Revealed

appeared to be upraised hands, sharp with talons, their metal surface slick and wet and ready for her to ravage.
    “Release me! Allow me to be seen!”
    The cloud of magick dissipated. Neferet settled silently to the pavement. “Come with me, my darlings,” she told her threads. “Our fast is over. Let us gorge ourselves as I deserve!”
    Neferet climbed the many limestone stairs as Darkness, like the train of a queen’s coronation mantle, flowed behind her. She glanced up. Statues jutting from the outer wall were golden gods astride rain-washed chargers. They seemed to bid her welcome.
    Below them, carved over the three-peaked doorways, were men bowing.
    “To me.” She spoke to the silent statues. “You bow to me.” Staring up, Neferet read the words written beneath each of the three groups of worshipping statues: THE FRUIT OF THE SPIRIT IS LOVE, JOY; PEACE, LONG-SUFFERING, KINDNESS, GOODNESS; FAITHFULNESS, MEEKNESS, SELF-CONTROL.
    Neferet laughed. “This is going to be easier than I imagined.”
    Naked, Neferet entered the church, choosing the door that held the word LONG-SUFFERING . Within, the walls were painted a muted pink that reminded her of blood diluted by a wash of tears. She thought it a perfect color. Turning to her left, she followed a curving hall until she came to the main entrance of the sanctuary. The doors were closed. Neferet smiled fondly at her threads of Darkness. “Yes, do please open them.”
    The threads obeyed her.
    Neferet stepped within the large, oval room. A hymn was just in its last few notes, and as they drew out the
aaaamen,
Neferet took the opportunity to appreciate the setting before she was noticed. It really was a lovely sanctuary. Though with the pale violet velvet cushioned seats and the art deco stylized stained glass windows decorated in colors of blush and lilac, she thought that it looked more like one of the ornate theaters that so proliferated in America at the turn of the last century than a church. Its round, tiered seating tapering down to a central stage was obviously created more for drama than worship.
    Neferet smiled, enjoying the irony.
    “Psst!” A whisper came from the shadows at the back of the room as the pastor began to lead the congregation in a tediously repetitive prayer. “Excuse me. Do you need help?” A thick, middle-aged woman approached Neferet. She was so entranced by Neferet’s naked body, that she hadn’t even glanced at her tattoos.
    Neferet turned to her. “Yes, I do.” Neferet held open her arms, as if she wanted the woman to embrace her. Blinking in confusion, the woman stepped closer to her. Neferet struck with blinding speed, ripping her talon-like fingernails across her throat, and catching the woman as she collapsed forward. Neferet did embrace her then, but the kiss she shared with the woman was pressed to the bleeding gash of her throat. Neferet drained her body as she fed from her energy.
    Someone in the rear of the congregation screamed.
    Neferet looked up as the people turned to her. She released the woman. Her body fell to the floor with a satisfyingly final thud.
    Lifting her chin, Neferet swept her hair back and strode forward to stand within the sanctuary.
    “Oh my god! It’s a vampyre!”
    “She’s naked!”
    “She just killed Mrs. Peterson!”
    People began screaming. Some even started to flee their pews.
    Neferet lifted her arms. “Seal the doors! And reveal yourselves to them!”
    The shadows around Neferet rippled as the thick snake-like tendrils took a form humans could see. The congregation paused, staring in horror, as they slithered to each of the doors and, web-like, sealed them from within.
    “What is it you want?” A white haired man wearing a black robe trimmed in scarlet velvet strode from the pulpit toward her.
    “I am Neferet,” she said cordially. “And you are?”
    “I am Dr. Andrew Mullins, pastor of Boston Avenue Church. What is the meaning of this violation?”
    “Violation?” Neferet smiled. “Oh, I have barely begun violating. This”—she waved her blood-soaked fingers at the woman’s body—“was not even an appropriate appetizer.”
    “With the power invested in me through our Lord and Savior, I demand you leave this holy place and harm no one else!”
    “Pastor Mullins, even though I don’t look it, I am quite a bit older than you, so let me share with you a little something I’ve learned over my many years:
real
power trumps
invested
power every time. So, I do