The morning after Gabriel’s surprise visit, Doc Peters and Crawford were summoned by Father Bernard to St. Mary’s Catholic Church in San Juan Capistrano, located fifteen miles from the institute.
The steeple bell tolled ten times as Doc Peters and Crawford reached the ivy covered walls surrounding the parish courtyard. They entered through double wooden gates leading to the church office and marched down the cobblestone path to Father Bernard's office.
“Why do you think he wants to meet with us?” Doc fidgeted with a wadded up gum wrapper in his jacket pocket.
Crawford seemed less concerned about the meeting. “You know these church types. They're always seeking donations. I'm sure this priest isn’t any different.”
But Doc wasn't so sure. “He said it was urgent.”
He held the door open for Crawford to pass through first, and followed him down the terra cotta tiled hallway leading to the carpeted reception area. Behind the antique cherry wood desk, a stick-thin, young brunette greeted them.
“We're here to meet with Father Bernard,” Crawford announced.
She flashed a toothy grin and fingered the pearl buttons on her cardigan. “Right this way,” she said, and escorted them into his office. She gestured to the two padded high-back chairs across the large cherry wood desk. “Please have a seat. Father Bernard will be right with you.” Once the men were seated, she left them alone and closed the door.
The office was cold, severe. Floor to ceiling bookcases lined one wall. Behind the desk a huge open Bible rested on a cherry wood credenza. Above it, a large crucifix hung on the wall. A long, brown leather sofa covered most of the opposite wall. French doors to the right of the desk led to a brightly colored rose garden—a sharp and welcome contrast to the room's monotone décor. A subtle fragrance of roses wafted into the office.
“Looking around this place reminds me of my too many years at Sacred Heart Catholic School,” Crawford remarked.
Doc laughed. “Sorry, I can't relate. I never set foot in a church in my life.”
“So this is a first. Sort of.”
The wall clock chimed once. Both men checked their watches. Ten thirty. The door opened and they stood up as a stocky, middle-aged man strode in.
“Good day, I'm Father Bernard,” he said, shaking their hands.
Crawford introduced himself and Doc to the priest.
“I want to thank you gentlemen for seeing me on such short notice. I’d intended to drop by the institute to speak with you personally, but my schedule didn’t allow me time to get away.” His pleasant demeanor quickly disappeared. “I'm hoping you can help us with a serious matter.” The priest wound his way around the desk and lowered himself into a leather chair.
Doc swallowed hard. Did he hear correctly? Us?
“Let me cut to the chase.” He leaned back and gazed through the glass doors. “We've heard rumors about your institute and its possible involvement with the undead.”
Doc felt the blood drain from his face. His stomach churned. He and Crawford exchanged wide-eyed glances. Holy shit! He tried formulating a response, but panic ruled and his mind went blank.
Crawford chuckled nervously and cleared his throat. “Rumors. Nothing but rumors. Let me assure you that everything we do at the institute is completely above board.”
“An interesting response. Considering.”
Considering…what?
After a long, uncomfortable pause, Crawford jumped to his feet. “If there's nothing else…”
Eager to seize the opportunity for a hasty exit, Doc tried to do likewise, but his arms trembled and his heart pounded as he pushed himself up from his chair.
Hopes were dashed when the priest pointed his index finger at the pair. “This meeting isn't over until I say it's over. Sit back down!”
They slowly lowered themselves back into their chairs.
“Allow me to apprise you of what we know,” Father Bernard exclaimed confidently.
Doc gulped, fearing the worst. Sweat formed on his palms. The priest knows.
Father Bernard pushed himself away from his desk and paced behind it before stopping at the French doors. “We're searching for Father Darius who contacted us regarding his quest to capture and destroy a clutch of vampires. Four of them. But he was especially interested in Romano Santos.
“What led Father Darius to South Orange County was a band called Dark Syde. Apparently, the band’s singer is an alleged vampire—and a friend of Santos. When Father Darius traced the band to a local club in Mission Viejo, he knew Santos would be nearby. Months ago, he confirmed Santos was in the area and called us. Knowing he couldn't capture him and his vampires without help, he asked for reinforcements, but none were able to arrive in time. Killing the vampires one at a time would have been possible, but not four…” He lowered his eyes and shook his head.
“I can’t see how any supposed vampires concerns us,” Crawford said.
“Don’t act naïve with me. It may not be common knowledge, but you know very well vampires exist. Hunters have spotted these unholy creatures in the vicinity of your institute. Which leads me to conclude you're harboring them.” He hesitated. “Are you?”
Crawford straightened in his chair. “Absolutely not! There are no so-called vampires on our premises.”
Relief swept over Doc. His boss wasn't lying. Roman and Alex were no longer one-hundred percent vampires. Gabriel had already left the institute. And vampire hunters had killed Seth. Doc relaxed and folded his hands in his lap.
The priest moved to the corner of his desk and leaned against it. “You see, currently the Church has a problem. We're most concerned about Father Darius's disappearance. The last time we heard from him, he was on his way to a club hoping to speak with Santos’s girlfriend. We have reason to believe he's involved with a mortal named Grace. A pretty young blonde who works at the club.” Pausing, he drew in a deep breath and pushed it out slowly. “Unfortunately, we never heard from Father Darius again.” He shot Crawford a knowing glance. “Are you acquainted with her?”
Looking as if he’d been hit by a two-by-four, Crawford shot back, “Why would we know her?”
The priest shrugged. “Just a feeling.”
Doc squirmed. He had to warn Roman.
“Another vampire we want is Gabriel Shapiro. Not only does he have a quick temper, he's ruthless and enjoys taunting his prey. The Church has been hunting him for nearly two hundred years. Almost as long as Santos. He and Santos now travel together. As a team, they are especially dangerous.”
Two hundred years?
The priest glared at them. “If you're harboring the vampires, do not be deceived by them. They aren't human. They have no souls. They kill people!” He pounded his fist on the desk. “Tell me what you know!”
Stunned by the priest’s outburst, Doc jumped.
“I know nothing about any vampires,” Crawford stammered, but stood firm.
“They've been sighted near your institute.”
“That's a lie,” Crawford shouted.
Resting his folded arms on his ample stomach, the priest narrowed his gaze on Crawford, “Because these creatures are particularly elusive, we've changed our strategy and formed a new, larger, highly organized team of seminarians to hunt and destroy the vampires. The seminarians have recently entered into an extensive training program because vampire slaying is a deadly occupation.” He peered through the glass doors and pointed to a group of young men jogging through the courtyard. “And there they are now.”
Doc and Crawford turned to watch the joggers.
“The man in front is Father Lucas,” the priest noted in a boastful manner.
The much younger, taller, bulked-up priest waved at him.
Father Bernard waved back and leaned against his desk. “Besides his efforts to find out what happened to Father Darius, he's also in charge of our new class of vampire slayers. We're fortunate to have him. He came highly recommended with a hundred percent success rate.”
Doc’s heart pounded in his chest and worked its way into his throat. He couldn't breathe. If this vampire slayer and his small army got anywhere near Roman and Alex, they would certainly be killed. He needed to protect them from the young priest.
Father Bernard returned to sit in his chair. He rested his folded hands on the desk. “So you see, we take vampires seriously here and will not allow them to run amok in South Orange County.”
Doc swallowed hard and glanced at Crawford, who was chewing on his bottom lip as a trickle of perspiration ran down the side of his face.
A frown showed on the priest's face. “I'm laying it all out on the table. Whether or not you admit you're harboring the vampires, Father Lucas and his hunters will capture and destroy them. That's a given. Now for my other request. Do you know this Grace or how to reach her? Apparently she recently quit her job at the club.”
“We haven't any idea who this woman might be or how to get in touch with her,” Doc explained as he fidgeted in his chair. He was telling the truth because he knew Roman would never disclose her whereabouts to anyone—even him.
Crawford piped in. “Have you tried one of the colleges? Maybe she's a student.”
“We've already tried, but without a last name… Can you tell me what it is?”
He's trying to trick us. “Of course not. We don't even know who you're talking about,” Doc answered.
The priest stared at them, a sly grin showing on his face. “I won't lie to you. I think you know more than you're willing to admit. Be forewarned, from this day forward we will be watching your institute very closely.”