Chapter 1 #2
I paused at the corner, scanning the street.
My senses stretched outward, cataloging each heartbeat, each breath, each whispered conversation behind closed doors.
Three blocks east, a man stumbled drunkenly from a tavern.
To the west, a prostitute negotiated with a potential client, her voice a practiced mix of promise and caution.
Directly across from the convent, a figure stood motionless in an alleyway, watching.
I stiffened, focusing my attention on the observer. Male, from the breadth of the shoulders. Human, from the rhythm of the heartbeat. Patient, given how long he had remained in one position. A hunter? A spy? Or merely a common thief awaiting an easy mark?
My pace remained unhurried, my gaze fixed forward as though the shadow across the street held no more significance than the lampposts or cobblestones beneath my feet.
My hand slipped into my handbag, fingers closing around the small pistol I carried.
Silver bullets would not kill a vampire, but they would slow one.
Against a human, they were merely a curiosity—until they tore through flesh.
To them, a silver bullet was just as damaging as any other.
As I approached the convent steps, the door opened. Sister Agnes—a human, one of the few who knew what dwelled within these walls—nodded in greeting. Her aged face betrayed no fear as I approached, only a serene acceptance that had taken years to cultivate.
“Good evening, Miss Bladewell,” she said softly. “They await you inside.”
“Thank you, Sister,” I replied, taking one last look over my shoulder at the watcher in the shadows. “Has anyone unusual been asking about the convent?”
“No more than usual. Though Mrs. Calloway’s boy has been bringing more packages than scheduled.”
I nodded, understanding her coded message.
The nurse’s son—that gangly youth with perpetually ink-stained fingers—had been delivering more of the donation vials than our usual arrangement.
The Red Cross blood drive at St. Vincent’s had yielded unexpected bounty.
Our flock was growing, and we still required blood for those who endured our…
condition… who were not yet ready to receive the Eucharist. We required regular donations, as the samples lost their potency after twenty-four hours.
Desiderius believed it was because the soul that persisted in the blood faded shortly after it was shed.
I was agnostic about the reasons why that was the case.
All I knew was that we needed a modest amount of willfully donated blood in order to help our newest aspirants begin the path.
I had no such luxury in my time, but we’d found that allowing older vampires who’d been accustomed to blood for centuries were more successful in adopting our way of life if we brought them along slowly.
The door closed behind me, shutting out the street.
The weight of my dual existence settled more heavily on my shoulders as I removed my gloves.
Society lady on the outside, vampire prioress within these walls.
I touched the locket once more, a habit born of devotion.
It reminded me of the urgency of our mission—that someday I’d be called away.
I needed to ensure our process was well-established, so that the convent and monastery could save others who struggled under my condition even in my absence.
The Order had created me to destroy. Bishop Harkins had given me purpose beyond destruction. And somewhere between the two, I had forged my path—a narrow one, precarious and lonely, but mine.
I moved deeper into the convent. The sounds of Manhattan faded behind me. Ahead lay my flock, those I had saved from themselves, guided toward a salvation none of us had believed possible.
Sister Josephine emerged from the shadows of the corridor like a ghost, her black and white habit floating around her thin frame.
The tap of her cane against the worn floorboards announced her approach before I could see her face, though my ears had caught the familiar rhythm of her heartbeat—slow and slightly irregular—the moment I’d stepped inside.
The clicking of rosary beads against her habit provided a gentle counterpoint as she made her way toward me, each step measured and deliberate, a testament to both her frailty and her determination.
“Alice,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper yet voluminous on account of my enhanced hearing. “You look troubled tonight.”
I smiled despite myself. Sister Josephine had been reading me with uncanny accuracy since the day I’d appeared on the convent doorstep seven years ago, armed with little but a note from Bishop Harkins demanding they take me in—and listen to what I told them about the convent’s new mission to those who were irregularly constituted, such as myself.
She had never flinched from my nature, never crossed herself in my presence, never treated me as anything but a soul in need of guidance.
“Just cautious, Sister,” I replied, moving forward to offer her my arm. She accepted it with a nod, her papery skin cool against mine. “There was someone watching the convent tonight.”
“There is always someone watching, child.” Her fingers tightened slightly on my arm as we moved deeper into the building. “God sees all. And His enemies imagine they do as well.”
The vestibule gave way to a narrow hallway lined with simple wooden crosses.
Once, such symbols would have sent me reeling back in agony.
Now they merely created a pressure behind my eyes, a reminder of what I had become.
Sister Josephine had helped me build this tolerance over years of careful exposure, her faith never wavering even when mine threatened to collapse entirely.
“How many have come while I was away?” I asked, helping her navigate a particularly worn section of floor. I made a mental note to have it repaired. The human sisters who shared this space with my flock deserved better accommodations than I could currently provide.
“Three,” she answered, her rheumy eyes fixed ahead. “Two women and a boy. The women were from one of those dance halls on the Lower East Side. The boy was selling newspapers when they found him.”
They. My flock. The vampires I had gathered, rescued, and taught to resist their baser instincts. Each one a potential monster I had guided toward something approaching humanity again.
“And their condition?”
“Hungry. Afraid. The boy tried to run when he realized what had happened to him. Maria and Constance found him hiding in a coal chute two blocks away.” Sister Josephine paused as we passed a small alcove where candles flickered before a statue of the Virgin Mary.
“He reminds me of you when you first came. So much anger.”
I swallowed against the sudden tightness in my throat.
“I wasn’t angry so much as in mourning. I’d recently lost my spiritual guide, the priest who’d shown me the true path.
Given my existence, I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that I will likely see far more people pass from this world than most do during a typical lifespan. ”
“As do we all.” She patted my hand. “But anger is a luxury none of us can afford, least of all those who walk with one foot in eternity.”
My mind drifted to the years before I’d found this sanctuary, when I had been the Order’s most effective weapon against my own kind.
The Nightwalker, Silas had called me. I had hunted without mercy or hesitation, believing every drop of blood I spilled was sanctified by divine purpose.
How many had I killed? Twelve? Twenty? I had stopped counting, each face blurring into the next in my memory.
I was so consumed with bloodlust then, I wasn’t sure how much of what I remembered was true and how much was a nightmare.
I wasn’t sure how many more I’d killed who I’d forgotten entirely.
And then I had met Father O’Malley. Shortly after that, Desiderius, a vampire who prayed. Their faith had been the mirror I needed to see the hypocrisy of my own.
We turned into what had once been a sitting room but now served as Sister Josephine’s study.
Its furnishings were modest—a simple desk of dark wood, two chairs with worn upholstery, shelves lined with religious texts and practical manuals of nursing and medicine.
A small coal fire burned in the grate, more for Sister Josephine’s comfort than mine; the cold no longer troubled me as it once had.
“You’ve checked the new defenses?” I asked, helping her settle into the chair behind her desk.
She nodded. “Brother Vincent and the others are in charge of that. Every window and door on the ground floor is connected to the bell system now.” She gestured toward a small panel on the wall where thin copper wires converged. “Though I doubt such measures would stop the kind of enemies you fear.”
“They’ll slow them down,” I said, moving to examine the panel. It was their own handiwork, crude compared to the electric security systems being installed in the mansions uptown, but it would serve our purpose. “And the escape tunnel?”
“Complete, though I pray we never need it.” Sister Josephine’s fingers found her rosary beads again. “The entrance is hidden behind the laundry shelves, as you specified.”
I nodded, satisfaction mixing with a persistent unease. The tunnel led to an abandoned section of sewer that connected to the river, providing an escape route should the worst happen. Another lesson learned from my time with the Order—always have a way out.
“You’ve done well, Sister.” I moved to the window, carefully staying to the side as I peered through the heavy curtains. The watcher was gone; the alley was empty save for a stray cat picking its way between puddles. “Bishop Harkins sends his regards.”
“How is His Excellency?” There was a note of genuine fondness in her voice. The bishop had been the one to connect us, recognizing in Sister Josephine a rare soul capable of seeing beyond my nature to the woman beneath.
“Burdened,” I replied. “The diocese grows, and with it, his responsibilities. But he still finds the time to hear my reports. Though, as you know, these reports are not what He initially required.”
“We are all quite grateful that your mission has evolved.” There was no accusation in her tone, only a weary acceptance.
I turned back to face her. “There have been disappearances in Providence. Vampires who had established peaceful routines, suddenly gone without a trace. I’m praying the Order is not involved.”
Sister Josephine closed her eyes briefly, her lips moving in silent prayer. When she opened them again, they held the steel that had allowed this frail woman to survive knowing what she knew without breaking.
“We must prepare for whatever comes,” she said simply. “The flock will need guidance now more than ever.”
I nodded, moving toward the door that would lead us deeper into the convent. “They’re in the chapel?”
“Yes, attempting their devotions.” She rose with effort, leaning heavily on her cane. “It grows harder for some of them. The newest arrivals especially struggle with being so close to the sacred.”
“As did I,” I murmured, offering her my arm once more. “As do I still.”
Together we moved through the corridor toward the chapel, my steps automatically slowing to match her labored pace.
Behind us, the modest furnishings and hidden security measures; ahead, the greater challenge—souls balanced between damnation and redemption, looking to me for guidance I was never certain I could provide.