As I surveyed the assembled vampires, the absence of two familiar faces struck me immediately.
“Where are Thomas and Catherine?”I asked.
Ruth shifted on her bench, an uncharacteristic display of discomfort.“I haven’t seen them since you returned from the rescue mission.”
“They missed blood rations,” Brother Vincent added with disapproval.“Most unlike Thomas.The boy is typically punctual, if nothing else.”
Rebecca kept her eyes fixed on her folded hands.“Perhaps they’re resting.This experience has been a big change for all of us.”
There was something atypical in her tone, like she knew more than she was letting on.Before I could press further, footsteps echoed from the chapel entrance.I turned to see Lieutenant Dupont standing in the arched doorway, his silhouette outlined by the last fading light of day.Without hesitation, he made the sign of the cross—a fluid, practiced motion that spoke of lifelong devotion rather than mere formality.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” he said softly, his French accent more pronounced in the chapel’s reverberant space.“May I join you?”
“All are welcome to prayer,” I replied.“Though I confess, I didn’t take you for a man of faith.”
A smile touched his lips—enigmatic, revealing nothing.“Faith is more than skin deep, Mademoiselle Bladewell.You should understand that better than most.”
Without further explanation, he moved into the chapel and took a seat several rows back from the others, maintaining a respectful distance yet close enough to observe everything.We all watched him with varying degrees of suspicion and curiosity, but no one voiced objection to his presence.
I opened Bishop Harkins’ leather-bound manual and began the evening prayers.“Though we walk in shadow, we are not forsaken.Though death has claimed us, we are not lost.Though we thirst for what we must not take, Your mercy remains our wellspring.”
The familiar words settled over us like a blanket, offering comfort even as they acknowledged our nature.Throughout the service, I found my attention drawn repeatedly to Lieutenant Dupont.He followed the prayers with ease, his lips moving in sync with words he could not possibly know, as if he had heard them before.It made no sense, as I expected the prayers were nonsensical to his human ears—unless he knew more about our condition than I realized.When we rose for the evening hymn his voice blended perfectly with ours, neither dominating nor retreating.
As the final notes faded, I opened the book and recited the Nunc Dimittis: “Nunc dimittis servum tuum, Domine, secundum verbum tuum in pace…”
My flock dispersed slowly, each member pausing at the small gold-lined chalice containing consecrated wine—Bishop Harkins’ precious gift that allowed us to partake in communion despite our condition.Each drank sparingly, their faces contorting briefly with the pain that even this modified sacrament caused our kind, a cleansing fire that reminded us of what we once were and what we strove to be again.
Lieutenant Dupont remained seated, watching this ritual with the focused attention of a scholar observing a rare ceremony.Only when the last of my flock had departed did he approach me at the altar.
“Your missing lambs,” he said without preamble.“I saw them earlier this evening.”
I froze in the act of covering the chalice.“Thomas and Catherine?Where?”
“They were following Dr.Gallow.”Something in his tone carried a warning.“To his clinic in the old scriptorium.”
“Why would they—“ I began, then stopped.I knew Gallow was up to something, he was here for a reason, something that went far beyond research purposes.
Dupont’s eyes met mine.“I followed at a distance.Your Captain Mercer arrived shortly thereafter.”He hesitated, then stepped closer, close enough that I could detect the steady rhythm of his heart, unnaturally calm in the presence of a predator.“Mademoiselle Bladewell, old French families like mine maintain certain...traditions.Knowledge passed down through generations about beings in your condition.”
The air between us seemed to thicken with unspoken meaning.“What sort of knowledge?”I asked, though some part of me already suspected.
“Ways to identify those who walk in darkness.Methods to protect against them—or to assist them, perhaps.Depending on one’s disposition.”His lips curved in a smile.“My ancestors were not always your enemy.Before the Order emerged from the shadows of superstition, there were those who sought understanding rather than destruction.”
The Order.He knew of the Order of the Morning Dawn—the organization that had hunted my kind for centuries.The same organization I was meant to infiltrate at Bishop Harkins’ request.
“Why are you telling me this?”I whispered.
“Because Dr.Gallow is not what he appears to be,” Dupont replied simply.“And neither am I.”He stepped back, the moment of intimacy broken as he returned to the formal demeanor of a military officer.“I suggest you investigate his clinic, but with caution.What I know of his plans, histreatments…let’s just say the doctor is willing to sacrifice long-term stability for the sake of temporary military gain.”
With that cryptic warning, he made the sign of the cross once more and melted back into the shadows of the chapel, leaving me standing at the altar with questions multiplying in my mind like ripples in disturbed water.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” I said to the empty air, gathering my resolve as I extinguished the altar candles.Whatever Gallow was doing with Thomas and Catherine, whatever connection Dupont had to my kind’s troubled history with humanity, I needed answers—and quickly.
Chapter 23
Theabbey’sformerscriptoriumlay in the eastern wing—a section less damaged by German artillery but more thoroughly transformed by our military occupation.My footsteps made no sound as I moved through the labyrinthine passages, but my mind roared with possibilities of what Gallow might be doing to Thomas and Catherine.
The corridor narrowed as I approached the scriptorium.Ahead, a door stood slightly ajar, yellow light spilling into the hallway like bile.The clinical scent of alcohol and something sharper—a chemical tang I couldn’t identify—drifted through the opening.Beneath these manufactured odors lurked the unmistakable aroma of blood.
