• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Well, ick. This was going downhill in a hurry. And what I was getting off of Steve was just this endless, gloating satisfaction, along with a heavy dash of cleverness. Nothing concrete or informative.

“Excuse me, Steve,” said a deep voice. I swiveled in my chair to see a handsome black-haired man with a crewcut and a bodybuilder’s muscles. He smiled at all of us in the room with the same goodwill they were all showing. It had impressed me earlier. Now, I thought it was just creepy. “Our guest is asking for you.”

“Really? I’ll be there in a minute.”

“I wish you would come now. I’m sure your guests wouldn’t mind waiting?” Black Crewcut glanced at us appealingly. Hugo was thinking of some deep place, a flash of thought which seemed very peculiar to me.

“Gabe, I’ll be there when I’ve finished with our visitors,” Steve said very firmly.

“Well, Steve . . .” Gabe wasn’t willing to give up that easily, but he got a flash from Steve’s eyes and Steve sat up and uncrossed his legs, and Gabe got the message. He shot Steve a look that was anything but worshipful, but he left.

That exchange was promising. I wondered if Farrell was behind some locked door, and I could picture myself returning to the Dallas nest, telling Stan exactly where his nest brother was trapped. And then . . .

Uh-oh. And then Stan would come and attack the Fellowship of the Sun and kill all the members and free Farrell, and then . . .

Oh dear.

“WE JUST WANTED to know if you have some upcoming events we can attend, something that’ll give us an idea of the scope of the programs here.” Hugo’s voice sounded mildly inquiring, nothing more. “Since Miss Blythe is here, maybe she can answer that.”

I noticed Polly Blythe glanced at Steve before she spoke, and I noticed that his face remained shuttered. Polly Blythe was very pleased to be asked to give information, and she was very pleased about Hugo and me being there at the Fellowship.

“We do have some upcoming events,” the gray-haired woman said. “Tonight, we’re having a special lock-in, and following that, we have a Sunday dawn ritual.”

“That sounds interesting,” I said. “Literally, at dawn?”

“Oh, yes, exactly. We call the weather service and everything,” Sarah said, laughing.

Steve said, “You’ll never forget one of our dawn services. It’s inspiring beyond belief.”

“What kind of—well, what happens?” Hugo asked.

“You’ll see the evidence of God’s power right before you,” Steve said, smiling.

That sounded really, really ominous. “Oh, Hugo,” I said. “Doesn’t that sound exciting?”

“It sure does. What time does the lock-in start?”

“At six-thirty. We want our members to get here before they rise.”

For a second I envisioned a tray of rolls set in some warm place. Then I realized Steve meant he wanted members to get here before the vampires rose for the night.

“But what about when your congregation goes home?” I could not refrain from asking.

“Oh, you must not have gone to a lock-in as a teenager!” Sarah said. “It’s loads of fun. Everyone comes and brings their sleeping bags, and we eat and have games and Bible readings and a sermon, and we all spend the night actually in the church.” I noticed that the Fellowship was a church, in Sarah’s eyes, and I was pretty sure that reflected the view of the rest of the management. If it looked like a church, and functioned like a church, then it was a church, no matter what its tax status was.

I’d been to a couple of lock-ins as a teenager, and I’d scarcely been able to endure the experience. A bunch of kids locked in a building all night, closely chaperoned, provided with an endless stream of movies and junk food, activities and sodas. I had suffered through the mental bombardment of teenage hormone-fueled ideas and impulses, the shrieking and the tantrums.

This would be different, I told myself. These would be adults, and purposeful adults, at that. There weren’t likely to be a million bags of chips around, and there might be decent sleeping arrangements.