“It’s not the general I’m concerned for,” I replied.
While this exchange occurred, Dr.Gallow had begun moving among my flock, examining them.He tilted Catherine’s face toward the lantern light, inspected her fangs without permission, and made notations in his journal.The intrusion was so flagrant that Rebecca actually hissed, the sound escaping before her discipline reasserted itself.
“Fascinating,” Gallow murmured, unfazed by her reaction.“The female specimens show remarkable restraint.Is this typical of your conversion process, Miss Bladewell?”
“They are not specimens,” I said sharply.“They are people.And I would appreciate if you asked their permission before examining them.”
Gallow merely adjusted his spectacles, his pen never ceasing its movement across the page.As he turned to examine Thomas, his journal fell open more fully, and I glimpsed a strange phrase among his notes: “Subject reaction to sanctified silver consistent with Order experiments of 1894.”
The reference sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the morning air.I stepped closer, attempting to see more, but Gallow snapped the journal shut with a sharp flick of his wrist.
“Is there a problem, Miss Bladewell?”he asked, his tone suggesting he already knew the answer.
I moved to stand before General Gantry, abandoning pretense.“You work with the Order of the Morning Dawn.”
Gantry’s expression remained impassive.“Dr.Gallow has consulted with various organizations throughout his career.His expertise in your...condition...is invaluable to our mission.”
“The Order exists to exterminate my kind,” I said, my voice low enough that only those immediately present could hear.“They do not study us to help us—they study us to use us.They use us to destroy us more efficiently.”
“Your concern is noted,” Gantry replied, dismissing my objection with a casual wave.“But ultimately irrelevant.Your cooperation, not your trust, is what I require.”
He turned to address the assembled vampires, his voice shifting to the commanding tone of a military briefing.“You will depart for training in three days.Captain Mercer will oversee your preparation.Any failure to comply with his directives will be considered a breach of our agreement—with all that implies for certain parties in Providence.”
The threat hung in the air, its meaning clear to me if not to my flock.Bishop Harkins remained their leverage, his safety the chain that bound me to their will.
As Gantry and Gallow departed, Captain Mercer remained behind, his ancient eyes meeting mine with something approaching sympathy.“They fear what they don’t understand,” he said quietly.“Serving them is the price of survival in this world.”
“Survival without purpose is merely postponed damnation,” I replied.
“History will judge which road offers deliverance, Miss Bladewell,” Mercer said, lips curving into something that resembled a smile only in its mechanical arrangement.“The generals’ highway of utility, or your convent’s narrow path of perpetual penance.”
The courtyard fell silent as Mercer’s words lingered in the air, a chilling portent of the trials that lay ahead.I watched his retreating form, the crisp military uniform a stark contrast to the ancient soul it housed.His control was remarkable, yes, but it was also a stark reminder of the path I had chosen not to tread—the path of accommodation rather than redemption.
How was Capitan Mercer feeding?He made it quite clear he didn’t embrace our path.He didn’t have access to the Eucharist.Someone was providing him blood—but he’d also mastered the kind of discipline that only comes with decades of failure, in a wake of bodies and regret, and a resolve to rise above one’s lesser demons.We’d foundpurposein faith; Mercy in patriotism.Insofar as finding areasonto maintain one’s humanity kept us civil, we were alike.
But the love of country is no replacement for the love of God.Freedom in a waving flag is nothing like the freedom that comes through suffering and the cross.I didn’t believe for a second that Mercer was on our side, that he’d support my efforts.He meant to use us, just as Gantry and Gallow did; just like the Order did.But he wasn’t a ravenous monster; he was a sophisticated one.
Yes, he foundfocusin his fidelity to country.However, I knew the truth.One’s god is whatever one loves, trusts, or fears the most.One’s faith is only as reliable as the integrity of the object of one’s trust.How long could love of country sustain someone like Mercer?How long would it take before his nation left him disappointed, his human leaders failed him?
Trust not in princes, in mortal man, who cannot save…
The one-hundred forty-sixth Psalm.
I’d prayed it during Matins that day.It was hauntingly appropriate.Mercer might be leading my “flock” on the field, but the battle would always belong to the Lord, and there’d come a time when Mercer needed what we had to offer.He’d need something more than love of country if he ever wanted real salvation, any real control.
I turned back to my flock, their faces a mix of determination and trepidation.Ruth’s eyes blazed with a fierce resolve that I both admired and feared.Rebecca’s expression was more guarded, her thoughts hidden behind a mask of stoicism.The others shifted uncomfortably, the weight of our new reality settling upon them like a shroud.
“We have our orders.”I broke the silence.“Three days to prepare.”
Chapter 12
Thefirstlightofdawn was only an hour away when Captain Mercer appeared at our gates, his uniform impeccable despite the early hour.Behind him, a wagon carried wooden crates that rattled with metallic contents I could not identify.My flock gathered in the courtyard as instructed, their faces uncertain in the gray light, habits exchanged for the simple cotton garments I had ordered sewn for physical training.Sister Josephine watched from a window above, her aged face lined with concern as Mercer strode into our sanctuary as though he already commanded it.Perhaps, I reflected bitterly, he did.
“Good morning, recruits,” he called, his voice carrying the practiced authority of countless battlefield commands.“Your training begins now.”
I stepped forward, determined to maintain some semblance of the hierarchy my flock had come to rely upon.“Captain Mercer, we typically begin our day with prayer.The discipline of devotion helps maintain control over our...baser instincts.”
His smile was polite but dismissive.“Prayer has its place, Miss Bladewell.But we have limited time to transform your penitents into soldiers.”
