Slowly, I cracked open my eyelids, wincing as my pupils were flooded with bright light

Slowly, I cracked open my eyelids, wincing as my pupils were flooded with bright light. At the same time, my body woke back up, virtually every part of me screaming in some sort of pain. I blinked a few times and drew deep, steady breaths, adjusting to the light and the pain. When I felt able, I opened my eyes fully again to take in my surroundings. I tried to sit up, but winced as a sharp pain shot through my torso. I lowered myself back onto the pillow, wincing as I irritated my broken ribs again.

The room was small, dimly lit by candles and a low-burning fire in the fireplace. The walls were rough and whitewashed, bare but for an oil painting of the Good Shepard surrounded by sheep, with a lamb in his arms, that hung on the wall opposite me. There were no windows. Three worn and threadbare red rugs made small patches of color on the wood floor. I lay in a small, twin-sized bed, covered by warm red blankets to match the rugs, and supported by many soft pillows and the surprisingly comfortable mattress.

"Where am I?" I asked, my voice hoarse and cracking, barely above a whisper.

"It is good to see you awake," came a woman's voice.

I looked over my right shoulder to see a small alcove I hadn't noticed before. Sitting there was an elderly woman, dressed in a black habit and white wimple. In her lap was a book of devotions, and in her hands was a well-used rosary, made of beads of cedarwood. Blue eyes twinkled serenly out of a kind, motherly, wrinkled face.

Upon realizing she was an abbess, I involuntarily crossed myself in blessing. Then I stared at my right hand; where had that reflex come from? The old woman smiled gently, as if what I had done was nothing out of the ordinary.

"A Catholic, I see," she murmured.

"I… Who are you?" I asked, swallowing in a vain attempt to moisten my sandpaper-dry throat.

The old nun stood and walked to a small table at the end of my bed. She picked up a cracked jug and poured me a goblet of water, handing it to me with a smile. I thanked her and drank it thirstily.

"My name is Mother Agnes," she said. "I am the Mother Superior of the convent of Carmelite nuns here."

"Where is here?" I queried.

She smiled. "You are in the Vatican, in Rome. You have been here for a week. How you got here and where you came from, I do not know."

She looked at me questioningly. I furrowed my brow and tried to think, but found to my horror that I could remember nothing. I had no memories at all. No clue of where I had come from… what I looked like… my name. I had nothing at all. I shook my head, a vague panicky feeling creeping into my chest.

"Can you remember your name?" she asked gently.

I closed my eyes, searching through the infinite black void of my mind. A name bubbled just under the surface of the great nothingness. I furrowed my brow further, forcing the name into the light.

"Mikael," I replied. "My name is Mikael."

"Mikael," Mother Agnes murmured. "Who is like God. It is the proper Hebrew name for St. Michael, the Prince of Archangels."

Some sort of strange recognition rang in the corners of my head at her words. I looked up at her, trying to piece together some form of memory, but nothing would come.

"Is there anything else?" she prompted.

I closed my eyes again, and slowly a vague picture came to me. It was of a man, very tall, swathed in black…

"Gabrael," I whispered, keeping my eyes closed. The name felt like a caress, a form of comfort. For unknown reasons, I smiled to myself. "Gabrael."

"Who is Gabrael?" Mother Agnes asked softly.

I strained to remember, but again nothing would come. I sighed in frusteration.

"I can't remember…"

Mother Agnes smiled gently. "Your memory will return, in time. The Cardinal will want to see you, now that you've woken up."

"The Cardinal?" I asked.

She nodded. "Cardinal Lorenzo Albaretti. I will return shortly. While I'm gone, you can freshen up."

She pointed to a small chest that stood in one corner of the room. Hanging above the chest was a mirror, and sitting on the lid was a basin and jug and a brush.

"Do you think you can stand?" she asked.

I slowly sat up and pushed back the covers. "One way to find out."

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, shivering as my bare feet touched the floor. I gingerly put my full weight on my feet. My entire body ached, but my legs held me. I looked up and grinned triumphantly.

Mother Agnest beamed. "There are fresh clothes in the chest."

With that, she opened the door and left me alone.

: Mother Agnes's POV :

I walked as quickly as propriety would allow to the Cardinal's office, raising my hand in blessing to the nuns of my abbey who walked the halls. I knocked on the thick wooden door of the Cardinal's office and entered when he called, "Come in."

"Your Grace," I said, inclining my head slightly.

"Mother Agnes," the Cardinal said in greeting, returning the gesture of respect. "I take it that the girl has awoken?"

"Yes, Cardinal," I nodded.

"Very good," he said. "Have you discovered anything about her?" he asked.

"Precious little," I responded. "Her name is Mikael."

"Mikael?" the Cardinal asked.

I nodded. "Her accent leads me to believe she is Romanian. She has no memory."

The Cardinal looked up, interested. "Like Van Helsing."

"Very much like Van Helsing," I agreed.

"Is there anything else?" the Cardinal asked.

"Well… she remembers someone named Gabrael…" I said.

The Cardinal looked up quickly, shock etched all over his face. I nodded slowly, knowing his thoughts were going along the same lines as mine.

When Van Helsing first came to us, he had been in the grips of a high fever. In his delirium, he had never once awoken. He had only muttered two names over and over again.

Gabrael… and Mikael.

"You don't think…?" I began.

"I do not know," the Cardinal replied. "But it is very interesting. Very interesting indeed."

: Mikael's POV :

I took a cautious first step as Mother Agnes closed the door. I had no broken bones in my legs, as far as I could tell, but for some unknown reason every part of me ached. I looked down at my bare legs, which seemed to go on forever out of the large blousy shirt I was wearing. There were several nasty cuts and bruises marring them. Once I ascertained that I could walk, I fairly lunged for the mirror.

My reflection was faint and hazy. I stared into the glass; I could dimly see the outlines of a great castle atop an icy mountain. I shook my head in disbelief; I must have been hallucinating. I blinked a time or two and focused on my reflection.

My eyes were a cold, steely gray, almost silver. They were surrounded by thick sooty lashes and delicate black brows. My skin was very fair, nearly white, with very little bloom in my cheeks. My lips were on the fuller side and well-formed. My hair was black, thick and wavy, and hung to the bottom of my shoulderblades. On my right forearm was a small white design, almost like a brand, of a winged dragon. I smiled faintly.

That's when I saw my teeth. My canines were sharp, just a bit longer than a normal person's. It made me look faintly vampyric.

I shook my head, sure I was just imagining things. I poured water from the jug into the basin and splashed the water on my face. The cool liquid felt good against my skin. I brushed my hair and plaited it into a single long braid. Then I opened the trunk, to find stacks of neatly folded clothes. I automatically pushed aside the dresses and instead grabbed a pair of tight black breeches and a black blouse that tied up the front. I also pulled on knee-high black boots with a small heel.

Upon closing the chest, I noticed that on the small section of wood behind the hinges rested a necklace, a silver cross that hung off of a black ribbon. I picked it up, rubbing my thumb against the metal of the cross. I stared at it, recognition again bubbling up from the blackness of my mind; this must have been mine. I clasped it around my neck and looked into the mirror again, fingering the cross where it hung just below the hollow of my neck.

That's when I saw the ring on my left ring finger. It was beautiful in its simplicity; a blood red ruby set in a six-prong setting on a gold band. I stared at it; where on earth had I gotten this, and what did it mean?