Page 53 of Of Faith and Fangs
And now they planned to destroy the one person who had shown me true redemption was possible.
Chapter 23
Five pairs of hungry eyes tracked my movements as I paced the length of our miserable sanctuary, their red glow piercing the gloom like dying embers. These women—my women now, God help me—had once been ordinary, alive. I’d taken that from them with my own fangs, transformed them into Nightwalkers unwittingly. I wasn’t sure what was worse, that I’d thought I’d killed these women, or that I’d been complicit in turning them. Either way, there was plenty of guilt I could hold on to. Then again, Father O’Malley heard my confession. He gave me penance to heal my wounds. I couldn’t allow myself to wallow in guilt—to doubt the absolution is to doubt Christ Himself.
I had to lead them, even though I was probably the last person—human or vampire—they’d want to follow. And what I was about to tell them could mean killing them all over again. The chances of our success were slim, but I didn’t have a choice.
“We’re not going upstairs,” I said, stopping my pacing to face them directly. “Not for Silas, not for the hunt.”
Rebecca, the youngest both in human years and vampire existence, hissed through teeth that had sharpened with hunger. “But you promised us blood tonight.” Her hollow cheeks and fever-bright eyes made her look like consumption incarnate—a disease I’d spent my human years fighting and now embodied in twisted form.
“There will be blood,” I conceded, “but not where Silas intends.”
Martha rose from her corner, her movements carrying the dignity of her sixty years despite her transformation. “Speak plainly, child. What game are you playing?”
I drew in an unnecessary breath, a habit from my human days that still brought comfort. “I overheard Silas planning something with an older vampire. His name is Desiderius. From what I could gather, he leads another brood of Nightwalkers for a different chapter of the Order of the Morning Dawn. Though I’m not sure Desiderius was made by the Order. I’m not sure why he’s working with them, but perhaps he’s as deceived as I was, that I could earn my salvation by doing Silas’s bidding.”
“What are you suggesting?” Martha asked.
“Silas is bringing an army of men from the Order along with Desiderius and his nightwalkers to a church.”
“A church?” Rebecca snorted. “That’s odd.”
“They’re attacking St. Mary’s Parish. They intend to murder the priest. He just so happens to be a good friend of mine.”
Sarah tilted her head. “The priest? What threat could a single priest pose to the Order?”
“He knows what they really are,” I said. “What they’ve been doing to us. He’s offered me...” I hesitated, the words sounding hollow even in my own ears. “A different path. One that doesn’t require us to be the monsters they’ve made us. Silas doesn’t know yet that I’ve been meeting with Father O’Malley. He knows, though how the priest has been helping vampires like us.”
Elizabeth, who’d been silent until now, laughed. “You think a priest has a path for creatures damned by God? We’re beyond salvation, Alice. That’s why they chose us. I don’t believe the Order’s nonsense about redemption, but I wouldn’t trust a priest either.”
“I trust him, and you should, too.” The order came out harsher than I’d intended—it wasn’t supposed to be an order, but I wasn’t really sure how this whole ‘sire bond’ worked. I was still a novice in all things vampire. All five women stiffened, their bodies responding to my will even if some of their minds rebelled. “Father O’Malley believes, and I’ve seen evidence, that our condition doesn’t have to mean damnation. That through God’s grace, if we are willing to persevere and follow the path of suffering and sorrow, we can find everlasting joy and salvation.”
Rebecca lunged forward, her movement too quick for human eyes to track, stopping inches from my face. “Pretty words from a preacher’s daughter. You can’t pray away our needs, Alice. My entire body craves blood. I want it, I need it, I will have it!”
I met her gaze without flinching. “My father believed faith could conquer anything,” I said softly. “Even death. I’m not asking you to pray the thirst away. I’m asking you to redirect it—use it to find the resolve to fight against those who are stronger than we are, use it to help, to protect the innocent, to stop Silas from hurting anyone else.”
The basement fell silent save for the steady drip of water. Martha was the first to speak, her voice carrying the weight of decades of wisdom. “You want us to fight our own kind? For a priest?”
“If not for the priest, for ourselves,” I corrected. “Desiderius has lived for centuries, and may have been serving the Order for decades. He and Silas plan to murder Father O’Malley as an example to anyone who might help our kind. If we allow that, we accept that we are nothing but the Order’s weapons. Their hunting dogs.”
Ruth stepped forward. These new nightwalkers had objections. I could have just ordered their compliance, but I thought it wise to give them the freedom to fight with me by choice. I’d say I couldn’t live with myself if I forced them to do this against their wills—but I wasn’t entirely sure ‘living’ was an issue anymore. Not the way it used to be. “You think some holy water and prayers will wash away what we are? The Order made us this way for a reason.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “they did. To hunt and kill at their command. To be feared by those they wish to control. But what if we could be more? What if our hunger, our speed, our strength could serve a purpose beyond slaughter?”
Sarah huffed. “The church is consecrated ground. We’d burn at the threshold. Or was that just another lie Silas told us?”
“It will hurt,” I admitted. “Silas wasn’t lying that it would hurt, but I think he presented it to you the wrong way. Not all pain is trying to kill you. The pain will be... considerable. But it won’t destroy us.” I moved to the center of our circle. “We focus not on getting inside, but on meeting Desiderius’s Nightwalkers where they are—remember they’ll have the same problems we will on church grounds. I’ve endured it already. I won’t experience the same pain you will. I will move ahead and try to keep you safe, to give you every advantage I can. The best chance will be to create a diversion, draw them away, and then a small group of us pushes through the pain to reach Father O’Malley.”
“And you?” Elizabeth asked, her voice tight with suspicion. “Will you burn with us on this holy ground?”
I hesitated, remembering the strange peace I’d felt when I’d ventured into St. Mary’s before, the absence of the pain that should have consumed me. “I... won’t feel it the same way. I don’t know why. But I can help you through it.”
Rebecca snarled, her hunger making her reckless. “Of course. The blessed Alice Bladewell, immune to consumption in life, immune to holy ground in death. Always special, always chosen.”
“Not chosen,” I snapped, my own patience wearing thin. “Cursed, same as you. But I’ve learned something in my time with Father O’Malley. Our curse... it responds to will. To faith. The pain you’ll feel—it’s not destruction, it’s purification.”
“Purification?” Martha’s tone betrayed her skepticism.
