“Let’s get out of here,” said Luke, trembling. He stood and saw the coffin cruising back out of the shadows, returning toward the altar. He ducked. Sfortunado again took aim and fired two more shots in rapid succession as she passed overhead. Splinters fell into Luke’s hair, and he noticed the coffin beginning to wobble in its flight. It gained speed and then took a nosedive at the altar, crashing into the metal sun and smashing the head off one of the sculptures.
As Uncle Sfortunado moved toward the altar steps, the lid of the coffin swung open on its hinges and what was left of Gracie levitated slowly into a standing position. Her blond wig was crooked, and her face drooped in lumpy folds. She was pale as milk; even her long tongue was white, and her eyes had lost their pupils. Her lopsided green smile revealed sharp canines.
“She’s a fuckin’ vampire,” said Luke.
“Fly like the wren,” said Sfortunado over his shoulder, and Luke didn’t need a translation. He bolted down the aisle toward the front door of the church. He heard the gun go off again, and he stopped and turned to see the old man hobbling after him, waving him to move. On the altar, Gracie was screaming like a wounded cat.
Luke made the door, burst out into the night, and then held it for Sfortunado, who was little more than halfway, limping and scuttling with all he had. Behind him, Gracie was floating up off the altar.
“Come on!” yelled Luke, and just as the old man reached him, he saw Gracie swoop through the air toward them. He grabbed Uncle Sfortunado by the arm, pulled him outside, and slammed the door. There was a thud against it from inside.
“She’s coming.”
The old man leaned back against the door and bent over to catch his breath. In between heaves, he held up a trembling index finger and said, “She’s trapped in the church. till dawn.” Then he laughed and again couldn’t catch his breath. “I knew she was gritchino,” he said. “I told them all, and they said, ‘Oh, Sfortunado, he’s losing his marbles.’”
“She can’t get out?” said Luke.
“I already told you. Call Darene, tell her gritchino. Tell her to bring guns.”
Luke took out his phone and did as he was told. He still wanted to run and keep on running till he was back at his house, in his room, earphones on, sitting at his computer. Darene finally answered.
“What are you doing to me here?” said Luke.
“Quit complaining,” she said. “You’re already more than half through the night.”
“Gritchino,” he said. “Gracie’s gone wild.”
Darene didn’t answer, but he heard her running from her room. At a distance he heard her scream, “Dad, Gracie’s gritchino.”
Two minutes passed, and while Luke waited for Darene to pick up again, Uncle Sfortunado limped over to a stone bench to the right of the church doors and sat down with a sigh.
“Stay there,” Darene finally said into the phone. “We’re coming.”
“Your uncle says to bring guns. Darene, what the hell?”
She hung up. Luke walked over to the bench and sat next to the old man. “This is all wrong,” he said.
Sfortunado smiled. “Only wrong if we don’t kill her.”
“Forget we,” said Luke. “I’m done.”
The old man waved a hand as if to dismiss him. “Cowards get no treasure,” he said.
“What treasure?”
“You kill the gritchino, cut off the left leg, and there’s a diamond, right here,” he said, leaning forward and pointing to the back of his leg. “Inside the calf muscle, a gift from the great spirit for killing the creature.”
“Get out of here,” said Luke.
“This big,” said Sfortunado, and made a fist. “You help kill it, you get a share.”
“How hard is it to kill the gritchino?” asked Luke.
“Ehh.” The old man rocked back and forth. “Sometimes not so hard. First you shoot it, shoot it, shoot it, and then you gotta nail the head.”
“What do you nail it with?”
“Brass. This long,” he said, and stretched his thumb and forefinger apart six inches. “Right here.” He touched his finger to the middle of his forehead. “With a hammer.” He pantomimed a mighty hammer blow. “Pfft, finished.”
“What if she gets me before I get her?”
“Gritchino likes the organ meat — liver, kidney, heart, you know. Likes the blood.”
“What makes her do that?”
“It’s in the blood. People say it’s a demon, evil spirit, goblin, but this is the twenty-first century. It’s a hereditary germ. It makes gritchino every fifty years or so.”
“If it’s a hereditary germ, how does the diamond get in her leg?” said Luke.
Uncle Sfortunado shrugged. “You ask too many questions. Just shut up and kill the gritchino.”
“Was that a twenty-first-century flying coffin?” asked Luke.
“Gaduche,” said the old man, and shook his head.
Five minutes later, Mr. Cabadula’s black Mercedes pulled into the parking lot. As soon as it stopped, Darene got out of the passenger side and came running toward the bench. Luke stood up to meet her, but she passed him and went to Uncle Sfortunado. “Are you okay?” she asked, leaning down and putting her arms around him.
“Yeah, yeah, I had gaduche to protect me,” he said, staring at Luke over her shoulder.
Mr. Cabadula walked up and began speaking in their language to Sfortunado. Darene went to Luke, took him by the arm, and moved him away from the men to the other side of the church doors.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Are you kidding? She’s some kind of vampire,” he said.
“Once in fifty years out of all the Cabadula. Why Gracie?”
“When do we call the cops and leave?” asked Luke.
“We have to kill it,” said Darene. “It’s our family duty.”
“That’s crazy.”
“You can go home if you want,” said Darene. “I’ll call you a cab.”
“Listen, I’ve seen Gracie and she’s nasty. Come back with me.”
“I can’t,” she said.
“So are we ready?” asked Mr. Cabadula, now standing behind his daughter. He had a wave of graying hair and a mustache. His arms were folded across his chest.
“Luke’s going home,” she said to him.
“Going home,” said her father in a flat voice.
“No. I’ll help,” said Luke.
“Ever shoot a gun?” said Mr. Cabadula.
“Sure,” he said, though he’d never even touched one.
“Come to my car,” said Darene’s father.
As they followed him, she put her arm around Luke and kissed his ear.
“If I get killed, my parents are gonna be pissed,” he said to her.
Sfortunado was already at the trunk of the Mercedes. Mr. Cabadula opened it and stepped aside. “Take one,” he said. Luke looked in and saw a row of six pistols lying on a beige woolen blanket. The guns didn’t look like anything he’d seen in the movies. They were old, with rounded wooden stocks and silver filigree work on the barrels.
“Three shots,” said Darene’s father as Luke reached in and took one in his hand.
“What gun has only three shots?” asked Luke, backing out of the car and lifting the piece to inspect it.
“Three shots,” Mr. Cabadula repeated. “The bullets are made with shards of witch bone.”
Luke held the gun straight down at his side, afraid it might go off from either age or magic. Darene’s father then handed both her and Luke flashlights.
Sfortunado had left the revolver he’d used in the church and took two pistols, as did his nephew. Darene slid hers into the waist of her jeans.
They stood by the church door, and Mr. Cabadula was giving instructions. All Luke heard was the first point, that Gracie could be lurking right inside the front door, and after that he was too scared to concentrate. Darene looked over at him and touched his shoulder. “Do you know what you’re doing?” she asked. He nodded, and then Uncle Sfortunado, one gun in the pocket of his baggy pants, wrapped his fingers around the handle of the church door. Mr. Cabadula crouched slightly and took aim with his pistols. Darene drew the gun from her waist and nudged Luke back a few steps. “Now,” said her father, and the door swung open.