“My brothers and sisters,” I began, my voice steady despite the turmoil within.“Our sanctuary has been compromised.Those who watch us from the shadows have finally stepped into the light.”
A murmur passed through the assembly like wind through a field of wheat.Eleanor, who had been the first sister I’d recruited to the Convent of the Good Shepherd, leaned forward, her eyes narrowed with concern.“The Order has returned?”She asked, voice tight with old wounds.
“Perhaps.They bear a similar emblem but call themselves by no name.”I described General Gantry and Dr.Gallow, their military bearing, their cold assessment of our potential as weapons.“They wear the rising sun and cross, yet speak of national security rather than divine mandate.”
“Government men,” Brother Vincent spat.
“Yes,” I confirmed, my gaze traveling over each face before me.“They have presented us with an ultimatum.They demand twelve of us to serve in the European conflict.They believe our...nature...makes us valuable assets on the battlefield.”
The silence that followed was complete—not even the sound of breathing disturbed it, for none of us needed air as mortals did.Then Rebecca spoke, her voice tight.“And if we refuse?”
My fingers found the locket again, its weight a comfort and a burden.“They possess evidence against Bishop Harkins.Correspondence, documents detailing his protection of our kind.They will destroy him—his reputation, his position.Given the anti-Catholic sentiment as of late, public exposure may even put his life at risk.”
“Not to mention exposure of our kind,” Desiderius added.“Fear is a powerful thing.The more people who are aware of our existence, the more difficult it will be to remain hidden.”
The shock rippled through them visibly now—widened eyes, stiffened postures, hands gripping pew backs until the wood creaked in protest.Bishop Harkins was more than my patron; he was the shield that allowed our entire experiment in redemption to exist.
“The Bishop...”Sister Agnes whispered.“They would dare strike at a consecrated servant of God?”
“They would,” I confirmed grimly.“And they can.”
Desiderius stepped forward, his ancient eyes scanning the assembled flock.“I have lived through many wars,” he said, his Dutch accent more pronounced with emotion.“Never have I witnessed a conflict of the scale now engulfing Europe.The weapons they employ—gas that burns the lungs, artillery that turns flesh to mist, machines that rain death from the skies—this is not warfare as mankind has known it.”
He turned to me, a faint smile touching his lips.“Military discipline is not so different from the spiritual discipline I have taught.Both require control, focus, self-mastery.Perhaps in serving this temporal power, we might continue our greater work.”
“I’ll go,” Ruth said immediately, rising from her place.“My control is strong enough.And I’ve learned how to fight.”
Rebecca stood beside her, their opposing temperaments united in purpose.“As will I,” she said simply.
Brother Vincent rose next, his movements betraying his military past as a soldier for the Union in the Civil War.“My tactical experience will serve us well.I volunteer, Sister Alice.”
One by one, they stepped forward—three more brothers from Desiderius’s monastery, their faces grim with resolve; Sister Maria, who had once been a nurse in mortal life; another who had survived the streets of Lower Manhattan before finding our sanctuary.Nine volunteers stood before me, their faces set with determination.
“We need three more,” I said, my eyes sweeping the remaining faces.“Without twelve, I cannot guarantee the Bishop’s safety.”
A moment of silence followed, heavy with implication.Then, to my surprise, Catherine stood up from her place at the back of the chapel.
“I’ll go.”Her voice was stronger now.“You offered us genuine hope.You’ve been honest with us, unlike those men, the same men who want to use us and will likely force us to help them one way or another.At least this way, I know I’ll have you at my side.I want to help.”
James and Michael exchanged a glance before rising as well.“Better to fight for something abroad than be hunted at home,” James muttered.
I shook my head, stepping forward with one hand raised.“No.You three are newly turned, still learning control.The battlefield would overwhelm you.The hunger would consume you.”
“That’s why we need you with us,” Catherine insisted, taking a step closer.“You can teach us control where it matters most.Wasn’t that your purpose for us, anyway?”
“This is different,” I argued.“Here, we can expose you to blood in limited quantities, gradually purge your desires through prayer and contact with sacramentals.The battlefield will be the opposite.There will be blood everywhere, death at every turn.”
“And we’ll face that eventually,” Michael said.“At least this way, we face it with guidance.”
Sister Josephine touched my arm, her papery fingers light against my sleeve.“Alice,” she said softly.“Consider that perhaps this is their path to redemption.Not the one we would have chosen, but the one placed before them.”
I studied the three former ferals, searching their faces for signs of the predator that had attacked us in the alley.Catherine’s eyes held determination now instead of confusion.James stood straighter, something like purpose replacing his earlier defiance.Even Michael seemed steadier, though wariness still shadowed his gaze.
“Very well,” I conceded, turning back to the assembled volunteers.“Twelve of you will accompany me to meet General Gantry’s demands.But remember—our mission remains spiritual even as our battlefield becomes temporal.We fight not only against flesh and blood but against the darkness within ourselves.”
Eleanor stepped forward, though not to join the volunteers.“And those of us who remain?”she asked, her voice carrying the weight of responsibility.
“You will maintain our work here.”I met her gaze.“The convent must continue its ministry.The newly turned will still need guidance.Our path to redemption cannot falter because some of us are called away.”
