Catherine watched with undisguised fascination.Even Michael’s rigid posture had softened slightly, his eyes following Desiderius’s movements with reluctant interest.
“This is possible?”It was the first genuine question James asked.
Before I could answer, a soft sound from the stairwell drew my attention.Sister Josephine stood framed in the doorway, her frail form silhouetted against the torchlight behind her.Despite her age, she had managed the stairs, which told me her news could not wait.
“Sister Alice,” she called, her voice surprisingly strong.“There are visitors.Important ones, I believe.They arrived in a horseless carriage bearing the rising-sun-and-cross sigil.”
I exchanged a worried glance with Desiderius, whose expression hardened almost imperceptibly.
I turned to Ruth and Rebecca, keeping my voice low.“Start them on Desiderius’s breathing technique.If they don’t fight it, move on to the first meditation with the consecrated blood.”
Desiderius stepped forward, his expression grim.“I’ll accompany you, Alice.These visitors concern us both.”
I nodded, grateful for his presence as we moved toward the stairs together.Desiderius’s footsteps beside mine were steady, unhurried—the measured pace of a man who had faced darkness countless times and emerged unbroken.
Chapter 8
Reservedfordiocesanvisits,the formal parlor waited like a museum exhibit—all heavy velvet drapes drawn against sunlight and mahogany furniture polished to a mirror shine that reflected nothing but stillness and expectation.I paused at the threshold, Desiderius at my side, as Sister Josephine pushed open the double doors with trembling hands.The scent of unfamiliar men—wool uniforms, leather, and the sharp tang of gun oil—assaulted my senses before I saw them: two figures silhouetted against the leaded glass windows where afternoon light struggled to penetrate the room’s deliberate gloom.
They turned in unison as we entered, their movement betraying their natures before a word was spoken.The taller man pivoted with military precision, heels together, spine rigid as a bayonet.The shorter remained languid, his head tilting with clinical curiosity, like a doctor examining an interesting specimen pinned to a dissection table.Both men wore identical silver pins at their lapels—a rising sun with a cross at its center—the same sigil Desiderius had sketched, the same emblem emblazoned on their horseless carriage outside.
“Miss Bladewell.”The military man inclined his head a precise inch.“General Horace Gantry, United States Army.This is Dr.Phineas Gallow.”No hand was extended in greeting.“Thank you for receiving us without an appointment.”
His voice carried the practiced neutrality of command—a voice accustomed to being obeyed without question.I noted the insignia on his uniform, the medals scattered across his chest.This was no ordinary officer; this was a man of significant authority.
“We weren’t aware we’d be receiving visitors today,” I replied, adopting the soft, deferential tone expected of a religious woman.“How may our humble convent be of service to the army?”
Dr.Gallow’s lips twitched in what might have been amusement.He was thin to the point of gauntness, his pale eyes magnified behind wire-rimmed spectacles.The white coat he wore over his suit marked him as a physician, though something in his gaze suggested his interest lay less in healing than in understanding the mechanics of suffering.
“Please,” Sister Josephine gestured to the ornate chairs arranged around a low table.“Won’t you be seated?”
We arranged ourselves like chess pieces—Gantry and Gallow on one side, Desiderius and I on the other, with Sister Josephine perched on a smaller chair slightly behind us.
“Your work with immigrants and indigent women is well-documented, Miss Bladewell,” Gantry began, his eyes never leaving my face.“As is your connection to Bishop Harkins of Providence.”
I touched the silver locket hanging at my throat before I could stop myself.Gallow’s gaze followed my fingers.“His Excellency has been most supportive of our charitable efforts.”
“Indeed.”Gantry reached into his uniform and withdrew a leather folio, placing it on the table between us with deliberate precision.“Though I believe your...charitable efforts...extend somewhat beyond what appears in your annual reports to the diocese.”
The leather folio fell open under his practiced hands.Inside lay a meticulous archive of our existence—typewritten surveillance reports, detailed maps with our routes marked in red ink, and transcribed conversations that should have remained private.Each page I glimpsed bore witness to our most carefully guarded movements, the dates and locations matching perfectly with our flock’s activities over the past months.
“Your security rotations are quite ingenious,” Gantry continued, flipping through the pages.“Brother Vincent’s system of copper wires connected to the bell tower.The monthly delivery schedule from St.Vincent’s Hospital—blood donations, I believe?Fascinating how you’ve managed to conceal so much in plain sight.”
Beside me, Desiderius remained perfectly still, though I sensed the cold fury building within him.His hand, resting on the arm of his chair, had tightened until the ancient wood creaked in protest.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re implying, General.”I maintained my façade of gentle confusion.“We are simply women of faith doing God’s work among those in need.”
Dr.Gallow leaned forward, his first significant movement since we’d entered.“Last night, at approximately 12:17 a.m., you encountered three recently turned vampires on Lexington Avenue,” he stated, his tone as matter-of-fact as if he were discussing the weather.“You neutralized them using wooden weapons concealed in your apparel, after which you and your...sisters...transported them to this convent via a mortician’s cart.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.I knew they’d seen the fight, but hearing them relay the details was unsettling.
“You fought with remarkable efficiency,” Gallow continued.“Eight seconds from first aggression to first incapacitation.The use of blessed silver suggests formal training, as does your technique.”
The careful composure I’d maintained fractured momentarily, and I caught the predatory glint of triumph in Gallow’s eyes as he adjusted his spectacles.
“Your ‘sisters’ and ‘brothers’ are quite remarkable, Miss Bladewell,” Gantry stated flatly.“The War Department has been monitoring supernatural phenomena for several years now.What we lack is your obvious expertise in controlling these assets.”
The word “assets” struck me like a slap.I felt my jaw tighten as I glanced at Desiderius, who sat motionless beside me, only the deepening shadows of his eyes betraying the fury building beneath his monastic calm.
