I gave a small, enigmatic smile, careful not to reveal the true nature of our abilities.“We are special forces,” I replied cryptically.“Trained in America for missions like these.”
The officer shook his head.“Special training doesn’t produce this kind of strength or speed.Especially for a woman.”
I chuckled, feigning offense.“I’m not an ordinary woman.”I paused a moment for effect.“Let’s just say there are things about us we are not at liberty to discuss.”
“Are you some kind of science experiment?”The British officer asked.
I stifled a belly laugh.My mind went immediately to Dr.Gallow.“There are some who see us that way.I wish I could tell you more, but—“
“Classified, no doubt.”The officer shook his head.“I’m in no position to reject help, regardless.”
The soldiers exchanged bewildered glances, unsure of what to make of us.They nodded, accepting my vague explanation in the face of our swift and successful rescue.
As we led the British patrol back through no man’s land, the wounded secured safely to our backs, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at our accomplishment.We moved with purpose and efficiency, our supernatural abilities allowing us to navigate the treacherous battlefield with ease.
The British officer, who had maintained his composure throughout our nightmarish journey, finally allowed his exhaustion to show as he reached safety.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said, gripping my hand.His eyes widened slightly at the coldness of my touch, but fatigue overwhelmed curiosity.“We were certain we would die in that farmhouse.”
“No thanks are necessary,” I assured him.“Only silence about our methods.”
He nodded, though confusion furrowed his brow.“The men...they’re already talking.They say we were rescued by guardian angels appearing from the darkness.”He laughed shakily.“I saw you move.No human moves like that.Classified or not, men will talk.They’ll ask questions.Demand answers.I’m not saying we’re not grateful—“
“Perhaps it’s better to believe in angels,” I suggested gently.“Than to question what cannot be explained.”
We slipped away before the rising sun could trap us, returning to the abbey as the first pink light touched the eastern horizon.Mercer awaited us in the courtyard, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and grudging respect as we reported our success.
“Twelve men rescued without a single casualty,” he acknowledged.“An impressive demonstration.”
“And one that aligns with our true purpose,” I reminded him.“Preservation of life, not dealing in death.”
As we retreated to our underground sanctuary for the daylight hours, I overheard the wireless operator receiving reports from the forward post—breathless accounts of soldiers rescued by mysterious figures who moved through no man’s land like ghosts, vanishing into the darkness after delivering their charges to safety.
“The Ghosts of Ypres,” the operator repeated, writing the name that was already spreading through Allied lines.I should have known the British wouldn’t respect my plea for secrecy.A complication, I was sure, we’d hear about, eventually.The General wouldn’t be pleased, but Mercy had approved the mission.Besides, if covering up our existence was a priority, he shouldn’t have recruited us to begin with.
A mythology was being born—as often such things are in war.It would serve as both shield and sword in the battles to come.Whether it would ultimately protect my flock or endanger them remained to be seen.
Chapter 22
WeslippedthroughSaintMathieu’s shattered western gate like wraiths returning to their haunt, our burdens of broken human flesh weighing less in our supernatural grasp than the moral weight they added to my conscience.The abbey loomed against the starless sky, its damaged silhouette a fitting shelter for creatures caught between salvation and damnation as we were.Behind us, the rescued British soldiers we’d left at the Allied outpost would already be spreading tales of the “Ghosts of Ypres.”It was a complication I had little energy to concern myself with as moonlight slid across our path like spilled mercury, illuminating the way home to stone walls that had witnessed centuries of prayers but never ones like mine.
Thomas walked beside me, his youthful face settled into a calm I hadn’t seen from him since we left the convent.The rescue mission had steadied him somehow, giving him purpose beyond mere survival.Vincent moved ahead at a brisk pace while Desiderius followed close behind.We had saved twelve lives tonight.I clung to that thought as we passed beneath the crumbling archway that separated the abbey’s outer courtyard from its inner sanctum.
“They will live because of us,” I whispered to Thomas, observing his expression.
“The officer called us angels,” he replied.“If he only knew.”
“Perhaps he saw what he needed to see,” I suggested.
We crossed the inner courtyard in silence, the stones beneath our feet worn smooth by centuries of monastic pacing.The night enfolded us in its familiar embrace, a comfort to creatures forever barred from daylight.Yet I could not shake the sense of dread.I’d made an agreement with Mercer.I was committed to whatever mission came next—no matter what it was.
As we entered the refectory, Captain Mercer stood with arms folded against the far wall, his crisp uniform a reminder of his authority.His face bore the expression of a man who had just received unwelcome orders but fully intended to execute them, regardless.Dr.Gallow was notably absent—a small mercy, perhaps.
“Mission accomplished, I see,” Mercer said, the words carrying the inflection of praise without its warmth.“You rescued twelve men without casualties.Impressive, even by my standards.”
“They’re safe at the Allied outpost,” I confirmed.“The wounded will receive proper medical care.”
Mercer pushed himself away from the wall.“You’ve made quite an impression.Reports are already flooding in about mysterious rescuers moving through no-man’s-land like ghosts.The brass is pleased with the tactical success.”His tone shifted, growing colder.“But General Gantry’s patience isn’t infinite.”
