First fic, would love good, but would rather have burns than nothing at all.

A monk-in-training finds himself frighteningly quickly intertwined with an irresistible young woman and her friend on the girl's strange, obsessive and rather deadly search for the truth about vampires.

-Ashes to Ashes-

"Ashes to Ashes.

Dust to Dust.

Evil to Darkness.

Enough is Enough."

Almost a song that replayed itself in his head, over and over again. Hard to understand the exact melody, but easy enough to make one up to work with it. After all, the words were all that really mattered.

He found them under some chipping paint on his ceiling at night, years ago. He had just been causing his own sort of trouble and peeling the light green paint back when he located the sentences written clearly in black ink. The letters were curvy and looped, but readable. He, being young and superstitious, had not read them aloud. They seemed to him, the sort of thing one did not read aloud, like a wish upon a star, or a spell. That if he read them aloud they might come true.

Silly, childish. But he now, after keeping his mouth shut off from them for so long, could not bring himself to form them. As though doing so would break some secret meaning he had. That by speaking them, and finding that they were just normal words, would break down a part of his childhood, a part of his beliefs. And he did not want that to happen.

So, over and over, and over again. As he drifted off and into the unconscious, whilst looking up at the brown ceiling. A sort of singsong voice in his head, they were repeated, until he would drift to sleep.

-

"Johnn-EE!" The last syllable was pronounced extra-well, courtesy of Brother Abraham. Brother Abraham's voice was the highest any the choir by far, and he used it to it's fullest extent. Johnny scrambled out of his bunk. He had overslept again. He practically fell onto the floor, like every morning he overslept. He would have made a fabulous drunk, Brother Dylan always told. "Johnn-EE! Come DO-win!" Almost song-like, probably for all of the years in chorus.

Johnny ignored the second warning, yanking off his gray long jons and pulled on his black robe that bore several stains and rips. The last thing he grabbed and put on was his gold cross that he refused to sleep with because, he claimed, it cut and pressed into him in slumber. He had to make sure he put it on the next morning or else the first Brother he saw, with the exception of Brothers Carl or Brother Dylan, would attack him on the spot. He knew, it had happened.

Johnny flew out of his room and down the winding staircase from one of the towers to the main cathedral. The church was large and Gothic. Over 400 years old was their claim, and no one had reason to doubt it. The arches curved up in giant leaps and gargoyles twisted their scrawny, stone heads about it's roof and pillars. The grounds were large, over 200 acres, and contained huge gardens filled with vines and paths, covered in draping. Trees were all about said gardens that were set up in such away to make them a maze, undiscovered fully even by the gardening monks. Some said that they changed, but those were the Brothers who should have been in a nursing home rather then the monastery.

Down the spiraling stairs in the tiny wood hallway and out into a large corridor. Skidding along the halls, Johnny pumped his legs to make up time.

"Slow down!" Came a yell as he ran by, but Johnny didn't have to listen to Brother Collins. He was a scrawny little man with a flare for the dramatic and loved to make rules enforced. No one took him particularly seriously, so Johnny didn't have to, either. But as he flew past him, the middle-aged man glared with more passion then Johnny had seen in him, yet his face formed some sort of satisfied smile at the same time. Now he really ran.

Crashing into cathedral was not the best idea that he had ever had, but he wanted Brother Abraham to see that he had rushed once he had gotten the warning.

"Finally." The tall monk exclaimed. "John, my son, this is the third time this month that you have missed morning mass." The Brother scolded as Johnny went down to one knee and bowed his head in defeat and submission.

"Yes, Father." He nodded, keeping his eyes down and thinking about how he would get out of it.

"You know that Father Dam runs this cathedral with..." He continued and Johnny thought at great speed. This was hard to overcome, he may just have to take the punishment and save an excuse for next time. "...With Brother Dylan."

"Father?"

"The gardens, with Dylan. Now." He commanded, when the boy hesitated. Johnny walked out of the room with his head down. He was glad to spend the day with Brother Dylan, but no need for Abraham to know.

He began outside, ruffling his messy, dark brown hair about his head. It fell to near his shoulders, as the symbolism of shaving the head did not come into effect until he was twenty-one. Through the opening in the court and out into the gardens, he called out, "Dylan?"

"Yeah! This way!"

"Which way?"

"Marco!"

"Polo."

"Marco."

"Polo."

"Marco.

"Pol- Oh."

"Hey, why you out here, you hate gardening." Brother Dylan asked when Johnny stumbled upon him.

"Yeah, I overslept." He yawned and sat down next to where Dylan knelt in a pathway and tending to some flowers. Brother Dylan was 32.

"Bummer. Hey, I got something for you."

"Huh?" Johnny asked with vague interest as he played with a flower bud between two fingers.

"Here." And he handed him a rolled paper. "Just don't show it to... well, you know."

Johnny grinned and put it into his pocket of his black robe. "Thanks."

"I just think that if you're going to be cooped up in here, you need something to keep you from total exclusion."

"And I appreciate it." He nodded to Dylan, smiling sarcastically.

"Good. Now, you help me out with weeds, that's why you're here, right?"

"Right." He sighed and began to pull them up, slowly, but he ended up doing the same thing he always did, talking as Brother Dylan worked.

"...Monastery." He concluded a thought.

"How was that, again?" Dylan asked as a drop of sweat hit the ground.

"Eh, it was okay." He chewed a piece of grass and thought. "But I've told you."

"So tell again. You aren't being any other help."

Johnny shrugged. "Nuns aren't much to look at, to be honest." He shrugged, and reclined backwards with his two arms supporting himself on the hard bricks. "Mostly old, anyway..." And he described the first twelve years of his life with the nuns in some detail, and some fabrication.

"Dinner." Dylan proclaimed around noon, just as the sun had begun to overcome the garden's cool shade. Johnny sat up and examined his palms that he had been using to support himself. They had the indentations of bricks.

"You go ahead," Johnny told him. "I'll catch up." Dylan nodded and left, heading out and to the church's entrance from the courtyard. All of the monks had keys to it and the rest of the outside parts of the church, but the inside doors were kept by a select few of elders.

Once alone, Johnny opened the rolled paper Brother Dylan had given him. The woman in the picture had no top on her tanned flesh, and near no bottom, seated on a cherry-red Harley, blonde hair cascading down her bare shoulders. Johnny examined it quickly, then rolled it back up and headed out of the gardens in a slow walk, finding his garden key in the process.

-

When the boy entered the church, several Brothers were gathered in the main chapel part. Although he knew he should head directly into the eating area, he did not. He walked into chapel easily, strides long and temper calm, standing at the door.

The chapel was huge, built up and arched, with hundreds of angels carved up and along the ceiling of maple wood. There stood an organ on the far end, where the front stood, as pews hundreds of wood benches lead up to it. It had been years since any of said benches had sat a full service, for now the monastery was tended by monks and kept out of public eye, but it was kept well and clean, beautiful, really. Confessionals stood to the left of the benches and a large isle in the middle, stain-glass windows to the right and in the front. The back had huge, double-doors the were elegantly framed and carved by hand many years ago.

But, in the isle and surrounded by monks stood the one thing that they obviously found a great deal more beautiful and interesting then the ancient chapel. A young woman stood beside an older man, the man of around fifty, tall, at least 6'" and the girl around sixteen or so. The man wore a simple brown, two-piece suit and hat, black leather gloves and carried a wooden cane. His gray hair peeked out from under his rounded hat and his eyes were a shrewd gray, nose a bit too large for his fairly handsome, healthy face. The young woman had a head full of yellow curls that swished about her face beautifully, as they were shoulder length and ringlet. Her skin was pale and her form slender, lips pink and eyes blue. She wore white pants and a light pink blouse tucked into them, as they came up, past her thin hips. She was gorgeous, an all American beauty in England, even her accent was American, though she had yet to speak. The man spoke at the moment, and his accent, or lack there of, made him obviously British.

"Yes, well I do need to speak to the Father, as I have said, I am with the consul."

"Of course, Sir." Brother Carl nodded, bowing out to find Father Dam. In the meantime, all of the monks stayed, offering the English gentleman and his accomplice a tour. Johnny watched, leaning on the door frame. All of the men, no matter how long they remained without 'rude' thoughts, would turn when they saw such a girl. Johnny felt Dylan come up behind him, leaning on the frame over head, as he was taller.

"That's disgusting."

"Sick." Johnny agreed. Silence followed until Dylan spoke quickly,

"I'll make the distraction."

"I'll get her out. The forum, ten minutes."

"Right." And they went to work. Johnny never knew why Dylan ended up in the monastery, he found it best not to ask backgrounds, not to care, anyway.

"Brothers!" Dylan called, striding in silently, yet powerful in presence. Each of them looked at the other, spite and annoyance creeping into their faces. Brother Dylan knew how to operate, how to manipulated, and how to get what he wanted. And they all knew what he wanted. "I do believe that this fine gentleman is in need of a blessing, are you not Catholic, Sir?"

"I am, but-"

"Ah, wonderful. Unfortunately, we need you alone. Hm, someone can take the young miss out and show her the gardens? Son?" He beckoned to Johnny and the boy moved over, hiding his look of complete pleasure and amazement at the way that Dylan moved so quickly and smoothly.

"Yes, Brother?" He asked, bowing his head slightly as he watched the Brothers cringe. They knew it was a ploy, and they were unable to do anything. A blessing, to a Catholic and in this church, was more important then anything else. For this church had more history then most others in England, and none of it was easily escaped.

Johnny flicked his dark hair out of his eyes and moved over to the girl to escort her out and through the back corridors and into the gardens. He glanced at her as she watched him, curiously, and did not say a word, neither did. About halfway down one of the paths, she finally broke it.

"What is your name?" She questioned him, watching the garden gates as they passed through.

"John, or Son John, if you are wiser than I." Johnny spoke, without the slightest inclination of humor.

"Oh." Pause. "What is it like, living in a monastery?" She wanted to know, looking at him and waiting for him to look back. However, when he did, she looked away. Strange things, flirtations.

"Fine. Lonely." He answered, half-honestly.

"I suppose it must be." She agreed and paused, before continuing. "Why would anyone wish to come?" She sort of shrugged off in a laughing tone.

"My uncle, when he died, I had know where, no one. And then I found this place, and found God in it." She looked on in awe, sympathy and embarrassment, and some new level of respect, but not at his lie. At, perhaps, his ability to tell it? He could not say. But, Johnny decided, they would not be going to the forum.

"What, pray tell, is your name?" Johnny asked, solemnly, as he found the way down another path and into the butterfly section of the garden.

"Mary." She replied, distracted by the lovely insects around her. "Mary Magdalla. My uncle is Steven Wren, my mother's brother. My father and I live in New York most of the time, but we travel too. He had business, and uncle was going to Rome, so I came with him."

Her voice, Johnny soon found, was near musical, and he would have enjoyed just listening to it, so he did not interrupt, but asked for more.

"Where have you been, miss Magdalla?" He asked, with added formality.

"Many countries, and you may call me Mary, if you please." When he did not respond, she continued. "I have been to Spain, Portugal, France, Germany, Russia, Finland, China, Austria, Japan, Australia, India, Mongolia, many African nations," She counted off her fingers "But do not make me continue, have you ever been away from England?"

"No. Raised in London, then moved here when I was eight." He told her, looking intensely into her gaze, but she shied away, eyes following a butterfly.

"Have you learnt much here?" She asked, curious as much as making conversation.

"Latin, Christian ideals and all of the like. I suppose some basic other mathematics and such, as well."

"Hmm." She responded, nodding and they walked on in silence. As much as Johnny wanted to remain mysterious as possible, he had to get her to speak once again, and though he felt it was exactly how she wanted it, he was not sure. She did seem quite sweet. But before he could go any further, she paused on the path and turned to him.

"Thank you, Son John, for taking me on such a tour," She smiled through pink lips, shyly tipping her pretty head down. "But I fear we are needed back by now." Johnny winced as she called him Son, but nodded.

"Any time you wish to see anything, I'll be here, you can be sure of it." And he headed them back into the church, as they had not strayed far in the twenty-some minutes they had been gone. But when they entered the chapel, they found it empty. She glanced around as Johnny watched her, and her eyes fell on the confessionals.

"Confessionals. Lord, I haven't seen one in years." She sighed with a look of longing.

"I am certified to give confessions." Johnny smiled, kindly, something hiding behind his dark eyes.

"Son John." She turned to him, a faint smile playing across her face as she tried to decide what he meant by the comment. She turned back to look at them and sighed again. "But no. I could not, I have not in so long, I would not know where to begin."

Being a monk-in-training, Johnny could not push the idea any further, but he wished he were able. "Come." He beckoned her as they headed down a corridor and into another room full of tables, where Wren stood, surrounded by Brothers and Father Dam.

"I see." Dam was saying, as all turned to face the two children that had entered, Dylan raised one eyebrow at Johnny that said, 'we need to talk'. Thus, Johnny avoided his gaze. "I see. We shall discuss this more after a quick meal, as none of us have eaten just yet, and I am such you two are famished."

"No, I am fine, truly." Mary told them. "But, uncle, shall we remain the night?"

"Yes, dear, the monks have offered it so."

"Wonderful, then may I have a quick nap?" She asked, to her uncle and the Father.

"Yes." Father Dam nodded, concurrently, "Why doesn't Son John show you to your room? Any on the third corridor, Son." Johnny nodded and began to lead her away again, much to the disgust of the other monks and the amusement, but annoyance of Dylan, who had been unfairly left out of his other little venture. The other monks were annoyed at being beaten to her, he was annoyed at being played for the fool, but found the other reactions well enough amusing to satisfy his small temper for the moment.

"I am glad to be staying here, you know." She assured him, as they walked up the stairs.

"Why is that?" He asked, moving up the staircase, "Careful on these."

"We usually just stay in inns, the American equivalent of motels." He heard her smile and guessed that 'motels' were not first-class. "Anyway, I- Ah!" She gave a quick-pitched cry as she fell. Johnny spun to grab her arm and hold her up in a sitting position on the steps. She looked up at him, gratefully. "Thanks." She smiled as he helped her up and they continued. "But, of course, you stay here all the time. It must become boring." She mused.

"Not when you're dedicated to God." Johnny replied without turning.

"Oh, of course!" She sounded embarrassed, and perhaps a bit amused at his uncertain humor, "I'm sorry."

"No need." Johnny smiled to himself as they reached the top landing. "Just down this way."

-

"Rome?" Brother Sucar asked, eyes widening. Ten Brothers as well as the Father and Wren sat about a large wooden table whilst eating their dinner.

"Yes, Rome." Wren nodded, drinking some of the water before him. "It is an exciting opportunity, no?"

"Yes!" Brother Baxter was quick to volunteer, then backed down as Father Dam watched him in shame.

"It is quite the chance of a lifetime." The Father finally spoke up, is voice fairly soft and drawn out nicely, but warning at the same time. "But it is uncertain that we will accept your gracious offer." The Brothers looked about in shock, but Dam continued. "The trip that you speak of would take three of our monks away for two weeks, and with as few as we already have, I can hardly think we can spare the labor." The monks bowed their heads, for they knew it to be true. With only thirty-two of them to tend to the gardens and such, they barely made it now, with everyone working full. And prayers needed to be said.

"I fully understand your concern, Father, but take into consideration, this church was chosen. Above all others in England, your monastery was asked."

"Pride is a sin." Father Dam informed him, unwavering. Just then Brother Dylan stood. A small moan escaped the monks. Dylan was smart, and he got what he wanted. If he wanted Rome, he would get it.

"Father," He began, and Dam motioned for him to continue. "I've been musing, perhaps we could spare a simple three for Rome. Many of these good monks have never even lane foot upon the holy ground, nor ever shall they. I believe, and this is only my belief, that if we were to give such an opportunity to them, they would make us the better for it, this monastery the better for it. They could teach us."

"My Son, I have been to Rome." The Father remind him.

"Yes," Dylan was unfazed, "But to hear it from you is to here it from angels, or books, perhaps. To hear it from a peer, that is quite another thing completely."

"I see." The Father seemed to consider this, for, as much as he seemed detached from the world, he knew human nature well, and knew that his Son had a point. Also, as blasphemous as it may sound, he enjoyed being compared to the very angels on high. "Very well then, I shall consider it. But, my Son, whom did you wish to go?"

"I was thinking, Father, that Brother Cornall should take leave, to further his musical inclinations, Brother Gerggor should go, to understand more of the Latin that we are unable to teach him as he has excelled us, and that, perhaps, the youngest should be admitted, to further our learning in the generations to come."

"Youngest? Brother Harlen?" Father Dam guessed, wondering Dylan's intentions.

Brother Dylan smiled quietly. "Son John."

In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to the eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to Almighty God our bother name ; and we commit his body to the ground; earth to earth; ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Lord bless him and keep him, the Lord make his face shine upon him and be gracious unto him and give him peace. Amen.

-Book of Common Prayer, p. 485 (Burial rite 1)

Please review, would love good, but would rather have burns than nothing at all.