After the final curtain, we made our way to the grand foyer where crystal glasses clinked and society voices created a pleasant hum of conversation.I guided Ruth and Rebecca through the crowd, introducing them as sisters from the Convent of the Good Shepherd who worked with disadvantaged women and girls.
“The Sisters provide shelter and training to young women who might otherwise fall into...regrettable circumstances,” I explained to Mrs.Vanderbilt, whose diamond necklace alone could have funded our convent for a year.
“How charitable,” she replied with practiced interest.“Though one wonders if such efforts merely encourage moral laxity.”
Rebecca spoke suddenly, her voice carrying a quiet authority that surprised me.“We believe in redemption through structure and purpose.Many of these young women lacked only opportunity, not moral fiber.”
Mrs.Vanderbilt’s eyebrows rose slightly, but she nodded before drifting away to more comfortable conversation partners.
“Well said,” I murmured to Rebecca, who acknowledged the praise with the barest hint of a smile.
I guided us toward a group of Italian-American businessmen whose animated conversation paused as we approached.I recognized one as Giovanni Paterno, whose shipping business had flourished despite growing anti-Italian sentiment.
“Mrs.Bladewell,” he greeted me with a slight bow.“A pleasure to see you again.And in such dedicated company.It’s been what, six years since we last met, and you look as youthful as ever.”
“Mr.Paterno,” I replied, stifling a chuckle at his comment.Perpetual youth—both a blessing and a curse.Many think they’d love to retain their complexion definitely, but even though only six years had passed—not enough to rouse suspicion—it was a reminder that I’d always be the young maiden, the pretty girl, never the respected elder woman I hoped to become.“May I introduce Sisters Ruth and Rebecca from the Convent of the Good Shepherd?They provide essential services to immigrant women and children, including many from the Italian community.”
His expression softened immediately.“My mother arrived at Ellis Island with nothing but the clothes on her back and my infant sister in her arms.If not for the kindness of the Sisters of Charity, I cannot imagine what might have become of them.”
Ruth stepped forward, her earlier excitement now channeled into purposeful engagement.“The challenges facing new arrivals grow more difficult daily, especially with the current prejudices inflamed by the war.Our resources are stretched thin.”
“Yet your work continues,” observed Mr.Paterno, studying Ruth with thoughtful eyes.
“It must,” she replied simply.“Faith demands action, not merely sentiment.”
The conversation flowed easily after that, with the businessmen asking pointed questions about our specific needs.I watched with quiet pride as Ruth and Rebecca navigated the delicate dance of soliciting support without revealing too much of our true circumstances.By evening’s end, Mr.Paterno had promised a substantial donation, and two others had agreed to visit the convent to discuss ongoing patronage.
As we descended the grand staircase toward the exit, I noted with satisfaction that both Ruth and Rebecca had maintained perfect control throughout the evening.Even in this crush of humanity, with blood pulsing all around us, they had held fast to their hard-won discipline.
“You both performed admirably,” I told them as our hired carriage arrived.“Not merely in securing support, but in mastering yourselves.”
Rebecca inclined her head slightly.“The challenge was...instructive.”
“It was exhilarating,” Ruth countered, a flush of excitement still evident in her voice.“To be among them, to speak with them as though we were still mortal, still respectable—I never imagined it possible.”
I smiled, pleased with their different yet equally valuable insights.“This is merely the beginning.Each such venture strengthens not only our resources but our conviction that we belong, that our condition does not excommunicate us from the human race.”
As the carriage door opened before us, I caught a flicker of movement across the street—a figure withdrawing into the shadows as my gaze turned in that direction.My smile faded.Perhaps we had gained more than financial support this evening.Perhaps we had also confirmed the suspicions of those who watched from the darkness.
“You two return to the convent,” I said suddenly, helping them into the carriage.“I have one more matter to attend to before I return.”
“Sister Alice—“ Ruth began, concern in her voice.
“I’ll be fine,” I assured her.“The night is still young, and I find I need time for reflection after such stimulation.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie.But as the carriage pulled away, I turned toward the darker streets of Manhattan, my senses alert for whoever—or whatever—had been observing us from a distance.
Chapter 5
Ichoseacircuitousroute back to the convent, my footsteps silent despite the elegant evening shoes that peeked beneath the hem of my gown.The recent rain had left the cobblestones slick and gleaming under the gaslights, mirroring the stars that struggled to shine through Manhattan’s veil of coal smoke and fog.A distant clock tower struck midnight, its deep resonance carrying across the quiet city.Most God-fearing souls were safely abed at this hour.Not so for creatures like me.The night had always been our dominion, though I had learned to walk through it with purpose rather than predatory intent.My senses stretched outward, cataloging each shadow, each subtle movement in the darkness.Something watched me—had been watching since the opera house—and I preferred to confront such attention directly rather than lead it back to my flock.
I turned down a narrower street where the buildings leaned inward, their upper stories nearly touching above me like hands joined in silent prayer.The familiar weight of my silver locket pressed against my throat, a reminder of my mission, my purpose.The small pistol nestled in my handbag offered reassurance of a different kind, though I hoped not to need it.
Three blocks from the convent, I caught their scent—the unmistakable signature of my kind, but rawer, more feral.Recently turned, if I had to guess, and unfed for too long.My muscles tensed in preparation, though I maintained my unhurried pace.
“Good evening,” I said calmly, addressing the seemingly empty street.“I know you’re there.Three of you, if my senses don’t deceive me.”
A harsh laugh echoed from the shadows of an alleyway to my right.“Clever lady,” a male voice rasped.“All dressed up with nowhere to run.”
