Desiderius turned at that, his expression sharp with interest.“What do you mean?”
“I was speaking to Alice,” Gabriel said, not taking his eyes from mine.“About her progress.”
“What do you mean by my progress?”I tilted my head.
“You’ve been reading those books,” Gabriel observed.“St.Teresa of Ávila.And unless I’m mistaken, you recently acquired another—St.John of the Cross, perhaps?”
“How do you know about them?”The question came out sharper than intended.These books were my secret sanctuary, my private rebellion against what I’d become.
Gabriel’s expression flattened into something almost comical in its deliberate neutrality.“You carry them everywhere, Alice.You clutch them like a drowning woman clutches driftwood.”
Heat should have risen to my cheeks—I expected it, on account of learned human experience—but it never came.“So what?”
“So I know both of them well,” he said.“I studied both saints extensively during my seminary days.The Interior Castle.The Ascent of Mount Carmel.The Dark Night of the Soul.Beautiful works about the soul’s journey toward divine union.”
“Fat lot of good they did you,” Ruth interjected, her voice dripping sarcasm.“All that spiritual study, and you still ended up like us.”
Gabriel ignored her, his attention fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin crawl.“Tell me, Alice—what is progress?What does it mean to pursue the perfect?”
The question felt like a trap, but I couldn’t see the snare.“I’m far from perfect.Further than most, I’d say.”
“That’s not what I asked.”His tone remained patient, like a teacher guiding a struggling student.“What is perfection?Not whether you’ve achieved it, but what it actually means.”
I raked my mind.The first book Father O’Malley had given me was called “The Way of Perfection,” but I hadn’t stopped to consider for a minute what perfection actually entailed.“Perfection is...holiness.Sinlessness.Being without flaw or blemish.”
Gabriel smirked, and in that expression I saw a flash of the zealot who’d stood beside Marcus.But then his face softened into something almost sad.
“Perfection isn’t about meeting some kind of unrealistic standard, Alice.It’s not about complete moral blamelessness—if it were, no human could ever achieve it, and Christ’s sacrifice would be meaningless.”
“Then what—“
“Perfection is about growing into the fullness of what you’ve been created to be,” he interrupted, his words coming faster now, filled with a passion I hadn’t heard from him before.“It’s about embracing your true nature.To be perfect means embracing what you’re supposed to be, being who you’re called to be.It’s not about pursuing what youwishto be, or what your desires tell you that youwantto be.It’s ultimately about living out a deeper truth, an identity that most humans never even realize.They live their entire lives and never really know who they are because they’ve spent their whole lives behind false masks, pretend selves.”
My dead heart sank.I understood now, or thought I did.He was telling me to embrace my vampiric nature, to stop fighting against the hunger, to accept the monster I’d become.He’d fully accepted his transformation, integrating it into his spiritual practice somehow.He wanted me to do the same, to stop starving myself, to feed and grow strong like the others.
But if that was the case, whyhadn’tGabriel fed recently?What was I missing?
“You’re saying I should let myself be a monst—“ I began, but couldn’t finish the sentence.The thought of voicing it aloud made me sick.
Gabriel shook his head.“I hope you’re not a lost cause, Alice.”His voice had gone quiet again, almost mournful.“But we’ll find out soon enough.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”I demanded, but he’d already turned away, moving toward where Desiderius stood studying the mission’s entrance.
Chapter 14
Weapproachedthemission’sentrance—an ancient portal of splintered oak that had weathered half a century of Manhattan blizzards, its iron fixtures singing low, mournful notes whenever the night air stirred.Each footfall toward the threshold sent tremors through my famished limbs, the muscles beneath my skin contracting in protest of their emptiness.Yet some force beyond mere physical need drew me onward.Neither the craving for sustenance nor obligation propelled me.I recognized it with reluctant clarity: the unmistakable pull of providence.
The converted warehouse now served as a mission.It stood three stories high, its brick facade blackened by coal smoke.Windows glowed amber with candlelight from within, casting long rectangles of warmth onto the filthy street.Even from outside, I could smell it—incense and beeswax, and of course, living, breathing, blood-pumping humans.
“Remember,” I said, turning to Desiderius, my voice barely carrying over the distant clatter of a passing carriage.“Once we’re inside, you need to get the innocents out.Create a distraction, use your influence—whatever it takes.No one dies tonight who doesn’t deserve it.”
Desiderius’s ancient eyes studied me a moment.“I’ve done this a long time, Alice.I can handle it.”
“You’d think that compassion is a crime.”My words came out steadier than my legs felt.“The sisters who work here—they’re just trying to help the poor.If there are vampires among them, who are we to judge?They may be just like us, desperate to be something more than they are...”
Ruth glared at me for a moment, then back at Gabriel, who was far enough behind us he may not have heard what I’d said, but also close enough that if he was paying attention, he could have.Had I spoken too loudly?Had I said something that would reveal I wasn’t on board with the Order’s mission?Something about the conversation I’d had with my “surprise” progeny had softened me to him, almost as though he wasn’t as great a threat as I’d originally assumed.He didn’t react at all to my prior remarks, so Ruth shrugged and looked back toward the mission.Meanwhile, Rebecca bounced on her toes.“Can we just get this over with?I’m tired of standing around.”
Gabriel hadn’t moved from his position several paces behind us.He stood in the deeper shadows between two buildings, only the faint gleam of his eyes marking his presence.When I caught his gaze, he offered the slightest nod—encouragement or warning, I couldn’t tell.
