Willing (The Un 1)

If Saint Benedict’s ever falls, there will be no one left to stand up to them. No one left to protect us. The vampire’s numbers may be small in comparison to ours now, but that’s only thanks to the work of the Order.

Without the Order around to hide the Cursed, the vampire’s numbers could grow exponentially…

Shaking those gloomy thoughts from my head, I step away from the building and back into the brutal sun. Saint Benedict’s is directly across the street from me, but at the moment it might as well be a million miles away.

With each step I take to get there, I swear I can feel the rays of the sun scorching into the back of my neck.

I’ve never been this sensitive to the sun before, and it’s more than a little unnerving.

The fear that I might actually burn to a crisp has me quickening my steps.

When I finally reach the massive black iron doors, I yank them both open without a thought to how heavy they are and rush inside.

“Chloe!” Sister Susan admonishes me a moment before the black doors slam shut behind me.

The sound resonates and echoes throughout the cathedral, vibrating through the very rafters like a long, drawn-out chord strummed on a guitar.

It’s still early in the day, so there are only a few people scattered around the pews, sitting or kneeling in quiet prayer.

But every one of those faces turns to me in surprise.

Black robe snapping behind her, Sister Susan marches quickly down the aisle and grabs me roughly by the arm.

“What on earth has gotten into you?” she hisses between her teeth while smiling apologetically and nodding to those looking our way.

Wincing in embarrassment, I say, “Sorry.”

Shaking her head in obvious disappointment, Sister Susan tugs me around the pews and leads me through a door behind the altar.

Once we’re finally away from the prying eyes of the worshippers, she practically throws my arm away from her and says angrily, “You’re late.”

Frowning in confusion, I pull my arm close to my chest. “I am?”

I could have sworn I only stopped for a couple of minutes after getting off the bus…

“Yes,” she snaps impatiently. “You’re twenty minutes late and there’s extra work to do to prepare for Mass. Father Dominic is on his way right now, and his ceremonial robes are not ready for him!”

I almost cringe at Father Dominic’s name but catch myself at the last second. Out of all the local priests who could replace Father McCall on a moment’s notice, Father Dominic would be my last pick.

He’s extremely prejudiced against the Cursed. He’s one of the ones that believes sheltering and protecting us is an unnecessary risk.

“Come.” Snapping her fingers at me like I’m a dog she expects to heel, Sister Susan spins and marches down the hall.

Sighing, I rub my arm then follow behind her. Telling myself that putting up with this treatment is the cost of getting to do what gives me fulfillment.

Working in the church is literally the most important thing I have going on in my life.

This is my sanctuary.

To some that might be pathetic and sad, but it truly fills me with a sense of purpose. I have a reason for living. I’m not just a drain on society.

I matter, and regardless of what others might think, in God’s eyes I’m important.

I’m helping spread His message.

Sister Susan leads me straight to the vestry, and I throw myself into getting everything prepared for Father Dominic’s imminent arrival. Helping her inspect the robe he’ll wear and spot cleaning or dusting where needed.

Thankfully, once we get to work and start making progress, Sister Susan’s mood drastically improves. Her words are less clipped and she even smiles at me when we finish our work in the vestry and move on to preparing Communion.

Her good mood lasts until we finish all the preparations and Father Dominic still hasn’t shown up yet.

Scowling and causing the fine lines around her eyes and lips to deepen, she watches the back door like a hawk, obviously expecting him to appear at any second.

When twenty minutes pass, she starts to pace.

After forty-five minutes, she disappears into the office.

Needing to stay busy, I grab a broom and dustpan out of the closet and begin sweeping.

Sister Susan reappears a few minutes later and lets out a long, heavy sigh to get my attention.

“It appears Father Dominic is running late,” she says, as if it’s not a big deal.

But I know, despite her act otherwise, it’s most certainly a big deal for her.

Sister Susan is very punctual and hates running late. Absolutely loathes it. Thus her earlier irritation with me.

Her voice cracking midway through the sentence like she’d rather choke on the words than say them, she finishes with, “We’ll have to cancel the afternoon Mass.”

I nod and grip the broom I’m holding tighter, feeling a spike of apprehension.