Editor’s Note:

Welcome back to “If Morning Never Comes,” a serial adventure of gothic peril from

If this is your first time with this story, start at the beginning! - Episode One | In Which: We Meet the Ashley Family

If you got lost, visit the Table of Contents! - If Morning Never Comes

The Hunters stood together in silence atop a small knoll. The grass on the moor was a sickly brown, hissing in the wind. Both men wore long, snapping black coats, hands in their pockets, shoulders shrugged against the stinging air. In the distance stood the church on a hill. The last parishioners had long left by now, and the good vicar had locked the doors. What should have been a bright autumn afternoon was reduced to rare streaks of sunlight breaking through the haze. Everything was seen as through a pale, yellow, anemic filter.

Charles waited for Herr Stryker to speak. He had arrived at the cottage after the old man was asleep, and been too overwhelmed to wake him. He threw himself onto his bed, and tossed and turned until the wee hours. When he awoke, Herr Stryker had left for Sunday service, and Charles rushed to overtake him. Late as he was, he had to wait to speak to his teacher. The chill he felt listening to Vicar Clarke pontificate still tingled his spine even now. The most unsettling thing was the way the man proceeded as if there was nothing to suspect. He was the same soft, inept preacher he had always been. But there had been no mistaking him the night before. Charles felt sweat under his arms and down his back as he brushed past the grinning robe after service. He could not look at him, not that close. He had to find Herr Stryker.

He found him at the edge of the graveyard, looking up at the belfry.

“You know, there is more wisdom in the mouth of that bird,” he pointed with his cane, “than anything that was said in the sanctuary this morning.”

“Help!” squawked the unhappy raven.

Charles was in no mood, “Herr Stryker.”

“At least he acknowledges his own need.”

“Herr Stryker!” Charles interjected.

“Hmm?” the old man turned.

Charles looked over his shoulder. Mr. Clarke was still pressing hands at the door. He laughed and placed a pastoral hand on a neighbor’s back.

“We should go,” Stryker intuited.

Their carriage rattled and bounced, the wind threatening. Not until he could be sure they were out of earshot did Charles begin his report. Stryker tried to interrupt when he detailed his disagreement with Jenny, but Charles begged to be allowed to continue. He was too afraid to be nervous of Stryker’s reprimand, so he sped right through his ascent up the stairs, and his search of the upstairs rooms. Stryker said nothing. Then, with as much detail as he could recall, Charles relayed the conversation between Mr. Raines and Mr. Clarke.

Herr Stryker turned the carriage off the main road as the story unfolded. He pulled the horses to a stop at the foot of the hill and waited for Charles to finish. When he did, Stryker got out and Charles followed him up.

Still they stood, cheeks nipped by the gusts. Neither had spoken further. Charles’ stomach churned. He knew Herr Stryker could read him like a book, and he began to grow nervous that the old Hunter suspected that he had withheld the whole truth from him. Charles had told him nothing of his escapade in the tower.

But when Stryker finally spoke, he only said, “I should have known.”

Charles turned, his face reddened by the cold, “How could you have done?”

Stryker shook his head, “We are not alone in this fight, Charles. Heaven sends wisdom.” The old man sighed, “To those who are not too dense to receive it. If only I’d known! We could have saved that poor girl.”

It distressed Charles to see him like this. “You cannot blame yourself, Herr Stryker.”

“I judge not even myself. That belongs to Another.” Stryker turned to face his protégé. “Is there anything else? Any other details?”

Charles hoped the shivering cold would cover any nerves he might display, “No sir. That’s all I heard.”

Stryker nodded and looked again at the church in the distance. “How did Mr. Clarke seem to you? Was he afraid?”

“No,” said Charles. “He was calm and – well, amused by the whole thing. Mr. Raines was clearly agitated, but he didn’t bat an eye.”

“And he gave orders to the vampire?”

“Yes. Like he was accustomed to it.”

“Astonishing,” said Stryker, scratching his mustache. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“It makes me nervous to hear you say that.”

“You are growing wiser.”

After a beat, Charles hummed, “That explains the dead animals at least.”

“How do you mean?” asked Stryker.

“Mr. Raines complained that he wasn’t receiving enough blood to live. He must be getting it from Mr. Clarke, and when he doesn’t get enough, I’ll bet he loses control and slaughters an animal.”

“Too many assumptions, Charles,” Stryker gently corrected. “All we think we know is that Mr. Clarke has some sort of control over the vampires, and has been supplying them with blood.”

“But where are these animals coming from then? And that girl?”

“Perhaps they are connected, but we cannot be sure. Never commit yourself to a single possibility. Ground yourself in what you know first.”

Charles’ energy was running ahead of the German’s analysis. He stamped his feet to warm his toes, “Fine. Add then that we know Mr. Raines isn’t happy to be obeying him. That’s why Mr. Clarkes came to see him in the first place. He even said Amelia had defied him by coming after me.”

“Yes,” mused Stryker, “And they both know what we are, but are not concerned.”

“Raines is,” said Charles. “But Mr. Clarke said he had seen that we would be no trouble. What does that mean? Like seeing the future?”

“Heh!” scoffed Stryker, “While there certainly seems to be more to our little vicar than we first believed, pretensions remain his defining characteristic. He’s a strategist, clearly. And he thinks he’s got the upper hand.”

“But if he’s only a strategist, how is he controlling Mr. Raines?”

“I don’t know, Charles. But I think the answer to that question holds the key to our victory.”

“Have you ever heard of someone controlling a vampire before?”

“There are legends,” said Stryker, “But nothing certain. There were ancient kings and lords who supposedly commanded armies of them. I find that to be extremely unlikely. Some villages believed witches could control vampires.”

“Witches?” asked Charles. “That can’t be true, can it?”

“What, that witches exist?” said Stryker. “Don’t be a fool, Charles. There is a reason God calls for their death in His Law. Now, whether they can command vampires is another matter. I’ve never had reason to think about it before now.”

“You think Vicar Clarke is a witch?”

“He’s no saint. But on the list of our possible answers, I’d say that’s just about at the bottom.”

Charles could not help but laugh and rub his brow with a hand. Stryker eyed him.

“What?”

Charles laughed again, “It’s just...I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Vampires, now witches. It’s all a little much, you know?”

Stryker faced him. “Are you surprised that there is more to the world than you have experienced in your short life?”

“Come on, Herr Stryker. You know what I mean.”

“No, I do not. You’ve read your Scripture, you know what it says.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t say anything about vampires, now does it?”

“Principalities, powers, spiritual wickedness in high places – what exactly did you think that meant?”

“Certainly not vampires and witches.”

“Don’t be flippant with me.” Stryker was animated now. “This world, up until very recently has been dominated by wicked gods and wicked men. It is only the victory of the Cross that has been able to push back the darkness and make possible what you call normal life.” His hands were out of his pockets, gesticulating with his cane, “And yet we are only ever one generation away from renewed oppression. Our Enemy is cunning, insatiable and patient. The evil day is never announced, Charles. It comes when we least expect it. If the wolf can be still long enough, the deer will lie down to rest. So you need to wake up!” he punctuated these words with two fingers in Charles’ chest. “Because you may be all that stands between the people you love and the horrors of Hell.”

Charles was sobered. He set his jaw and swallowed.

“I’m sorry.”

Stryker closed his eyes and waved his hands, “Ahh, don’t worry, Charles. I’m not angry at you.” He gazed out on the moor, facing away from the church. “I just wonder what will happen when there are none of us left who truly believe.”

Charles paused then said, “Won’t God preserve us?”

“Oh yes,” said Stryker immediately. “But the chastening of a generation is nothing I would wish upon anyone.” He turned back to Charles, “Least of all you.”

Charles smiled back at his teacher. One of the horses whinnied at the bottom of the hill. “You know, Herr Stryker,” he teased, “Six months ago I would have been halfway through my Sunday nap by now.” He spread his arms out, hands still in his pockets, “Now look at me.”

Stryker smiled with half his mustache, “Things can get very difficult when we decide to really live.”

“Is it worth it?”

Herr Stryker turned towards the ominous church. Charles observed his profile. He looked so ordinary. The Hunter nodded.

Charles too looked at the distant steeple. “Why would he want to control a vampire?”

Stryker shook his head, “A vampire slave could be a useful tool in the hands of an ambitious man.”

For the faintest moment, Charles felt a stab of pity for Edgar Raines. It lasted for only a heartbeat. Herr Stryker had drilled into him well the lesson not to pity the monster. Easy enough for Edgar. Amelia was another matter, however. He shuddered. Why had he kept that encounter from Herr Stryker? It was not like him to lie, not anymore. What if they could learn something from what she had said? He almost spilled out the rest of the story then, but Herr Stryker spoke first.

“We need to go in there.”

Charles was confused, “Where? The church?”

Stryker nodded. “There’s bound to be something there he doesn’t want us to see.”

“When?” asked Charles.

“Tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“We cannot wait.”

“We’re going to break into a church? Isn’t that some sort of sin or other?”

“The God of Heaven does not dwell in temples made with hands, Charles. We’ll go in, get what we need and then,” Stryker actually smirked. “We’ll have a discussion with Mr. Clarke.”

Charles chuckled along and rubbed his hands to warm them. He would keep the rest of the story to himself, but he determined that if at any time he thought that anything he had seen in the tower could help them in the Hunt, he would not hesitate to share it. But for now, the memory of Amelia’s desperate pleas belonged to him alone.