The Hallowed Ones

I gave my food to Ginger and continued crocheting. I tightened my stitches angrily while the tears fell. I was angry for having endangered Alex with my selfishness. I was angry at Elijah for being rigid and possessive. I was angry at the Elders for their abuses of power. I was angry that the Hexenmeister was imprisoned, that our last hope for survival was under lock and key.

But, most of all, I was angry that they had killed Alex. The image of the blood-smeared white horse was burned into my memory. I knew that after the sun set, it would be his blood pouring from his shoe in the stirrup onto the ground. Tears splashed onto my work, but I didn’t stop. I continued even though my fingers ached and the needle was blistering hot in my hand.

I had enough of this world. I knew what lay Outside, but I would not stay here.

I was fast, but the sun was faster. As I worked, it moved across the sky, moving toward the horizon. Part of me hoped that I could complete my work before the moon rose, that I could find Alex and save him. But I was forced to put my half-finished escape plan away when the sun disappeared and the stars came out. There simply was not enough light left to work by.

I lay on my bed, listening to the clank of pots and pans downstairs and the crickets outside. Despair fell on me, and tears ran from the corners of my eyes into my ears. I rubbed at them. I knew that the vampires were coming out now, probably treating Alex’s remains like those of the dead cattle.

We were all soon to be dead cattle.

A knock sounded at the door. I lifted my head to see who it was, lowered it again.

Elijah. Elijah the rat. He came in bearing the golden light of a lantern and a tray of food. My mother came after him to take Ginger downstairs, leaving me alone with the last person on earth I wanted to talk to.

I stared up at the ceiling. The shadows on it moved as he set the lantern down on the nightstand. The bed squeaked as he sat down beside me. I edged away from him; I wanted no part of my leg touching his.

“Katie . . .” he began.

I said nothing. I laced my fingers behind my head tightly. Or else I was going to strangle him.

“Katie, this is for your own good.”

I turned my bright, angry gaze upon him. “And who are you to judge that?” I propped myself up on one arm, jammed my finger into his chest. “Who are you to judge me?”

“What you did is—”

“You are not God. The Elders are not God. The Bishop is not God. You may want to play as if you are him, in your own screwed-up shrinking little world, but you have no jurisdiction over me.”

His eyes were wide, shocked. “I just came to tell you that . . . I forgive you.”

I put my face close to his, snarled: “I don’t care. I don’t care what you think of me, what you approve of, what you forgive. You are not my God.”

“But we’re to be together,” he said plaintively.

“No,” I said. “Not you. Not ever. Not even after the vampires chew us up and spit us out, and we’re all dead, rotting meat waiting in line for the kingdom of heaven or the road to hell. Not ever.”

His gaze darkened. It wasn’t the blasphemy that angered him. It was the rejection.

He struck me. He hit me hard across the face, sending me tumbling to the floor. I lifted my head and growled at him, “Get out!”

He stood over me, his hand clenching my dress collar. His breath was hot on my face. “How could you give yourself to that Outsider? That stranger?”

I lifted my chin. “Because he didn’t try to control me.”

“I’ll show you control.” He grabbed my wrist and the hem of my dress, then sat on me.

I opened my mouth to scream, but he jammed his hand over my mouth.

“You never screamed in his arms,” he snarled.

Something struck my window. It sounded small, insignificant. Like a pebble hitting glass. It barely registered to me, but Elijah froze.

“Oh no,” he cried out.

I reached up, dug my thumb into his eye.

He howled and fell back against the bed. I kicked him off of me, backed away.

“You get the hell away from me,” I said. “You monster.”

He pressed his hand over his wounded eye, but the other eye rolled fearfully to the window. “I’m not a monster. Not like them.”

I glanced at the window, down into the yard.

And then I understood. I understood everything with perfect clarity.

I understood why the Darkness had fallen over us. Why my parents had not come running when they heard the scuffle on the second floor. I even understood why Ruth had died.

Two vampires stood in the backyard, staring up at my window. They were pale and gaunt, like spiders, the shadow cast by the moon driven before them.

“Elijah,” one of them said. “Come to us.”

“Elijah,” the other said. “Don’t you miss us?”

They were dressed as Plain folk, but their white shirts were stained with blood from neck to waist. I knew them. Seth and Joseph.

“You left us a note that said you missed us.”

I turned to Elijah, who sat stupidly on the floor, crying and holding his eye. “You knew they were here.”

“Ja,” he sobbed. “I saw them at dusk, five nights ago. I took my father’s wagon to go and get some fresh air . . . I was tired of being cooped up in the house. And I saw them, standing just beyond the gate, on the road. They called to me. Like now.”

I sucked in my breath. “You let them in.”

I heard a scraping outside the house. I stifled a scream as I whirled and saw Joseph peering through the window, stroking the screen. I reached up and slammed the window glass so hard it cracked a pane. Joseph laughed, and I heard him drop to the ground as lightly as a cat from a fence.

I whirled back to Elijah. “How could you let them in?”

He lowered his head. “I was so happy to see them . . . you can’t imagine. But they blew past me like leaves.”

“Why didn’t they kill you?” I demanded.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I think they remember me.”

“No. They have no sentimentality.” I kicked him in the ribs. “Why didn’t they kill you?”

“I don’t know,” he whimpered.

I grabbed his jacket, dug through his pockets. My fingers closed around a piece of paper. When I pulled it out, it was parchment. I shook it in front of his nose like a dog who’d had an accident. “Where did you get this?”

“Herr Stoltz made it for me.”

I opened it up, expecting a Himmelsbrief. But it was an elaborately painted document, showing stylized doves and hearts and tulips. In the Hexenmeister’s hand, the words Grow old with me were printed in Hochdeutsch. A list of ministers’ signatures endorsed Elijah’s character. Both our names were printed on it, with space for us to sign.

It was a Zeugnis, a marriage contract. I let it flutter to the floor. Some of the Hexenmeister’s magic must have worked into it, enough to keep Elijah safe.

I looked down into the yard, and my breath clotted in my throat.

Seth, the youngest, was kneeling down with his arms open. The door creaked open, and a small figure ran across the yard into his embrace.

“No!” I shrieked.

Seth stood up, cradling Sarah. He grinned over his shoulder at me, displaying long teeth and inhuman eyes.

“Come down here, pretty one,” Joseph said. “Come here and we’ll let the little girl go.”

I glared down at Elijah. He rocked back and forth, his hand pressed to his eye. “How dare you bring this to our doorstep!” I cried.

He didn’t answer me. I grabbed the lantern and stepped on the Zeugnis as I left