“What would you have me do?”I whispered to the tabernacle where the Blessed Sacrament resided.No answer came save the steady drip of water marking time’s passage.
Flight was my first thought.We could abandon the convent, flee the country, establish ourselves elsewhere.But where?Europe convulsed in the throes of war, its borders closing like trap doors.South America, perhaps?I imagined my flock scattered across unfamiliar terrain, hunted by both the Order and now the United States government.How long before they found us again?How many innocents would suffer in the chaos of our departure?And what of Bishop Harkins, left to face disgrace and ruin because of his faith in me?
I shifted my weight; the stone floor was unyielding beneath my knees.
Perhaps we could fight.Between Desiderius’ ancient knowledge and the strength of our more disciplined vampires, we posed a formidable threat.I imagined Ruth’s fierce determination, Rebecca’s cold precision, Eleanor’s unwavering loyalty—all turned toward defense rather than redemption.But General Gantry struck me as a man who anticipated resistance.His military resources would overwhelm us eventually, and the cost would be measured in both mortal and immortal lives.
My hand trembled as I released the locket, a smear of my own blood staining my fingertips.I stared at it, remembering Bishop Harkins’ words when he had first placed the silver chain around my neck.
“Your nature does not define you, Alice,” he had said, his eyes kind despite the knowledge of what I was.“It is what you choose to do with it that matters.”
Could I appeal to higher Church authorities?Unravel Gantry’s scheme before he could expose the Bishop?The risk was immeasurable.Many within the Church viewed beings like me as abominations, soulless creatures to be destroyed rather than shepherded toward redemption.Bishop Harkins’ protection had always been tenuous, his interpretation of doctrine regarding the undead considered radical by many of his peers.An appeal might simply accelerate his downfall.
Blood tears welled at the corners of my eyes as the full weight of my predicament settled upon me.Each path led to destruction—if not for me, then for those I had sworn to protect.My flock, my bishop, the fragile bridge we had built between damnation and salvation.
“Is this a test of faith?”I asked the silence.“Or punishment for my presumption?”
Another drop of water fell, this one landing on the altar cloth before me.I watched it spread across the white linen, a perfect circle of dissolution.Like the ripples of Gantry’s ultimatum spreading outward, threatening to consume everything I had built.
My knuckles whitened around the locket, the chain cutting into the back of my neck.Bishop Harkins had entrusted me with a mission—to infiltrate and observe the Order.Instead, I had built something he could never have envisioned: a community of the damned seeking redemption.Had I strayed too far from his mandate?Or had I fulfilled it in ways neither of us could have anticipated?
I closed my eyes, attempting to pray, but the words caught in my throat like ash.The General’s voice echoed in my mind.In not so many words, he demanded we become his “assets” or the bishop would burn—if not literally, metaphorically in the public eye.Such cold precision in his threat.Such certainty that I would yield.
I touched the locket.I remembered the Bishop’s charge.As much as I appreciated my monastic call, and valued the work we were doing, my first promise remained to infiltrate the Order, to advocate for the truth, to challenge their false gospel form within its ranks.If these men truly represented the Order of the Morning Dawn—not just the U.S.Government—I was already oath-bound to do what they demanded.Only now, infiltrating the Order—if this was the Order—wouldn’t require subterfuge.They’d come looking for me.They knew where my truest loyalties lay, and I knew their intentions.They didn’t come asking me to seek a different redemption; they came asking me to fight a war.
I might have opposed the idea, given my general distaste for violence and war.What little fighting I had to do, as when I confronted the three ferals, was for a good cause.It wasn’t to destroy my enemy, but toconvertthem, to save them, to help them.Could I maintain my faith while serving amilitaryeffort?Under most circumstances, probably not.But the truth of the war in Europe was too grim to ignore.Never had there been a war of such magnitude with weapons of such profound destruction.
We could be another such weapon.But we were not merely weapons.We had our own will, our own desires, our own intentions.We could infiltrate the battlefield in a way that posed little danger to our kind andsave lives.This was less about violence than it was about saving those monstrous men who’d sooner destroy one another than resolve their issues peaceably.
The realization settled over me with the finality of a cemetery gate swinging closed: I could not fight both the Order and the United States government simultaneously.Not with a flock of vulnerable souls depending on me for guidance, for protection, for the promise of salvation I had no certainty I could deliver.
I rose from my knees, legs stiff from prolonged contact with the stone floor.The chapel seemed darker now, the candles burning lower, their light more desperate against the encroaching shadows.
If my vampires must serve as soldiers in this war, then I would remain their commander and spiritual guide.I would stand between them and those who would use them as mere weapons to be discarded when their usefulness ended.I would protect them as I had always sought to do—not from their nature, but from those who would exploit it.
“I cannot win this battle, Lord,” I whispered, my voice steadier than I expected.“But neither will I abandon those You have placed in my care.”
The decision settled in me like a stone in a riverbed—immovable once placed, altering the flow of everything that came after.We would go to war, my flock and I.Not because we chose it, but because the alternative would destroy everything and everyone I had sworn to protect.
I turned from the altar, my step firmer now, my path clear if not comfortable.I would inform Desiderius first.His experience might provide insights I lacked, strategies for navigating this dangerous new current.Then we would prepare the flock—not just for the physical trials ahead, but for the spiritual ones that would test the very foundation of all I had taught them.
As I reached the chapel door, I paused, my hand on the worn wooden frame.Behind me, a single drop of water fell from the ceiling, striking the stone floor with the finality of a judge’s gavel.
My fingers touched the locket one last time, a silent promise to the man who had seen worth in a creature others would have destroyed without hesitation.I would not let him burn for that mercy.Whatever the cost to myself, I would ensure his faith in me was not misplaced.
The corridor beyond the chapel stretched before me, shadows and light alternating like the choices that had brought me to this moment.I stepped forward, leaving the sanctuary behind, carrying its silence with me like armor against the storm to come.
Chapter 10
Iemergedfromthechapel, my decision settled like lead in my stomach.The corridor stretched before me, shadows and light alternating in patterns that mirrored the impossible choice I’d just made.My fingers found the locket at my throat one last time, a silent promise to Bishop Harkins that his faith in me would not lead to his destruction.Whatever the cost to my soul, to the spiritual path we had so carefully cultivated, I would ensure that neither he nor my flock would suffer for my defiance of the Order and now, apparently, the United States government.
“Sister Josephine,” I called, finding her waiting anxiously with Desiderius in the parlor.“Summon everyone.The chapel.Immediately.”
She nodded, her ancient eyes holding mine for a moment longer than necessary.She knew without my speaking what I had decided.“I’ll send word to the monastery as well,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Within the hour, they gathered—my sisters from the convent and Desiderius’s brothers from the monastery, filling the chapel with their silent, watchful presence.Candlelight played across their faces, casting deep shadows beneath eyes that had seen too much darkness already.The pews creaked beneath their weight as they settled, habits rustling like autumn leaves.The three newly turned—Catherine, James, and Michael—huddled near the back, their eyes still bright with hunger despite the blood we’d provided.
I stood before the altar, the familiar weight of leadership pressing down upon my shoulders like a cross.Desiderius positioned himself at my right hand, his ancient face unreadable as always, while Sister Josephine took her place at my left, her frail form belying the steel in her spine.
