- Mistress Of The Night -

At the moment, though, the boys weren’t thinking about dinner. The apparent leader, a bleach-blond clad head to toe in black, surveyed the masses for likely entertainment. In his wake, a young man with long, glossy dark hair many a girl would kill for, eyed the rides and the games, most of the latter being rigged and all of the former much less exciting than the ride it took to get to the boardwalk in the first place. At his shoulder, the last two boys—one with a sandy lion’s mane and the other with gold ringlets—pointed out the more attractive onlookers to each other and gave many a sly grin and cheeky wink.

“Well,” David finally said over his shoulder to Dwayne, “what do you think?”

Dwayne pulled a face. “Seems dead right now,” he answered. “Maybe give it an hour or so and then—”

All four boys exchanged looks, then David shrugged and led the way forward.

He fell silent as a commotion ahead reached them. Raised voices further up the boardwalk—no, just one raised voice—rose above the music and the games and the rides with a fervor bordering on mania.

The movement of the crowd slowed to a trickle as a knot of people gathered around the lone speaker. Judging by the intensity of his cadence and the expressions on the faces of his audience, he was either delivering a dramatic monologue or giving a fire-and-brimstone sermon. And the way a handful of onlookers were nodding along and even chorusing “amen,” the sermon was looking more likely.

The boys broke to the front of the crowd and Paul laughed. “It’s so cute when they leave the pulpit and mingle with the flock.”

“There is a disease among us, friends,” the speaker insisted. He was a well-groomed, middle aged man, clean shaven and going gray at the temples and dressed like any moderately successful red-blooded American male.

”Someone tell Max this guy broke into his wardrobe,” Marko joked, and the other three laughed at the suggestion.

The final, most important detail, and the only thing that set the speaker apart from his audience, was the bible clutched in his hand and the gold cross pinned to his lapel, set just above an enamel American flag.

“A disease,” the sidewalk prophet went on, “and the afflicted walk among the vulnerable and unsuspecting. Satan himself is at work in Santa Carla, claiming our sons and daughters for his army! These devil’s minions, they feed on our children and turn them from God’s light!”

Dwayne nudged Paul and Marko grinned at David before interjecting, just loud enough to be overheard, “Oh no! That’s awful!”

The preacher latched onto it like a hound chasing after a fox. “It’s terrible, indeed. These people, they can’t abide in holiness, and so they prey on others to sustain themselves, on good people just like—”

His eyes finally fell on the four boys, all watching him with knowing smirks, and he faltered. A murmur that was more feeling than sound rippled through the crowd, and a few abandoned the throng altogether now that the new masters had come to claim the captive audience’s attention.

“People just like…just like you, young man,” the preacher went on, trying to pick up the dangling threads of his sermon. “They belong to the devil, and they infect the unwary with their disease.”

Paul put a hand over his mouth in mock horror.

“But sir,” Marko asked, putting on an innocent, angelic expression that clashed horribly with the boys’ grins, “isn’t there anything we can do to keep safe from these people?”

The preacher swallowed hard and clutched absently at his bible. “Cling—” He cleared his throat and tried again, “Cling to the Lord and his works, young man. Turn your back on vice and sin. These devils roam the dark and chaos, in places like this very boardwalk, where they hunt in plain sight.”

“Sounds like you’re in danger out here right now, Father,” David pointed out, his smile never faltering.

Sweat glistened on the preacher’s brow. He swiped a hand absently across his forehead and held the bible aloft. “He sent me, son, to cast a light to those in need. I go where he sends me.”

Dwayne tapped David on the shoulder and nodded his head across the way. At the outermost edge of the crowd, boardwalk security had arrived to see what the commotion was. David nodded and motioned to the other two, and all four boys moved along, Marko with a wave to the preacher and Paul blowing him a kiss.

“I wonder what that could have been about,” David mused as they strolled away.

“He sounded pretty sure of himself,” Paul commented lightly.

“Sure of what, exactly?” Marko asked, still so innocent.

“Maybe we ought to ask him and find out,” Dwayne suggested.

“Maybe so,” David agreed. He quirked an eyebrow and gave a half-smile. “Maybe later?”

The other three shared a laugh and a grin, and they all melted away into the crowd.

***

The Santa Carla boardwalk was deserted. The lights were turned out, and the stars owned the sky again. The rides were still and quiet, sleeping giants beside the ocean. The only sound that remained now that humanity had surrendered the boardwalk was the crash of the surf and the sigh of the wind.

The preacher had stayed until the last of the crowd, the very last person who could possibly hear his message, vanished for the night. And it had been a long night, indeed. Security moved him along from his chosen pulpit twice when the crush around him got too unruly. He was dismissed, ignored, and ridiculed more often than he was taken seriously. His voice was hoarse from speaking and his feet and back were sore from standing for hours on end. It was a small price to pay, though. If his message got through to even one of the folks out on the boardwalk, then it was all worth it. Every soul he steered out of the clutches of evil was a soul saved.

He heaved a sigh that turned into a yawn and kept walking to his car. It had been a long night, but it was time well spent. He nodded to himself as the thought occurred to him and cast his eyes to the sky in a silent prayer of thanks.

There was time to register four dark figures swooping down like avenging angels before something seized him in a grip of steel and pulled him into the air so fast it never crossed his mind to scream. The rush of the wind in his ears wasn’t enough to drown out the cheers and laughter from the…were they angels?

His eyes adjusted to the deepened darkness and he let out a cry of horror.

Their faces were all jutting bones and harsh shadows. Their eyes burned with malice and hellfire. And their teeth…oh sweet Lord, their teeth…

“Evening, Father,” one of them said with a grin that made the preacher’s blood run cold. “What brings you out here so late?”

“It’s not safe out here, Father,” another one added. “There are all sorts of devils on the boardwalk.”

They all laughed again and the preacher recognized them. They were the teenagers he had spoken to earlier that night, the ones that seemed to repel you even as they lured you in despite your best instincts. And there was no way they were even human.

David had snatched the preacher from the ground and hauled him into the air, but now that the surprise of their appearance had worn off, the man screamed and fought to free himself. With a sharp whistle to the others, David let go and their prey tumbled through space before Paul caught him, then flung him to Dwayne, who tossed him to Marko, who dangled him upside down by one leg. The rest of the boys closed in and the preacher looked from one face to the next with renewed terror.

“Interesting sermon, Padre,” Paul remarked. “I really liked the part about those minions of the devil who feed on God’s children.”

“What are you people?” the preacher demanded frantically.

“You sure you don't already know?” Dwayne asked by way of answer.

“You seemed to know an awful lot,” Marko added. “All about people like us, hunting in plain sight and infecting the unwary with our disease…”

The preacher stammered unintelligibly in response and David lunged closer to seize him by the shirtfront. Marko let go and the preacher twisted and dropped, latching both hands onto David’s arm and looking fearfully at the ground so far away.

“What else do you know about people like us?” David asked.

“I don’t think he was expecting the joyride,” Paul replied.

“I don’t think he’s even seen one of us before,” Dwayne pointed out. “Look at him! He’s pissed himself!”

“I don’t even know what you people are!” the preacher burst out.

“Vampires, Father,” Marko told him with a smile that was a lot less angelic with his true face on display. “Roaming the boardwalk in search of sons and daughters to feed on.”

“It’s kinda like grocery shopping,” Paul added helpfully.

“Vampires?” the preacher repeated.

“Well, yeah,” David said. “You seem surprised to see us, for someone who knows so much about our kind.”

The preacher burst into tears. “I wasn’t talking about you! I swear! I didn’t even know you were real, I swear it, oh God, please—”

“Not talking about us?” Marko said thoughtfully. “Huh. Interesting.”

“So, who were you warning your adoring public about?” Paul asked.

“The-The degenerates,” the preacher sobbed. “Homosexuals and sodomites! They turn honest folk against nature and now they’re spreading their plague into our communities!”

The boys floated in silence for a moment, listening to the preacher’s wails.

Then David spoke. “Degenerates? Sodomites? You hear that, boys? I think the good reverend just called us faggots.”

Paul shook his head and tutted in disapproval. Marko closed his eyes and put a hand over his heart as if wounded. “That’s a really hateful thing to say, Father,” Dwayne chided.

“Pretty mean,” David agreed.

“So rude,” Paul chimed in.

“I thought you preachers were supposed to be all ‘love thy neighbor,’” Marko sighed. “I don’t feel very loved right now…”

“I'm sorry,” the preacher said in a terrified whisper, looking more panicked than ever. “I'm sorry, I take it all back, just don’t hurt me and I’ll never say a word about it again—”

“Nah, I don’t think ‘sorry’ is going to cut it, Father,” David said. “See, now you’ve hurt Marko’s feelings.”

“And nobody hurts Marko’s feelings,” Paul added.

The preacher glanced over at Marko, who smiled at him, elegant and deadly teeth on full display.

If you happened to be on the beach that night and you happened to look up, you might have seen several dark shapes high up in the sky. They were the wrong size and shape for birds, but you still might have called them that with no other reason to argue otherwise. They passed something back and forth between them, like strange gulls who found an interesting piece of trash on the shore and decided to play catch with it for a while. They seemed to grow bored with it after a moment or two and let it fall back to earth with a disturbingly loud thud, then vanished deeper into the sky.

Of course, if you knew a few particular things about Santa Carla, you would know better than to be on the beach after dark. And you certainly wouldn’t go investigating any strange shapes in the sky, or what they left behind them in the sand below.