(Takes place immediately following Dark of Heart)
"I'll be heading to my papers, now, Sister Mary Christopher. You'll be locking up the doors for me, will ye?" the old priest asked a hint of Irish brogue still coloring his words. The nun, head bowed in prayer, nodded her obedience. "There's a good lass, g'night to ye." His body, after years on genuflecting and kneeling in service, was now riddled with a painful arthritis that made these cooler nights unbearable for him. Father Nathan hobbled from the room and the young nun winced at every step.
No one else would come into the church for the rest of the night; she had been here long enough now to become familiar with the modest cathedral's daily routine. The only nightly regular was Mr. Stanley and he had left hours ago. If it began to rain some streetwalkers might tumble in, sitting in the back pews to stay dry, but there hadn't been rain for weeks. Summer was unusually mild this year.
Deep in her rosary, the young nun raised her eyes in adoration to the altar where the Blessed Virgin kneeling at the feet of Christ. Contrary to what most people thought nuns did not take a vow of silence; but as a novitiate, a girl having taken her first vows and entering her spiritual training for sisterhood, she was supposed to say as little as possible, filling her presence with God and not idle chatter. Training for two years, it was a marvel what she had learned; a short time ago she had been Rhonda Cope. Now she was Sr. Mary Christopher, though she still couldn't think of herself by that name.
Despite all nuns being addressed as Sister, a sister was technically a nun who went into the world for missionary work, like teaching or administering medical care. A nun was a woman who lived cloistered away from the world, her duty in constant prayer and contemplation. Rhonda had joined the latter, an Order of Trappist nuns, The Sisters of Strict Obedience, and they devoted their lives to prayer and poverty. Much of her training was in lessons that taught her to give up earthly comforts, things like often going to bed hungry or having no shoes. Living in the convent, they were not even permitted to 16 hours a day, Rhonda was expected to pray, to confess and recite rosaries.
Father Nathan had been very reluctant to support her efforts to join the vocation. " 'Tis not for you, Rhondie girl, this hiding away from the world. You've other ways to serve Him." Those other ways held no interest for her; the world was cruel and ugly and people were mean and hateful. Only in the sanctity and safety of the Order was she able to find good and meaningful things to fill her soul. Life before she pledged the Sisters had been difficult; Rhonda had lived with her father, and he had done the best he could for his 4 children. When she was 6 her mother had died from stomach cancer, placing a terrible financial burden on the family. Dad had struggled to keep them afloat, and was doing all right, until Rhonda's older brother was hit by a drunk driver. Danny had lingered in a coma for weeks before his body finally failed him. The death of a child crushed Dad and to make matters worse the hit and run driver was never found, adding tremendous medical expenses onto the family. Poor Dad had finally cracked and taken his own life, with a borrowed gun.
Rhonda and her 2 remaining brothers had been tossed between indifferent relatives, some with enough money that they could have easily helped Dad. It was during this time she learned the real cruelty of life, being treated like an unwanted burden, made to work like a servant for every scrap of food and clothing, smacked or spit on for every mistake. As soon as all of her younger brothers were 18, they enlisted and left; with the last one them gone, Rhonda fled for the peace of the church. Attendance had been spotty over the years, having chores to do or a 6 mile walk, but Rhonda had remained a faithful Catholic and allowed to pledge.
Behind her, the thunderous sound of the old hinged doors alerted her to a visitor. It was forbidden to do anything until her prayers were finished, so she continued. Footsteps clicked along the floor and secretly Rhonda felt a twinge of fear; who could be here so late? Without ever looking up, she felt and heard the movement of another person, kneeling down at the altar few feet to her right, apparently having come to make private prayers as well. For several minutes there was nothing but silence overlaid with the rasp of someone breathing. Rhonda snuck a peek.
Beside her, evidently consumed with his supplication, was a young man. He was dark haired, curly; of a thin and wiry build. From profile she could not assess much of his face, but he had that bohemian look. While Rhonda looked and wondered the man, opened his eyes and turned to face her. He smiled.
"Hello, Sister." he whispered.
"Hello." Her throat felt rusty; it had been this morning since she last spoke.
"I hope I'm not here too late?" the man asked. Rhonda shook her head. "I just...needed to talk to someone...someone who could tell me....why God made me how I am..."
Of course, Father Nathan should be speaking to this man. Perhaps he was gay, they had a special ministry just to reach out to those fallen members of the Church. Father Nathan would come without complaint but Rhonda knew how painful it would be for him, not only walking back to the cathedral, but also the kneeling he would have to do guiding this man in prayer. Her habit wasn't that of the fully accepted sisters, she wore a white top under a black jumper with a black veil trimmed in white. Most people would recognize this as a novice's uniform but not her new companion. She would do her best to assist him herself. "God makes us all for a purpose. Perhaps there is some thing important to be learned in what he has given you. What is your name?"
"Micky. You are...?"
"Sister Mary Christopher." She laid a hand on Micky's shoulder. "Take a seat with me and tell me what's bothering you." He followed her to the front row of pews. Peace and silence were wonderful but deep down she missed conversation, contact with another person. Once they were settled, she asked him, "Now Micky, what is it you want to talk about?"
He sat forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. "It's like this....I've done..." He sighed. " I've done some bad things ..hurt other people...and I wanna make it right. But ...just being me... the way I live.. hurts people."
Clearer explanation was necessary. "By what means do you think you hurt others Micky ?"
"I can't...really say much more, Sister. Just that, my ..lifestyle..."
Initial impression proven correct, Rhonda nodded sympathetically. Gay people raised in the Catholic church often battled overwhelming guilt and shame. Luckily Father Nathan's parish was a more progressive sect, believing gays were just as much God's children as the rest of the world. "It's obvious you're in pain, but you suffer needlessly. You must trust Our Lord and have faith in His Work. You were made as you are according to His Plan. Right now, you might not see the way, but He has a path for you."
Saying nothing, the man lowered his head. Rhonda felt badly for him; a lot of the men and women in his shoes were shunned or ignored by their families and friends. While the rest of society became more tolerant, the older members of the Church still insisted on the morals and laws of the old way. "Micky, much of this world is beyond our choosing. But whether we waste our time here miserable or whether we choose to accept ourselves and celebrate what blessings we have, that is within our doing. There is good and peace if you are willing to see it."
His suffering broke her heart, because she knew what it meant to be an outsider. Rhonda took his hand in hers, a gesture that was forbidden. But it felt as natural as breathing to reach out and try to ease his suffering. He looked up, locking eyes with her, placing his other palm over their joined hands. Instantly Rhonda realized this was a mistake, the intimacy of the moment made her feel something she shouldn't. Hopefully no telltale crimson blush was streaking across her face. Rhonda turned away, the man was very cute and she was walking a dangerous line. She rose. "Let us..." Rhonda cleared her throat. "Um, yes. Let us pray together that you might feel God's Mercy and Love upon you, Micky."
*
Asshole, jerk, moron, Micky named himself, stalking along the empty streets heading home. She was a nun. A NUN. He should be dragged out and shot for lusting after... a stunning, violet eyed, classically beautiful..he shook his head to clear his line of thinking. Bride of Christ, Bride of Christ, Bride of Christ, he chanted in his mind.
Respect for the church had been the foundation of Micky's upbrining and even though as an adult, he had been less than devout, he still carried the lessons of his Catholic schooling with him. In fact, it wasn't until he had abandoned those teachings that things had gone to hell--literally. As an actor he had lived a good and decent life, touring the vaudeville circuit. Hollywood had called, luring all kinds of acts to the new film medium and Micky and his troupe had headed to California. Completely caught up in the partying, drugs,and wild sex scene he had run into the darker element that had been his undoing. They weren't called 'vamps' for no reasons, he reflected, remembering the beautiful dark eyed exotic who had turned him.
But he had made his existence managable, still believing that destroying himself was unforgivable in the eyes of his faith. Maybe he was cursed but God loved and forgave all, hopefully...even him. He had met Mike, who, through an incredibly odd coincidence, turned out to be his grand-uncle. Then Davy and Peter had come along...well, safety in numbers so they stuck together. Lately things were different. MIke had a mortal wife, sweet and adorable Mira. Davy was practically married to badass cop Cassie. Peter was....he had some bond with Mira and Mike's foster daughter but it was weird right now. Which left Micky as odd man out.
And now he had nothing but long nights ahead. Cassie had been working a case of prostitute murders and discovered the man who was committing them was a deranged individual enacting revenge on vampires. Not all vampires, either, just one; the one he held responsible for his sister's suicide over a failed relationship: Micky. After hours patrolling the walks, using his gift of shapeshifting to blend in to the homeless population, looking for anyone suspicious and wrestling his own guilt, he had seen the rosy light of the cathedral's stained glass windows. Sitting inside even for a few minutes would go along way to giving him solace and easing the burden on his soul
The figure of a nun reminded him of the good memories he had of his schooling, the stern but matronly older women who cared for the poor little farm children of his town. But this sister was another matter; she was ..oh, man, Micky closed his eyes. She was amazing. Full lips, big violet hued eyes, flawless face...Bride of Christ, Bride of Christ, Bride of Christ, he recited the litany. He needed to feed then go home and prepare for sleep. Maybe Mike or Peter was around to start a fight with. Tonight was one of those nights he kinda felt like working out some frustration.
*
The first to come home was Davy. Peter heard his whistling minutes before the shorter vampire waltzed into the room. " 'Ello, Peter. Shouldnt you be heading to ground? Near sun up."
I am waiting for Mike. Time had come that they reached an understanding. Fiona was of age. Protective foster father though he was, Mike's duty to the girl was no longer necessary.
However, Davy, like Micky seemed intent on stopping any conflict between the two. The Brit rolled his eyes. " Tha's not going to accomplish anything, old friend. You go and piss him off, make a fight where there doesn't have to be one..."
I am exceedingly tired of hearing that advice from the both of you, David. It is easy to preach restraint to me when you have your woman. No one tried to keep you away from Cassandra. His body language was tense and coiled. Being away from Fiona was making him pace the floors night after night.
Fortunately, Micky strolled in about that time. Two feet inside the door, he stopped and glanced at Davy, who sent him a meaningful look. Micky looked to Peter, "Say Pete, sun's up soon. You getting down to ground?"
Peter gritted his teeth. I am waiting to speak with Mike.
"Yea, " Micky grabbed his friend's elbow and led him over the the secret door in the floorboards that opened into their dirt packed sleeping chamber. As a practical defense, the door was hidden, no hinges, just a slab of wood that pushed back. Once beneath the floor it could be locked from the inside with a deadbolt. "Listen, I don't think that's so hot an idea."
Don't interfere with my business, Micky. You're not one to be telling me ---
"Ah shit, kid, calm down. I, " he looked over his shoulder at Davy, then pulled Peter away from his earshot. "I know you love the girl, pal. I get it. But you're going about this all wrong. See Mike, " Micky held up one hand to illustrate, "he's got this alpha male thing, where he's got to protect his family. And you," Peter held up his other hand, "you're coming along and confronting him, raising his aggression. Now if you calm down," he dropped both hands, "come at him chill. Be polite but tell him how it is." He clasped Peter's shoulder and leaned in closer. "The thing is Peter ol' buddy, he's the kid's family, she loves him and she's gonna want him and Mira around. The easier you make this for her, the happier she's gonna be..."
Brows furrowed, the blond man stared at his feet. There may be some merit to what you are saying.
"Good, give it some thought, man. Think smart not with the heart. In the meantime, " Micky kicked the trap door open with the toe of his shoe, " sleep on it would ya?"
As he prepared for sleep, the words spun in Peter's head. For over a year now, he had played nice and allowed Fiona as normal a life as her foster family could give. Sure, there had been limits and the two of them broke a few rules just to be together. Now, though...things were different. Fiona knew what he was. He fell back against the dirt, eyes closed, grinning. She had seduced the truth out of him. She got naked and he had confessed everything...how he walked in the sun, how they lived, Mike and Mira's strange marriage. Even still she refused to believe him until he exposed his fangs.
Expecting her to recoil or be angry for his lies, Fiona had surprised him instead. Tenderly running her fingers over the elongated incisors, she cooed, "Oh my god, babe, these are sexy as hell ! Why didn't you tell me?"
I thought you would hate me.
Hurt evident on her expression, she shook her head no. "Peter, there's nothing that would make me hate you. I am mad, though, that you kept this from me. All this time, you ve been carrying the burden and I haven't made it easier."
He sat up, hands framing her face. No, Fiona. No. You are what makes it all worthwhile.
" And besides," she ran her tongue over his fangs, " I think these are fucking hot. Can you use them on me?"
He had, right there on her bed before taking her body for the first time. And then taking it again on the floor. And in the shower. Knowing the danger, he was careful not to give her his blood. Both of them saw no reason for staying apart any longer. Mira suspected that something more was going on between the young couple and Mike had limited Fiona's from with Peter, threatening to ground her for the next 3 months; Mira dropped her off at school, preventing their morning trysts. Little did he know that they had their private telepathic conversations....And Fiona managed to sneak home and they still were alone together 3 or 4 times a week. Micky had said one thing that resonated...think smart. The smartest way Peter could think of was to take the decision away from Mik and Mira...