Blood of Gold by Duncan McGeary Page A

Jamie made them wait, made them listen to Terrill explain the consequences. Never again could they kill man, woman or child, they were told. Never again could they drink human blood. They could never go back.
    Since the consequence of failure was immediate death, there were always a few doubters. Terrill almost preferred it that way. Doubters were healthy. This was taking on all the trappings of a cult, and it made him uncomfortable. He probably ought to keep his mouth shut, he knew, but he couldn’t help spouting off when he had an audience.
    And there was Marc, at the end of the bench, writing down his every word. Marc refused to take credit for the authorship of The Testament of Michael . “I heard his voice,” he said. “Every word was Michael’s.”
    Terrill doubted it. Michael had never been big on religion. He had certainly never talked in the religious terminology of the Testament . Terrill’s Maker, the most ancient of vampires, had told him that the evolution of this new type of vampire had been planned and guided for millennia. We’re nothing but the end of a long line of breeding, Terrill thought. Like prize cows.
    That didn’t sound very lofty, however, and the Testament certainly was drawing in those vampires who were tired of killing. That’s what Michael had wanted, wasn’t it?
    Terrill stopped talking, and when it became clear he wasn’t going to continue, his disciples wandered off, discussing his words. Terrill almost laughed at the serious tones he overheard. What would happen if he just took off? Never came back?
    The cult would go on, he realized. Maybe even more vibrantly without him there to discourage it.
    He shuddered at the thought. He didn’t much want to be a martyr, but the logic of a cult almost demanded a sacrifice.
    Clarkson entered the clearing from the hillside above. They had Wi-Fi reception only at the top of the nearest hill, so there was always someone stationed there. The former Council member was a breath of fresh air for Terrill. She treated him as an equal. She apparently wasn’t buying into the legend of Saint Terrill. He’d begun to tell her of his worries about this turning into a cult, but she’d cut him off, saying, “It’s a cult when it’s only a few people; it’s a religion when it’s a lot.”
    “I thought you ought to see this,” Clarkson said now. She handed him a phone and he started reading.
    It was a blog by someone who gave his first name as Rod. It was entitled “To Terrill.”
    “I have read The Testament of Michael, and I think you might be our only hope. I am helping three young women who escaped the clutches of a serial rapist and murderer. They are safe for the moment, but I don’t know what else to do. I’m worried about them. They don’t know I’m doing this. They are completely innocent of the ways of the Internet.
    “Here’s the thing. They are vampires: vampires with the minds of thirteen-year-old girls, which was their age when they were abducted. Yeah, yeah, most of you will stop reading at this point, but it’s true. Crescent City had an outbreak of vampires. Maybe you read about it. So these innocent girls, who endured years of imprisonment by an evil man, were turned into these creatures, and now they are suffering. None of this is their fault. They don’t deserve it.
    “So far, they have not killed anyone, but I can tell they won’t be able to hold off much longer. I’m not worried about myself; I’m worried about their souls. They didn’t ask for what happened to them.
    “Terrill, help save these poor unfortunate girls.”
    Terrill handed the phone back to Clarkson. “OK. What can we do about it?”
    “I want to go get them,” she said. “Bring them back here.”
    “They don’t sound ready for the blood of gold,” Terrill said.
    “We can at least protect them,” Clarkson insisted, “until they are ready.”
    Terrill sat back down on the picnic table and thought. Was this really his responsibility? He felt