He didn’t answer me.Instead, he stood unsteadily, one hand gripping my arm for support, the other rising trembling toward heaven.His voice, when it came, carried the weight of the Canticle of Simeon, words that had been spoken for centuries:
“Now thou dost dismiss thy servant, O Lord, according to thy word, in peace.”His voice grew stronger with each phrase, filled not with resignation but with joy.“Because my eyes have seen thy salvation, which thou hast prepared before the face of all peoples.”
He turned to me then, and his weathered hand found my face, cupping my cheek with paternal tenderness.“A light to enlighten the Gentiles, perhaps even vampires, and the glory of thy people Israel.”
He coughed.“Pardon my gloss on the text.”
I laughed, unsure what to make of it.Had he been healed, or granted a temporary moment of grace, a time to embrace us in strength before he died?His words suggested his time was short—and he’d accepted it.
He pulled me into an embrace that felt like coming home.I held him carefully, aware of his fragility, aware too that this might be the last time.He clung to me not with desperation but with the fierce love of a father who’d seen his child through the darkest moment of her life, her existence, only to come through stronger than before.
“I knew,” he whispered against my ear.“Even when others doubted, when they said you were beyond redemption, I knew.You were never a monster, Alice.You were chosen.You were only a soul finding its way home.”
“Father,” I began, but he shook his head.
“My time is short,” he said simply, no fear in it, just acknowledgment.“Perhaps hours, perhaps days.But I’ve seen what I needed to see.I’ve witnessed a redemption that the world claims is impossible.I can go peacefully now, knowing the work continues, knowing you’ll carry it forward.”
The words settled over me like a benediction and a burden combined.He was passing something to me—not just responsibility but trust, faith that what had begun in a Providence parish between a doubting priest and a desperate vampire would continue long after he was gone.
Chapter 22
FatherO’Malley’sbedroomatthe mission looked even smaller with so many bodies crowded into it, yet somehow the space felt expanded, sanctified by what was taking place within.Dawn threatened at the windows—we vampires could feel it approaching like a tide—but heavy curtains kept the killing light at bay.The same narrow bed in the room where I’d sat after I’d found his note, after consuming the consecrated Host he’s set aside for me, as I spoke honestly with Gabriel for the first time, now held his failing body.
Bishop Harkins stood beside the bed in full episcopal regalia, his purple zuchetto fixed atop his head.His presence transformed the spare room into something more than it was—not through any magic, but through the weight of tradition he carried, the unbroken line of succession that connected this moment to Christ himself.
“Through this holy anointing,” the Bishop intoned, his voice carrying the practiced rhythm of countless such occasions, though something in his tone suggested this one was different, “may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit.”
Father O’Malley’s eyes remained closed, but his lips moved in response: “Amen.”
The holy oil glistened on his forehead, his hands, his feet.Each anointing was deliberate, careful, the Bishop’s movements suggesting he knew exactly who he was preparing for the final journey.This wasn’t just any priest—this was the man who’d dared to extend Christ’s mercy to vampires, who’d risked excommunication and worse to follow his conscience.
Marcus knelt in the corner, as far from the bed as the small room allowed.He’d stripped off his ceremonial robes, wearing now a plain monk’s habit.His lips moved in constant prayer, though whether for Father O’Malley or for his own forgiveness, I couldn’t tell.Perhaps both.
The transformation in him went beyond the external.Where before he’d commanded every room he entered, now he seemed to consciously diminish himself, to take up as little space as possible.
My companions arranged themselves along the walls—Desiderius carrying a kind of dignity in his posture that betrayed a bygone era, Ruth trying to hide how moved she was by the ceremony, Rebecca unusually still and solemn, Gabriel standing close enough that our shoulders almost touched.We were a strange assembly: vampires attending the last rites of a priest who’d spent his final years fighting for our souls.
“May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up,” Bishop Harkins concluded, making the sign of the cross over Father O’Malley’s still form.
The ritual complete, the Bishop straightened, his gray eyes—so different from Father O’Malley’s warm brown ones—surveying the room’s unusual occupants.When his gaze reached me, he beckoned with one ring-laden hand.
“Miss Bladewell.A word.”
I approached carefully, aware that this man held power not just in the church but over the narrative of what had happened tonight.He could decide if we’d be deemed worthy in the eyes of the Church to continue to receive the Eucharist.
“Your Excellency.”I inclined my head in what I hoped was appropriate deference.
“Gabriel sent word before your...confrontation,” he said quietly, pitched so only supernatural hearing could catch it.“I came as quickly as I could, though I see I’ve arrived after the crisis has passed.”His eyes moved to my hands, where the stigmata still glowed faintly.“Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say the crisis has transformed into something else.”
“Marcus—“ I began, but he raised a hand.
“Brother Marcus and I will have words,” the Bishop said, glancing at the kneeling figure.“His excommunication may be lifted, given his evident repentance, though that will require extensive discernment.The same goes for the nuns who followed his lead.Still, crimes were committed, the murder of those who burned in St.Polycarp’s parish in the clearing where you confronted him, and it must be addressed.But that’s not why I need to speak with you.”
He moved closer, close enough that I could smell the sacred chrism on his hands, the incense that clung to his vestments.
“The Order of the Morning Dawn will not simply disappear because one cell has been reformed,” he said carefully.“They have chapters across the country, across the world.They have resources, influence, and above all, conviction—however misguided—that vampires represent an existential threat to humanity’s salvation.”
“I know,” I said simply.
