Remus had no idea how long or far he had run. Every breath he drew was painful. All he could hear was the pounding of blood in his ears. He had no plan, no destination. Remus only knew he must keep running. His life depended on it. Only fear drove him now.
He risked a quick glance over his shoulder. Nothing. The dark Muggle street was empty as far as he could see. But his pursuers were there, just out of sight. Remus could smell them, sense them.
How could he have been so stupid?
Remus had no weapons with him, not even his wand. He had left that in the Muggle motel room he was staying in. There was simply no way to make a foot long stick look unobtrusive under light Muggle summer clothing.
He was a Defense against the Dark Arts teacher for God's sake, he should have known better than to have gone out without it – alone and unarmed into the night.
But still, this many vampires pursuing a single target, especially one which proved so elusive, some of them ought to have gone off to look for easier prey. Yet they continued their hunt. It was uncanny.
Uncanny. That's exactly what this is,
thought Remus, glancing over his shoulder again. He saw them this time. Half a dozen vampires, pursuing him.And gaining.
He looked straight ahead again, running flat out. The stitch in his side like a knife between his ribs.
Then he saw it.
Sanctuary.
Not a quarter mile ahead was a church. A Catholic Church: crosses, holy water, hollowed ground. He was going to make it. He put on an extra burst of speed with strength gathered from nowhere.
He was going to make it.
The minutes it took to reach the church seemed like an eternity. But, finally, he was there, flying up the steps, pounding on the door. Pleading for entrance with the last of his breath. It wasn't late. Not 8:00 even, someone had to be there.
"Sanctuary," he screamed over and over, "For God's sake, someone, please, open the door."
His prayers were answered.
A priest yanked the doors open. Remus brushed past without looking at him. He headed straight for the fountain.
Holy water.
He fell to his knees before it, dipping cupped hands in.
Nothing.
The fountain was dry. The holy water, gone.
A flicker of light entered his vision. Remus stood up and raised his eyes slowly; afraid of what he might see.
A shard of colored glass.
The stained glass windows had been smashed, as had the religious figures. The large cross that stood as a centerpiece, desecrated.
Was nothing sacred?
He was set up. He stood, unmoving, in shock and fear.
There was no way he was getting out of this one.
Remus felt searing pain in the back of his neck. He closed his eyes and collapsed into the preternaturally strong arms which held him.
No,
drifted a voice into the back of his mind. Not like this. You can't die like this. You have to fight.Remus' eyes snapped open.
"Not like this," he repeated.
His struggles were so sudden and so violent the priest-vampire was taken by surprise. His foot made contact with its knee with a powerful crack. The demon cried out in pain, releasing Remus' neck. The werewolf, in turn, smashed his head back into the vampire's face. The demon's grip loosened and Remus slipped out of reach, backing into the confession box.
A weapon. You need a weapon.
The vampire was recovering, and already making for him. Remus, at a loss, let his instincts take over. Snapping a piece of wood from the confession box, he plunged the makeshift stake into the lunging vampire's heart.
He pulled it out. And as the former priest dissolved into dust before him, the doors swung open with a crash.
The cavalry had arrived.