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her name five times, and then he made what sounded like bird calls—whistling, gibbering, cawing, singing in an even higher tone than before. Even though the threat of Gracie lunging out of the dark had him sweating, Luke couldn’t keep a straight face. His nervous laughter lasted only a second before he saw a white form slowly passing into the grainy light, halfway up the center aisle. The pale blob wavered with the candle flame and then became clearer—Gracie on all fours, crawling obediently toward the altar.
    Spit was flying from Sfortunado’s lips as he trilled and whooped. He swung his arms for more power and lifted up on his toes. His head darted back and forth, up and down, like a bird’s. Luke thought the old man was going to keel over from his efforts. Gracie inched ever closer, purring in such a way that the sound echoed everywhere.
    When she reached the foot of the altar, she grunted and slowly rose to her feet. Her wig had come off; she was completely bald. Her white tongue lolled down over her chin and her eyes were closed. She began snoring. Sfortunado quit his bird impersonations, stumbled backward, and fell onto the altar.
    â€œNow,” said Darene and stepped forward with her gun out. Luke froze for a heartbeat, and in that brief space, the lights of the church went on. He blinked and brought his free hand up to block out the sudden glare. From between his fingers, he saw Gracie’s eyelids slide open. Then he saw the fangs. She pounced like a flying leopard, arcing upward through the air. A shot rang out and then another, and the next thing Luke knew, Gracie had landed at Sfortunado’s feet and sunk her fangs into his left calf muscle. Blood sprayed over the altar and the old man screamed in agony.
    Sfortunado’s cry brought Luke to his senses. He aimed at Gracie’s back and pulled the trigger. The pistol kicked in his hand and the slug went wide and dug into the altar floor. Darene took aim, fired, and hit Gracie in the side, tumbling her off Sfortunado and right at Luke’s feet. He jumped back a step and the gun went off, splintering the boards. At the sound of the shot, Gracie sprang up and away from him. She bounded once and in an instant had her hands wrapped around Darene’s throat. Darene’s arms were between Gracie’s and she struggled to hold back that pale, gaping mouth.
    Luke sprang into action, but thought, “What am I doing?” as he managed to sling an arm, hand holding the stock of the pistol, around Gracie’s neck. With his free hand, he grabbed the end of the barrel of the gun and pulled back, forcing it against her windpipe. Rearing away from Darene, Gracie tried to break his grip with her hands. She bucked and whipped from side to side, turned in circles. He barely held on. Her flesh was the consistency of wet clay, and she stank like rotting meat. She dug her nails into his forearms, and he head-butted her as hard as he could at the base of her skull. She growled and tipped backward, losing her balance at the edge of the altar.
    Luke caught a glimpse of Darene, aiming her gun at them as they fell. He didn’t know whether to let go or hold on tighter. If Gracie landed on him he was sure he’d lose her, but, though he cringed in anticipation, he never slammed against the church floor. Instead, he opened his eyes as she lifted off the edge of the altar and ascended. Luke looked down and screamed.
    â€œLet go,” Darene yelled.
    He held on tighter as they circled upward. In seconds, they’d reached the height of the dome, and Gracie leveled out, now placidly flying, like Superman, with her arms out in front of her. They orbited the inside of the dome, and, amid his panic, Luke noticed the images painted on the curved ceiling—scenes of people with bird heads feasting on platters of insects, a grasshopper with a halo on a throne, trees and mountains, all amid a sky-blue background with white clouds.
    Gracie