this matter for centuries. You are the first to hear the complete story.”

It seemed unlikely that someone as eager to share as Mr. Ardelean had not told this tale before, but there was no discouraging him and further complaint seemed futile. “It certainly rolls off your tongue in a well-rehearsed manner.”

“Thank you.” Dorin resumed his seat in a wingback chair. “My fame grew, and so did my confidence. My sermons became theatrical, more impassioned. I knew what the people wanted and needed to hear. Unasked, I abandoned traditional doctrine and made up one of my own. At that time, I was the only literate man in my village, and there was no one to hold me in check and insist I stick to the approved gospels. In my mind there was no need. I insisted God was speaking directly through me, inspiring every word. Ardeal was a special place with its own specific problems, and I was its resident beacon of light.”

Ego. Superstition. Lies. This story was disgusting and brought up all that was wrong with the western world in the first place. “I’m guessing you spent a lot of time preaching about the dangers of frost giants and blood-drinking imps in the woods?”

“Yes. Frightening masks and demons carved from the twisted roots of trees were employed as props to help me make my point. People arrived from far away to hear my sermons. How word reached them, I’ll never know. The constant stream of pilgrims to our church had greatly enriched us. Golden candleholders from Constantinople were added to the vestibule, and a side annex was constructed to accommodate overflow crowds in inclement weather. The irony that our isolated village should gain fame from the very thing that had made it isolated in the first place was not lost on me.”

Rory stifled a yawn. “That’s nice. Please make your point.”

“The point was made with the sharp tip of a pike. One day, several emissaries from the Vatican arrived to witness what they had been told was a new doctrine, preached by a living saint and more effective at holding evil at bay than the old one in Rome. They gathered the villagers, and like the competent inquisitors they were, they began to beat and interrogate the locals until a distinct pattern of confession was established. Everyone reported a similar story. It was proven that I had, of my own volition, rethought and reorganized the gospels to suit the superstitious needs of a Carpathian village, and Pope Paul II didn’t like it. I was tried for heresy, and of course found guilty.”

“Finally.” Rory slapped his pants leg. “We reach the part of the story where you die. This is what I’ve been waiting for.”

“I was executed.” Dorin wagged a finger in the air. “But I didn’t die. My inquisitors planned for me to be publicity punished for my blasphemous doctrine. The village of Ardeal was ordered to strip the church of any signs I had ever existed. Most of the masks, my books, and my robe of vestment were burned. The bastards even claimed the gold candlesticks as tributes for Rome.

“A gallows was constructed in front of the church in a place where the most people could gather and witness the death of a heretic. I was stripped to my loincloth, bound, whipped, and beaten with rods by my fellow clergymen as I stumbled toward the noose. The pain was so excruciating, it was as if my spirit left my body and fled to someplace safe and calm. One zealous priest struck me so hard on the side of my head, he knocked my molar out. In a timeless moment, the world stopped and I watched it fly past my lips and land on the ground near the foot of one of my most ardent supporters, a widow whose husband had disappeared in a snowy forest years before and had never been seen since. In an act of brave defiance, she deftly covered the tooth with her shoe as my persecutors filed past, so engaged in their task they failed to notice.

“The flayed soles of my feet were so bloodied, I slipped from the ladder and had to be bodily hoisted onto the gallows platform. At that moment I was genuinely ready to embrace the noose and die. But the good priests of the inquisition had one last surprise for me. As the rope was placed over my head, I was told I must atone for my trespass against my master, and like him, I would suffer for three days.” Dorin wrapped his hands around his throat in pantomime. “Allowed just enough air to live, I was left on the gallows to slowly strangle, in a semisupported position. Then and only then, after I had been granted a chance to repent my ways, would I be allowed to fall from the platform and snap my neck. Nice, eh?”

“Not really, but I’ve never been one for church.” Appalling what was done in the name of the Lord.

A sound in the other room caught his attention. Were Madelyn and Hank nearing the end of their task? Surely that amount of cash could not be counted so quickly? Maybe they’d been forced to start over?

“Pay attention.” Dorin waved his hand in front of Rory’s face. “I can’t lose you yet. I’m just getting to the good part.”

Rory straightened the crease in his pants leg. “Do you think you could skip the ‘sun scorched my eyes and my lips cracked with thirst’ portion of the program and just tell me how you got to be you? And just for the record, I think it was very unwise of Pope Paul—I forgot what his number was—to make a martyr of you. When you want people to forget someone, for God’s sake, don’t march into town and put on a show.”

“Agreed, and that’s exactly what happened, but with a wicked little twist. You see, I wasn’t such a heretic after all. My doctrine was true! There really were creatures of dubious intent lurking in the forest that the villagers needed to be warned about. I had been punished unjustly. The first day on the gallows was an agony beyond anything I could describe—”

Lifting his hand, Rory shook his head. “And you won’t describe it, because I thought we agreed to move forward in a timely manner, did we not? Were your sermons this long-winded? Good Lord, people have lives. Once and for all, how were you made immortal?”

Dorin closed his eyes and exhaled with a heavy sigh. “If I don’t tell the story the way it happened, I might forget something important.”

Rory pounded the armrest with his open palm. “When did your mystery event happen?”

“During my second night on the gallows.”

“Fine. Start there.”

“It was a moonless night so black, I could not see the end of the village square. The stars were brilliant; each flickered like candlelight against a vast curtain of darkness. A priest had been placed as a sentry to prevent the villagers from showing mercy and ending my life, but the priest fell asleep and lay snoring nearby—”

He groaned. “To think I had hope.”

“In the night, a creature scuttled across the village square. At first I thought it was a dog, but its size was too large and its movements too erratic. Just as I was asking myself what the beast was, it reared onto its hind legs and revealed itself to be a wild-haired feral child with empty black eyes with no whites to them. The uncanny sight chilled my soul, and I wanted nothing to do with it. The child crept up the gallows ladder. I tried to cry out, but the noose around my throat would allow no more than a breathy whimper.

“The child was covered in moss and bits of animal pelts. I could not tell if it was male or female or indeed if it was fully human. It reached the platform, stood before me, and hissed, revealing a mouthful of serrated teeth. At that moment I knew I was doomed.

“It sprang upon me, knocking me aside and tightening the noose. The creature latched onto my throat as I gagged for breath, my eyes bulging as they threatened to pop from my skull. The monster pierced my flesh with its jagged teeth and drank my blood in long, sloppy slurps. Imagine, everything I had preached against was being enacted on me. With my hands bound, I flailed ineffectively. For its small size the child, or whatever it really was, was as strong as a young bear and I was helpless to do anything more than sob as my life was sucked from an open vein.

“Wouldn’t you know, the damn priest slept through it all. I was drained to the point of blackout. Colors flickered on the edges of my vision. Death was finally coming, and I was fully at peace with it. Ending the horror was all I cared about. But then the child pulled away from me and bit into the noose around my neck and gnawed at it with grinding teeth as sharp as saw blades. The tensed rope frayed and snapped. I fell to my knees with a thud. I might have passed out, for I know not what happened next.

“I woke to a clear, dark sky filled with stars. The tethers binding my wrists had been chewed away and lay in damp tatters on the platform beside me. The priest who had been guarding me lay in a stupor from which he could not be stirred. In my exhaustion, it finally occurred to me that I was free to leave the platform and go to the well to fetch a much-needed drink of water. Mind you, I could not walk, so I dragged myself to the well on my elbows, grasped the ladle, and drank. My throat was so sore from the noose, I choked on the first sip and could barely swallow, but I kept drinking because now I badly wanted to live long enough to tell someone what I had seen.

“It was only after I had drunk my fill that I realized my throat no longer hurt and neither did my head. I touched the soles of my bare feet, which had been flayed raw by the supreme inquisitor, and was astonished to feel only smooth healthy skin that showed no sign of trauma. In fact, everything about me except for my missing tooth felt strong, whole, and reborn.

“I crept up to a neighbor’s laundry line and stole a change of clothing and a pair of boots. A baker’s shop was pillaged next. I filled a sack with as many freshly baked loaves as I could carry, and I headed into the forest, certain the villagers would be reluctant to follow.”

Would this story ever end? Were the noisy rats in the walls the size of cats or cougars? Rory waited, but Dorin volunteered no more of his story. “That can’t be all.”

“There’s more. I could tell you that my escape from the noose was considered a miracle, and it was, and that as time passed, word spread of a rogue saint who fled the gallows and knew the dangers the people of mountain regions faced better than any distant clergy in Rome. Soon, little shrines sprang up on the edges of forest paths, and not long afterward some of my artifacts were gathered by my true believers and stored in the church’s basement by the village’s new priest, who quickly learned the way to the villagers’ hearts was paved with respect for their local martyr.”

Dorin opened the suitcase and rummaged through it, holding up one object at a time. “My tooth. A bit of chewed noose, and even one of my carved forest demons were ensconced within the church’s walls, given a place of honor known only to a few and protected from the jealous hands of Mother Rome. That was until an Allied bombing raid destroyed the church and left these sacred objects in peril. I had them brought to me, in a new land, where I will start a new and no doubt blasphemous church, with new creatures to take the place of the old. And that’s where you come in, Mr. Ravenscroft.”