I stepped forward before I could lose my nerve.“I will.”
Marcus nodded, gesturing for me to approach the desk.My hand trembled as I extended it toward the leather cover.
“Wait,” Marcus said.“First, you must understand what you’re swearing.Listen carefully.”
He recited from memory, his voice filling the austere office with the weight of ancient promises:
“I submit myself wholly to God’s holy will and to His appointed servants of Truth.I renounce the corruption of my flesh and embrace the purification of service.I pledge my existence to the eradication of evil in all its forms, whether it dwells in others or in myself.I accept that my redemption comes only through absolute obedience to the divine mission entrusted to those who guide me.I swear this oath freely, understanding that to break it is to condemn myself to the eternal flames of hell.”
I parsed each phrase, searching for the trap I knew must be hidden within.But as I listened, a curious thing happened—I found not a trap, but a door left ajar.“God’s holy will and His appointed servants of Truth.”Not Marcus specifically.Not even the Order by name.Servants of truth could mean anyone who genuinely served God’s purpose.The oath was binding only to the divine will itself, not to the Order’s warped interpretation of it.
“Do you understand the words?”Marcus asked.
“I understand them.”I nodded resolutely.
“Then place your hand upon the Word and repeat after me.”
My palm touched the ancient leather.The pain came instantly, absolute, as though I’d pressed my hand against a bed of glowing coals.The skin sizzled, smoke rising between my fingers, the smell of burning flesh filling the room.Every instinct screamed at me to pull away, but I held firm, looking directly into Marcus’s gray eyes.
“I submit myself wholly to God’s Holy Will,” he began.
“I submit myself wholly to God’s Holy Will,” I repeated, my voice steady despite the agony.The words came out clear, though my throat constricted with the effort of not screaming.
“And to His appointed servants of Truth.”
“And to His appointed servants of Truth.”As I spoke, I thought of Father O’Malley, dying somewhere in this very city.If anyone was God’s appointed servant of truth, it was he.
The oath continued, each phrase a fresh wave of torment as my palm burned deeper into the Bible’s cover.I could feel my skin charring, layer by layer, the nerve endings firing in continuous alarm.But I’d endured the burning of the Eucharist for over a year.I’d learned to find meaning in that sacred pain.This was different—not purification but a trial—yet I could bear it.
“I renounce the corruption of my flesh and embrace the purification of service.”
The words left my mouth even as I silently added my own interpretation.I renounced the monster within, not what remained of my humanity.
By the time we reached the final words, my entire arm trembled with the effort of keeping my hand in place.The smoke had formed a small cloud above the desk, and the office reeked of burning flesh.But I completed the oath without faltering, without breaking Marcus’s gaze.
“I swear this oath freely, understanding that to break it is to condemn myself to the eternal flames of hell.”
Only when Marcus nodded did I pull my hand away.I cradled the injured hand against my chest and stepped back to allow the next person forward.
Ruth approached with grim determination.She knew what awaited her now, had seen my ordeal, but she placed her hand on the Bible without hesitation.As she repeated the oath, her face contorted with agony, but her voice never wavered.I watched Desiderius, noting how he shifted his weight slightly when Ruth seemed about to break, drawing her attention just enough to help her maintain focus.
Rebecca required more assistance.The youngest among us, she began sobbing the moment her palm touched the leather.Blood tears streaked down her face as she forced out each word between gasps of pain.Once, she nearly pulled her hand away, but Desiderius cleared his throat—a small sound that somehow cut through her panic.She completed the oath, though by the end she was speaking in barely a whisper.
Desiderius went last, and his performance was flawless.He’d done this before, but Marcus insisted he repeat it regardless, given his unauthorized actions over the last year.Desiderius might have been reciting poetry for all the emotion he showed, though I saw his jaw clench as his palm burned against the Bible.When he finished, he examined his damaged hand with the detached interest of a scholar.
Marcus closed the Bible, returning it to its cabinet with the same ceremonial care.“You have passed the first test,” he announced.“Your provisional status is granted.”
He returned to his ledger, making notations as he spoke.“You will be separated during your probationary period.You may associate together in the confines of the monastery.But you will be given unique missions.Individual assignments to test your commitment and abilities.”
My stomach clenched.Separated.Of course.Keep us from coordinating, from supporting each other.
“Desiderius, you’ll work with our senior Nightwalkers on a matter requiring...experience.There are reports of a coven operating in Brooklyn.You’ll investigate and eliminate the threat.”
Desiderius bowed his head in acknowledgment.
“Ruth, you’ll be assigned to the archives.We’ve acquired several artifacts, relics, that might be helpful in our fight.You are to test each one, and should any of them cause you pain, all the better.It means the artifact might be useful.If you are fortunate, you’ll survive.”
Ruth nodded, though I caught the flicker of fear in her eyes.She wasn’t being sent to kill anyone—so that was a relief—but she was exposing herself to dangerous relics, serving as a guinea pig to determine which weapons might be useful against vampires.It was an unenviable job.
