Chapter 32
We found the Good Shepherd mission waiting in darkness—not a single lamp burning behind its windows, its wooden door hanging open just enough to suggest either welcome or ambush.
The journey had cost us nearly everything.
The only hope I had was that the convent would be intact, that Sister Josephine and the rest would be well.
“Something’s wrong,” Catherine whispered.
I nodded, scanning the mission’s facade for signs of violence or forced entry. Finding none did little, though, to relieve my unease.
“We should proceed with caution,” Desiderius advised.
The journey back from Europe had been a series of desperate gambles—stowing away on a cargo vessel, feeding on what little remained of the Blood of Christ that the Bishop had given me before our departure, burying ourselves in the ship’s ballast during daylight hours.
We had arrived in New York only an hour earlier, weak and half-mad with hunger.
The city had changed little in our absence, oblivious to the hell that ranged across the Atlantic.
I pushed open the door. The mission’s interior lay in darkness.
The pews stood in orderly rows; the altar remained undisturbed, the silver cross above it gleaming in what little moonlight filtered through stained glass windows.
Nothing appeared damaged or desecrated, yet everything felt wrong—like a stage set abandoned by its actors.
“They’re gone,” I whispered. “All of them.”
“Perhaps they fled,” Catherine suggested. “If the Order—“
“No,” a familiar voice interrupted from the shadows near the confessional. “They were relocated. For their protection.”
My dead heart seized in my chest. I knew that voice, had replayed it in my mind throughout the horrors of Europe, every prayer he’d written echoing through my mind in his distinct tenor.
“Bishop Harkins,” I breathed.
He stepped into a shaft of moonlight. His wrinkles seemed deeper after only a few months away, but the steady compassion in his gaze remained unaltered.
“Alice,” he replied simply. “Desiderius. And this must be Catherine.”
I don’t know what overcame me in that moment—whether it was a relief after months of danger, gratitude for his survival, or simply the weight of all I had witnessed finally breaking through my carefully maintained composure.
Without thought for propriety or protocol, I crossed the space between us and embraced him, clinging to Bishop Harkins with a squeeze that I had to consciously weaken for fear of crushing him.
He laughed softly, his arms closing around me with paternal warmth, accepting my impulsive gesture without judgment.
“Apologies, Your Excellency,” I said, regaining control and stepping back. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“I believe I do.” His tone held understanding. “You have walked through hell itself, child, and emerged bearing wounds in your soul, wounds that will not heal so easily as those that you might suffer in the flesh. Such journeys change a person—even those such as yourself.”
Desiderius approached, bowing with the formal respect due. “Your Excellency, I am grateful you are well. I must go to confession.”
The Bishop laughed again, the sound rich with genuine amusement. “Very well, but I already know what you intend to confess.”
Desiderius stiffened, his composure momentarily cracking. “You do?”
“You are the progeny of Vladislav,” the bishop stated matter-of-factly. “The ancient vampire sent you to undermine my efforts, to secure one such as Alice, to further his agenda.”
I turned to Desiderius, then back to the bishop. How did this information that Desiderius only revealed in secret make its way back to him?
“How did you know?” Desiderius asked.
The bishop’s eyes twinkled. “A little angel told me.”
I tilted my head, uncertain whether he spoke literally or metaphorically. I would not dismiss the possibility of direct angelic communication, yet the Bishop’s tone suggested something less dramatic.
“How long did you know?” Desiderius asked.
Bishop Harkins waved his hand through the air. “I’ve known for years!”
“And you trusted me all this time?” Desiderius pressed.
The bishop tilted his head slightly, regarding Desiderius with measured consideration. “Father O’Malley told me to give you a chance, son. Did not Jesus still teach Judas, allow him to follow Him, even though He foresaw his betrayal?”
“I do not intend to betray you!” Desiderius insisted, a flush of blood tears threatening at the corners of his eyes—a rare display of emotion from one normally so controlled.
The bishop laughed and nodded. “Indeed, you’re not half as bad as Judas. Though Peter also denied the Lord, he returned. I’ve prayed for your soul more times than I can count. Those prayers have been answered.”
I looked between them, processing this revelation.
Desiderius—my mentor, my ally—had been placed among us as Vladislav’s agent.
Yet somewhere in our shared struggles, genuine faith had taken root in him.
He’d credited me with that, though I was merely an instrument.
It was the Holy Spirit who’d done the actual work.
Whatever his initial purpose, he had found something authentic in our shared path toward redemption.
“What happened to Sister Josephine?” I asked, refocusing on more immediate concerns. “To the rest?”
“Relocated to Providence,” the bishop replied. “I could no longer protect them in New York. And in your absence, I suspected they’d require protection.”
“How could you protect them?” I questioned, anxiety rising anew. “If the Order comes after them—“
“I hid them away,” the Bishop said. “And now that you two have salvaged your reputation with the Order, there’s no reason to suspect that you should do anything other than continue the work at the convent and monastery until we identify a way for you to leverage your newfound influence with their organization. ”
“You don’t know what the Order is planning right now?” I asked.
“No one does,” the Bishop acknowledged with a slight shrug. “But I suspect you’ll coax them out of hiding soon enough. Not to mention, we already know of at least two members whose influence you might leverage.”
Desiderius nodded. “General Gantry and Dr. Gallow.”
“Indeed,” the Bishop confirmed. “However, I must also keep at a distance. While the Order now believes you serve Vladislav, they are well-aware of my position and intentions. You must allow them to believe that you’re merely pretending to serve under my guidance.
Do that, and I believe the convent will be safe. ”
I tilted my head, wondering how he knew so many details already. “Did you receive communication from Dupont?”
The Bishop nodded. “Indeed, I did. He agrees with my assessment, and he sends his regard for your both.”
The strategy was dizzying in its layers of deception—we were to pretend to be pretending, to serve while appearing to infiltrate, to maintain multiple loyalties while remaining true to our deepest conviction.
“I’m not sure I can stay,” Desiderius said suddenly, shaking his head. “Vladislav is out there. If we’re going to maintain this ruse, I have to find him. The rest of the Order will only buy our story for so long unless he confirms my existence.”
The words fell between us like stones into still water, creating ripples of uncertainty. Catherine reached for his arm, her eyes wide with distress.
“You can’t leave,” she protested. “We’ve lost so many already.”
I felt the same objection rise within me, though I recognized the logic in his argument. Our carefully constructed deception would collapse without Vladislav’s tacit support—support that Desiderius himself could only secure.
“He must go,” I said finally, though the admission tasted bitter. “For all our sakes.”
The bishop nodded slowly. “It is necessary. But not tonight. Tonight, you will rest. Tomorrow, I will take you to Providence in my horseless carriage.” His lips curved slightly at our surprise.
“Yes, even bishops must occasionally embrace the modern world. The Sisters of Divine Mercy await you there—a new name for a new beginning. Sister Josephine has already begun preparing the younger ones for your arrival.”
Sisters of Divine Mercy. The name settled over me like a benediction, offering promise of renewal after so much loss.
I reached for my olive-wood rosary, taking comfort in its familiar texture beneath my fingers.
So much had been taken from us, yet faith remained—stubborn, persistent, defiant of both human and supernatural darkness.
“Thank you,” I said simply.
The bishop’s eyes met mine with an understanding that transcended words. “The path ahead remains difficult, Alice. But remember that even in darkness, light persists. And sometimes, from the greatest darkness comes the most profound illumination.”
The next night, with Desiderius gone, we traveled in Bishop Harkins’ horseless carriage toward the Sisters of Divine Mercy.
The road seemed to stretch endlessly before us, each mile bringing us closer to a new chapter.
The bishop’s presence beside me was a comforting weight, a reminder that even in the wake of loss, of death, of evil itself, there was reason to have faith.
The automobile slowed to a stop in front of a modest building, its windows aglow with a warm light that spilled onto the darkened street.
As I stepped out, the familiar scent of incense and beeswax candles embraced me like an old friend, offering solace amid uncertainty.
Sister Josephine waited at the entrance, her eyes bright with relief at our arrival.
“Sister Alice,” she greeted me, her voice a soothing balm to my weary spirit. “Welcome home.”
THE END OF BOOK THREE
To Be Continued in…
Charleston Moon (Nightwalker #4)