When a vampire bites a Church of England priest in a small 1600s parish church in rural England, he expects to create a creature of darkness. Instead, he creates a problem.

The priest - dry, fearless, and constitutionally incapable of making a fuss - approaches his new condition the way he approaches everything. Practically. He sees his physician. He finds a young chemist who identifies the pathogen. He switches to cow blood, courtesy of a local meat packing plant and a churchwarden named Theodore who drives him there on Thursdays without being asked twice.

His congregation organizes a blood donation rota and supports him through his condition. Without drama. Without judgment. The way good communities do.

His enhanced senses make him an extraordinary pastor. He notices what others miss. He helps who he can. And word spreads - beyond his parish, beyond his community - to a much older and more troubled congregation who have been waiting centuries for someone who can hear them without flinching.

The vampire who attacked him wanted to destroy the church.

He saved it instead.

The Vampire Priest is a story about faith, science, community, and one thoroughly mortified clergyman managing an extraordinary condition with quiet English dignity. It is barely horror. It is barely suspense. It is about the community we find when we need it most.