Revenge is a dish best served cold - Anonymous

It was an unusually warm spring day, and the St. Sebastian Shelter on 77th Street was fairly deserted. Later, the regulars would come in for a hot meal, perhaps a bed for the night. From runaway teenagers to runaway wives, to the homeless and hungry, the Sisters of the Sacred Heart and their volunteers turned no one away from the door.

Sister Winnifred Dooley, the newest member of the staff, had a rare moment of free time. She went out of the back door, into a tiny patch of grass that was surrounded on three sides by high walls, and sat down. Winnie tilted her round face into a stray beam of sunlight and sighed, enjoying the heat.

Like the other nuns, Winnie covered her cropped auburn hair with a white-edged black veil. Her order did not wear habits, having converted to simple modern dress - white shirt, calf-length denim skirt, a gold cross pin on the collar of her blouse, sensible shoes. She was young, though not the youngest in the order.

Winnie had made her perpetual vows just six months ago, after serving two years as postulant and another two years in her novitiate. She had gone to college previously, earned a degree in Education. Winnie had thought she might be a teacher, until she'd answered God's call. From Augustine Women's University to the Sisters of the Sacred Heart... her parents had been both thrilled (they were devout Catholics) and appalled.

She had been working at the shelter for two weeks, not long enough to really get to know the people who came there for help, but their suffering served to firm her commitment. Winnie's belief in God's goodness and mercy was unshaken by the grim realities of street life. God knew what He was doing, if only His children had faith. For the moment, Winnie felt the sunshine, listened to a breeze ruffling through the grass, closed her eyes, and relaxed.

Thank You, Lord, for Your beautiful works, she thought. What a blessing is a sunny spring day!

A shadow fell across her face. Winnie opened her eyes. A woman was standing there, swaying a little on her feet. She was dirty; her skin had an unhealthy pallor where it was not gray with ingrained grime. Matted dark hair hung to her shoulders, hacked away unevenly at the ends. A nasty scar sliced across her cheek, ending at the corner of her mouth. Blue eyes were set deep in bruised sockets. Despite the warmth of the day, the woman wore several layers of clothing beneath an old Navy pea coat.

Winnie had never seen her before. She stood up, brushing off the back of her skirt. "I'm Sister Winnie," she said, holding out a hand and smiling.

The woman did not respond, merely stared at her.

"Is this your first time at St. Sebastian's?" Winnie attempted. She noticed the woman's hand was bleeding, knuckles badly scraped. "Are you hurt? There is a clinic nearby..."

"No doctor," the woman said. Her voice was low, husky.

Sister Bernadette, called Sister Bernie, bustled towards them. She was tall, big-boned and brawny, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal beefy forearms. "Ah, that'll be our Eleanor," she said to the woman. "How are you, Eleanor?"

"Fine, Sister Bernie." Eleanor regarded Winnie. "She wasn't here last time I visited."

"Sister Winnifred is new, but I'm sure you two will get along." Bernadette flashed Winnie a warning look that said, be quiet, we'll talk later. "Why don't you go in and have a sandwich, Eleanor? Sister Jean is in the kitchen."

With a last glance at Winnie, Eleanor drifted back inside.

"I guess she must be one of your regulars," Winnie said.

"Yes and no. Eleanor - that's the name we gave her - is a drifter. She appears every year around this time." Bernadette clasped her hands together, rocking back and forth on her shoes. "We don't know much about her, not even her real name. She's been coming to St. Sebastian's for ten years. Eleanor will stay about a week, then be gone again."

"I see. Shall I assign her a bed?"

"Yes... and Winnifred? Please limit your interaction with Eleanor."

Winnie blinked. "Why? Is she dangerous?" Some of the homeless were former mental patients. While they weren't homicidal, it was wise to exercise caution.

"I don't..." Bernadette removed a rosary from her pocket, began running the beads through her fingers. She licked her lips. "Eleanor is a troubled soul. Deeply troubled. She has paranoid delusions. I don't want you to get sucked into her fantasies."

"I'm sorry, sister, but I'm not sure I understand."

Bernadette leaned closer. Winnie could smell peppermint toothpaste on her breath. "A few years ago," Bernadette whispered in a gust of sickly mint, "one of the older sisters spent a great deal of time with Eleanor. They had long talks. The sister became unbalanced. She developed eisoptrophobia - a morbid fear of mirrors. The matter ended when this sister walked through a full-length mirror and cut herself to ribbons. She nearly died, but was saved by the grace of God."

Winnie's eyes were wide. Bernadette leaned closer, until they were almost nose to nose. "There was no proof that Eleanor was involved. But I know she was, somehow. My instinct tells me to be careful around that one. I don't know Eleanor, or what brought her to this pass, or why she comes to St. Sebastian's only once per year, or why Mother Superior allows her to stay. I do know that I'm not going to let her to drive another nun mad. So do what I tell you, Sister Winnifred, and stay away from Eleanor. Obedience is more than a virtue - it's a necessity. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sister Bernadette." Winnie's stomach fluttered with nervousness. Sister Bernie was a formidable woman, and it was unwise to cross her. Besides, obedience to the order's rule was one of her holy vows. "I understand."

"Good. Now I suggest you occupy yourself with some task until the kitchen is ready to prepare dinner. Idle hands are the Devil's work. If you need anything, I'll be in my office catching up on paperwork." Bernadette marched away, Winnie following at her heels.

While Bernadette worked, Winnie occupied herself straightening up the shelter's common room. Battered sofas and chairs were clustered around an ancient television set. The picture was only black-and-white, the reception poor at best. She saw no sign of Eleanor, whom she assumed was in the kitchen eating.

George Strand, an elderly black man who was a regular, came shuffling into the room. His grizzled head was covered by a greasy baseball cap, his pants were too large and held up with a piece of knotted string. Without glancing at Winnie, George plopped down in his favorite chair, ready to watch re-runs of the Twilight Zone on television. The host, Rod Serling, was introducing the episode as usual, except for occasional static interruptions that warped his image. At the moment, sparkling zig-zags separated Ron's head from his body at an eye-watering angle.

"Hi, George," Winnie said softly.

"Shhh," George said, not taking his eyes from the screen. His hand wandered down, pushed inside the waistband of his pants.

Winnie intercepted his wrist firmly. "We talked about this, George. You have to behave, or Sister Bernie will put you on the banned list."

George withdrew his hand, lower lip pushing in and out. He had no teeth, and the shelter had stopped giving him free dentures because he'd trade them on the street for a bottle of muscatel. Sister Bernadette kept George's last pair of dentures in a locked drawer in her desk. He could have them to eat with, then they had to be cleaned and returned. "I found a dead bird yesterday," he said. "Under the boardwalk. It had no eyes."

"That happens, George. It's part of nature, God's work." Winnie turned away, tried to fluff a limp throw pillow. There was an afghan on one of the sofas, a knitted horror in brown, orange and lime green.

A couple women came in, chattering to each other. On television, Rod Serling had finished his introduction, and the drama began. The women sat down side-by-side, muting their conversation at a look from Winnie. George tried to feel himself again, Winnie stopped him, and he finally desisted, content to watch a young William Shatner's melodramatic performance.

Sister Philomena's voice came from the doorway. "I hear Eleanor is back," she said. "Did Sister Bernie talk to you?"

Winnie nodded. Sister Philomena had come to the Sacred Heart from a convent from Armenia more than sixty years ago. She was in her eighties now, her skin collapsed in soft wrinkles, hands liver-spotted, gnarled with arthritis. Her voice bore no trace of accent. Philomena was sharp-minded, good-humored, a favorite with novices.

"How are you today, George?" Philomena continued, shuffling into the room. She nodded at the two women. "Rhonda, Patricia... are you well?"

"Yes, Sister Phil," they answered. George mumbled something that Winnie didn't quite catch, but hoped was polite.

"Good, good. Oh, dear. What a terrible picture! The roof antenna needs adjustment again." The elderly nun wore a black habit whose long skirts fell to her ankles. Despite Vatican II and the loosening of convent strictures, Sister Philomena had no intention of joining the modern world. She sat down, a painful process since her hip had been broken in a fall three years ago. Once seated, she clapped her hands together and prepared to rise again. "I've forgotten my glasses. They're in the lavatory."

"Please don't get up. I'll fetch them, Sister Phil," Winnie hastily volunteered. She whispered to George, "Behave yourself, or I'll tell Sister Bernadette," and left the common room.

As she started down the hallway, she nearly ran into Eleanor. "I'm sorry," Winnie said, squeezing past the taller woman.

Eleanor nodded, then suddenly grabbed Winnie's upper arm. Her fingers dug deeply into flesh, hard enough to leave marks. Winnie was shocked by the power of her grip. "Word of friendly advice," Eleanor said, blue eyes glowing with a strange light. "Looked at yourself in a mirror lately, Sister Winnifred?"

"Vanity is one of the seven deadly sins," Winnie replied, trying to pull her arm away, but not succeeding. She wondered if she should call for help. Eleanor was very strong, and obviously far healthier than she looked.

"Deadly is right," Eleanor said harshly. "Stay away from mirrors. Got that?" She gave Winnie's arm a little shake. "Best advice I can give you, 'cause you're too young and pretty to die."

Winnie sucked in a breath, prepared to yell as loud as she could. Sister Bernadette's office was nearby, as was the shelter's handyman, Henry, who had a workshop there.

Eleanor released her swiftly, retreated several paces down the hall. "It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you. Just watch your back. Don't end up like Dolores." A flickering flourescent bulb cast patterns of shadow and light across her face, creating a sinister aspect. "God forbid you should see Mary. That's what happened to Dolores. She saw Mary, and it damned near killed her."

In spite of her earlier fear, Winnie's curiosity was roused. "The Holy Virgin Mary? What do you mean?" And who's Dolores? she added silently.

"Unholy bitch! She stole my angel!" Eleanor clapped a hand to her mouth, shook her head from side to side.

Winnie walked slowly forward, towards the stricken woman. "What do you mean, Eleanor? You can talk to me. I won't tell anyone."

Eleanor shook her head more violently. "No!" Her voice was muffled. "Just stay away! Leave me alone!" She spun around and disappeared up the passage.

Winnie tried to follow her, but Eleanor ran outside and was swallowed up by the lunchtime crowd. St. Sebastian's was only a few blocks away from the heart of the downtown area; many business people patronized the restaurants and sandwich shops around the shelter. She glanced around; unable to locate her quarry, Winnie went back inside.

Sister Bernadette's warning, now Eleanor herself... what in the world is going on here? She did not know Eleanor at all - why would the woman single her out that way? Did Eleanor bear some imagined grudge against the Virgin Mary? Bernadette had said that she suffered paranoid delusions. But if that was the case, why would she want to visit a Catholic shelter, even briefly? Winnie supposed that someone suffering from such a delusion would avoid Catholic structures at all costs. There were pictures of blue-clad Mary on the walls, statuettes here and there, even a bottle of Lourdes water in a plastic Mary-shaped bottle.

What did she mean by calling Mary an unholy bitch? Accusing Her of stealing an angel. It doesn't make sense. Of course, people who were mentally unbalanced often did not make sense. They had an internal logic that was to the far left of reality. Still, Winnie thought Eleanor had sounded quite lucid, if furious. No, not entirely angry. There had been a world of pain in her voice, an injury still agonizing even after the passage of years.

And who is Dolores?

While she was thinking, Winnie found Philomena's glasses. Returning to the common room, she saw that George had left. Rhonda and Patricia were sharing a cigarette, flicking ashes behind the sofa. When Winnie appeared, they flinched guiltily. St. Sebastian's had a strict non-smoking policy, which had more to do with fire insurance rates than second-hand smoke concerns.

"Please dispose of that properly," Winnie said to them, handing the glasses to Sister Philomena.

The old nun beamed at her. "Thank you, my dear. That's much better."

Patricia and Rhonda got up and exited together, the smoldering cigarette clenched between Rhonda's fingers. Winnie hoped they would take it outside, before Bernadette smelled smoke. She searched for a can of air freshener that usually stood on a side table, next to a bunch of plastic flowers in a jelly jar. Unable to find it, Winnie wedged the single window open a crack. The frame had a tendency to swell in wet weather, and they had had some rain recently.

"Sister Phil," Winnie said, sitting on the edge of the sofa near the older woman's chair, "do you know someone named Dolores?" She spoke softly, almost hesitantly. Bernadette had been emphatic about her not getting involved with Eleanor. On the other hand, Winnie thought, surely it can't hurt to try and clarify a mystery. It's not exactly breaking my vow of obedience to ask. After all, Sister Bernie didn't tell me not to talk to Sister Phil. This was a Jesuitical rationalization, and she knew it. Perhaps Sister Phil knows nothing, in which case, no harm done.

"Dolores?" Behind the thick glasses, Philomena's watery pale eyes were hugely distorted. "I've known a few in my time."

"Was there anyone named Dolores who had a connection to... Eleanor?" Winnie hated bringing her up, but felt she had no choice.

"Oh, that's the way of things, is it?" Philomena smiled. "Trying to wriggle out of Bernadette's injunction, are you?"

"I'm sorry. It's just that... well, I saw Eleanor in the hall. She said some things." Winnie hung her head, slightly ashamed. "I didn't mean to talk to her. Really! It just... happened."

"I see." Philomena's gnarled hands smoothed the skirt of her habit. She had a rosary around her neck, a beautiful thing made of silver and Austrian crystal that glittered in the light. "Curiosity isn't a sin, Winnifred. Disobedience is, but I know you're a good girl, and you mean well."

"Thank you."

The old nun sat back, settling herself as comfortably as she could. At her age, limber joints were a distant memory, pain a constant companion. She toyed with the tiny silver crucifix at the end of her rosary. "I've a good mind to give you a lecture on the merits of self-control and patience and obedience."

Winnie sighed internally. "Yes, Sister Phil."

"Now, don't be sulky. I know all about curiosity, my dear. It's like a burning itch that can only be satisfied by one thing, especially when you're young and impatient. If God grants you as many years as mine, you'll learn that only He knows the answers to all questions. You can pray for understanding, but have faith that He knows what He's doing."

"Yes, Sister Phil."

Philomena's smile turned into a broad grin. Winnie was startled by the almost naughty expression that was on the older woman's face. When Sister Phil grinned like that, it was possible to tell what a beautiful woman she had been once.

"Bernadette means no harm," Philomena said. "She may act like a particularly crusty saint of the martial variety, but she does care and she is concerned. She has your welfare in mind. However, I can see that if I don't satisfy you somehow, you'll get yourself into further mischief. Don't bother to deny it, my dear. Temptation is hard to resist at your age."

Winnie tried to protest. "Sister Phil, I would never..."

Philomena held up a hand. "Never say never. I'll tell you what I know, and we won't mention our conversation to Bernadette or anyone else. And you will refrain from further contact with Eleanor. I don't think she's dangerous,but we don't want to distress Sister Bernie. And one other thing, Winnifred - you won't forget to confess your little lapse to Father McGoldrick and do penance."

"Yes, Sister Phil."

"Good girl." Philomena sat in silence for several long minutes.

Winnie was afraid she had fallen asleep. She started to touch the older woman.

"I'm fine, dear," Philomena said. "Just trying to decide where to begin. About seven years ago - before your time - there was a Sister Dolores Theresa Lucerna assigned to the shelter from our sister convent in Spain. She was a lovely dark little thing who was studying psychology, wanted to get into the peer counseling program. Dolores became interested in Eleanor. They had long talks in private. Bernadette thought Dolores was using Eleanor for practice, analyzing her illness. Then Dolores began to act very odd."

This clicked with what Bernadette had told her. "Did she develop..." Winnie could not remember the word, "...a mobid fear of mirrors?"

"Yes, she did. Dolores put cloths over every mirror in the shelter. She was even afraid of her reflection in a spoon! By that time, Eleanor had already disappeared. She was not here when Dolores threw herself through a full-length mirror, may dear God forgive her. Bernadette said she'd had an accident, tripped and fell into the glass."

"Because Bernie was afraid the diocese might think it was suicide."

"Exactly so." Philomena nodded. "Poor Dolores was confused, her mind unstable. I'm certain she did not mean to commit suicide." She crossed herself. "I was here the night it happened. Who knew such a tiny woman had so much blood in her? I'd had some medical training, put a tourniquet on her arm where she'd ripped the artery open. Dolores was taken to Holy Cross Hospital to treat her wounds. Later, she was transferred to Mount Olive Psychiatric."

"But why? Why would Sister Dolores do that?"

"Only God knows the answer to that question, my dear. Dolores was babbling about the Queen of Scots trying to kill her. Personally, I think Sister Dolores was already suffering from mild dementia when she came here. Nothing overt, just the sort of harmless eccentricity that many people have from time to time. Something Eleanor told her may have triggered a violent attack. What that was, we'll never know."

"Sister Bernie clearly thinks that Eleanor drove Dolores to it somehow."

"Bah! Mental illness is not contagious. Eleanor denied all involvement, although the way Bernadette was grilling her - like some tough detective in a Phillip Marlowe book - I don't blame the woman for staying silent. At any rate, there was no evidence that Eleanor had anything to do with Dolores' lapse. Pure coincidence that Dolores' interest in Eleanor happened to occur when she was already on the brink of a mental breakdown. Bernadette sees it differently, of course, and she's entitled to her opinion."

"Eleanor said that Dolores saw Mary, and it almost killed her." Winnie picked at a loose threat on the sofa arm. "I thought she meant the Virgin Mary."

"Well, Dolores was shouting about 'Bloody Mary,' and I've always assumed she was referring to Mary, Queen of Scots, who bore that nickname." Philomena frowned, finally shook her head. "No, she couldn't have been talking about the Mother of God. And it was only a delusion, anyway."

Winnie debated whether or not to tell Philomena about Eleanor's 'unholy bitch' statement, but decided to keep it to herself. She had too much respect for Sister Phil to expose her to shocking language. "Thank you, Sister," she said. "I appreciate your explanation."

"Dolores is still at Mount Olive, by the way. And you're welcome, Winnifred. Since our talk has cleared the air somewhat, I trust you'll obey Bernadette's suggestion and avoid Eleanor's company?" Philomena's lips curled into a smile.

"Of course." Winnifred had also decided not to tell Sister Phil about Eleanor's strange warning. She was certain there was nothing to worry about, and didn't want to upset the old nun. "I'll just go to the kitchen, shall I, and help Sister Jean with dinner?"

"Excellent idea. I hope she isn't serving creamed corn again." Philomena made a face, her wrinkled countenance giving her a simian appearance. "Twice this week, and I can't abide the horrid stuff."

"Perhaps that's your penance for a past sin," Winnie suggested with gentle humor.

"No, I'm a martyr to Jean's unimaginative cuisine. I should pray to Martha, patron saint of cooks, for relief."

"Or St. Jude of lost causes."

Both nuns laughed. Jean was not a very good cook, but she was the only one who understood how to deal with the shelter's temperamental commercial stove. Her kitchen privileges were jealously guarded. Neither could really blame Jean for the dull menu, however; St. Sebastian's relied on donations from bakeries, supermarkets, charity groups and private parties.

"Go on, then, and see if Jean needs an extra hand," Philomena said, sinking deeper into her chair. Light from the television and the window reflected off her thick glasses, sent a sparkling ray into Winnie's eyes.

She shielded her face with an uplifted hand, got up, and went to the kitchen.

Some of Winnie's questions had been answered, but she had a feeling that much remained to be uncovered.

The next morning, Winnifred rose at 5 a.m., washed her face and hands, made herself presentable, and spent about fifteen minutes in private prayer. Then she walked to the chapel to attend the usual morning assembly. The order owned an old hotel close to the shelter, which had been converted into living quarters for the nuns. Each woman had her own small room with attached bath. The chapel was located in back of the main lobby; a games room was next door, with pool table, television, and card tables for evening entertainment. Most of the nuns loved bridge and canasta; Winnie had a hard time remembering the rules, so she usually read a book.

Besides running St. Sebastian's, the Sisters of the Sacred Heart also organized fund raisers for neighborhood Catholic churches, provided hospitality for visiting nuns and laywomen, supported missionary work, and ran an infant daycare center. On Wednesday and Saturday evenings, they held crafts classes in the converted hotel's basement, teaching needlepoint, embroidery, weaving and knitting for a small fee. Postcards featuring old sepia photographs from the order's archives were for sale, both on-line and in their tiny gift shop.

Two nuns answered telephone calls during the day, taking prayer requests and reminders for prayer cards; they also used an aging computer to make newsletters and inspirational mailings. During quiet times, many of the sisters sewed beautiful vestments and altar cloths. Roses from St. Agatha's were dried and fashioned into beads for handcrafted rosaries. In this way, everyone worked to support themselves, and the community at large.

Some of the nuns were teachers at St. Agatha's Convent, located upstate, on spacious wooded grounds. It was a girl's college preparatory school for grades eight through twelve. Those sisters lived in the dorms with students, coming home to Sacred Heart only during extended holidays. Winnie was hoping that, once her time at the shelter had ended, she might be permitted to take up duties as a teacher at St. Agatha's.

In the meantime, she thought, quickening her pace down the concrete stairwell, I'd better not be late, or Mother Superior will think I'm not responsible enough for reassignment.

Mother Superior Francis Darling was a vigorous, raw-boned woman in her late fifties. Bushy iron-gray brows arched over blue eyes; a jutting chin, sharp cheeks and proud beak of a nose gave her a stubborn look. Mother Francis ruled like a benevolent despot, dispensing kindness and discipline with an equal hand. Everyone respected her, including Father McGoldrick.

When all the nuns had assembled in the tiny chapel, kneeling on cushions, Mother Francis raised her hands for silence. "In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, I will begin this day," she said, beginning Matins, or the morning office. "I thank you, Lord, for having preserved me during the night. I will do my best to make all I do today pleasing to You and in accordance with Your will. My dear Mother Mary, watch over me this day. My Guardian Angel, take care of me. St. Joseph and all you saints of God, pray for me."

The lines were repeated by everyone standing there, a soft sussuration of echoes, whispered belief.

Mother Francis went on with the Daily Offering prayer, ending with the Morning Consecration to Mary: "My Queen, My Mother, I offer myself entirely to Thee. And to show my devotion to Thee, I offer Thee this day, my eyes, my ears, my mouth, my heart, my whole being without reserve. Wherefore, good Mother, as I am thine own, keep me, guard me as Thy property and possession."

Sister Bernadette joined Mother Francis on the podium. She led the nuns through the Magnificat, and the Litany of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Winnie was reminded of Eleanor each time she gave the response to Bernadette's recitation. Afterwards, the women prayed in unison for the souls in Purgatory. From a typed index card, Mother Francis read the names of those who had telephoned, asking to be included in the nun's devotions. The women  told their rosaries, murmuring the familiar words as beads slipped through their fingers.

Once prayers were finished, Mother Francis dismissed them for breakfast.

Sister Jean read aloud from the Psalms as the women sat down at a long table. She had breakfasted earlier, her privilege as the chief cook. Every nun had the same thing - a bowl of cereal with sliced banana and milk, a muffin, hot tea or coffee, and orange juice. Dishes of stewed prunes were scattered along the length of the table for anyone who wanted them.

Winnie had gotten a daring idea during the night. After finishing her breakfast, she approached Mother Superior Francis. "I have a free day on the schedule," she said diffidently. "May I have permission to go to the public library?"

Francis eyed the younger woman, while Bernadette - who sat next to Mother Superior - scowled. Francis said, "Are there not books enough in our library to suit you?"

"I had stopped studying for my teaching certificate," Winnie replied, "and I'd like to resume so that I can take the test next year." She reminded herself that this was not a lie. She did need reference materials from the public library. That she also wanted to take advantage of their newspaper archives was an omission. Okay, a lie of omission, as Father McGoldrick will tell me at confession. A sin, but Winnie could not resist the lure of the mystery that was Eleanor.

Bernadette was suspicious, as always. "Does this have anything to do with that homeless woman?"

Francis raised her brows. "What homeless woman? Sister Bernadette, all of God's children have names. The moment we stop thinking of people as human beings, and instead label them like objects, our mission will utterly fail."

"Yes, Mother Francis. However, you should know that Sister Winnifred was... accosted by Eleanor yesterday in the hallway. I have forbidden her to have anything to do with that woman."

Winnie put on her most innocent expression. It was difficult to maintain in the face of Mother Francis' cool examination. The nun's blue eyes crawled over her, seemingly inch by inch, seeking any chink in the young woman's armor. Winnie felt as though her sin was blazing like a star, obvious to everyone. She resisted the urge to squirm, and tried to stay calm.

Finally, Francis said, "I do not see how the one thing connects to the other, Bernadette. Sister Winnifred, Sister Nancy is taking the car to the airport today. She will drop you off at the library, and pick you up at four o'clock. I expect you to check out any books you may need. Do you have your card?"

Winnie nodded, containing her jubilation with an effort. There was no need to make Bernie any more suspicious than she already was. Mother Francis continued, "I hope you're sincere in your desire to be a teacher, Sister Winnifred. I can help you with your studies, as can some of the other sisters."

"Thank you, Mother."

"All right, child. You had better do your chores, then go back to your room and get ready. Sister Nancy leaves at ten o'clock."

Winnie wanted to run, jump and skip with glee. She did none of those things. Feeling Sister Bernadette's gaze burning a hole in her back with every step, Winnie walked sedately back to her room.

Knowing where to begin was not difficult. Winnie found a librarian, asked for the microfiche records of The Daily from eleven years ago. Eleanor had started coming to St. Sebastian's ten years ago, according to Sister Bernie, so she thought this might be as good a place to start as any. Winnie might find nothing, but she had to try.

Shortly after scrolling through several month's worth of back issues, Winnie found an article that immediately grabbed her interest. It was accompanied by a grainy black-and-white picture of Eleanor - clean, well groomed, dressed in fine clothing. Her face was not scarred. Another woman was with her, clinging to Eleanor's arm. It was impossible to make out many details, but the other woman seemed lovely and vivacious, her head thrown back, teeth exposed in a beaming smile.

Winnie dug further back into the archives, taking notes. Sophia Quinn and Eleanor were the same person - that much was clear. Sophia was a very rich woman, having inherited millions from her father Timonthy Quinn, the publishing magnate. Angel Latimore was not only Sophia's companion... the two were lovers, sharing a decade-long relationship. Winnie was surprised, but not shocked. Love the sinner, hate the sin. She would pray for Eleanor, as well as her lost love. It was not her place to judge.

Her attention went back to the microfiche film. Sophia denied any knowledge of the events that left her scarred, her lover missing. A front page splash in the beginning, the story crept further and further into The Daily's interior. Interest waned quickly. Two weeks after the disappearance, Sophia Quinn and Angel Latimore scarcely rated a paragraph. Two months later, with Angel still presumed dead, Sophia herself vanished. That created a brief flurry before the story died again, supplanted by a political scandal.

Winnie wished she could read the police report on the incident, but such documents were not in the public domain. She did not know anyone on the police force, so no favors from that area would be forthcoming. Winnie continued to search, and found only one item that piqued her curiosity. The warehouse that St. Sebastian's occupied had been owned by Sophia Quinn. Sophia had donated the space to the church shortly after Angel's disappearance.

She glanced at the clock, hurridly put her notes away. Sister Nancy would be back in a few hours, and she had to select some appropriate research books to check out.

Back in her room in the converted hotel, Winnie read through her notebook, and could not suppress a shiver. What if Sophia had murdered Angel? The dead woman's body could be in the shelter, hidden in the walls, buried beneath the floor. This was a terrifying thought. Mother of God, to be so lost and alone!

Was Sophia capable of murder? Winnie supposed any imperfect being could kill, and all humans were imperfect in God's eyes. But why would Sophia kill Angel? They had seemed happy enough in the newspaper photo. Jealousy, love turned to hate, revenge - all good motives, but she did not know enough about Sophia Quinn to make an educated guess. Of course, I'm probably overreacting, Winnie thought. I have no proof of crime, only my own morbid imagination.

There was a knock on the door. Winnie put the notebook in her dresser, straightened the veil that covered her hair. "Come in," she called, grateful that her order permitted a modicum of privacy. In some convents, the nuns were not allowed to have doors on their cells.

Her visitor was Sister Bernadette. Immediately, Winnie's spine snapped straight - Sister Bernie was a stickler for good posture.

"How was your visit to the library?" Bernadette asked.

"Fine, thank you, Sister. I was able to find several books that I think will be useful." Winnie pointed to a stack of books on the little table that served as her desk.

"Good. And you have heeded my instructions regarding Eleanor?"

It was on the tip of Winnie's tongue to tell Bernadette what she had learned that afternoon, but she firmly squashed the temptation. Instead, Winnie assumed an innocent expression and replied, "Yes, Sister."

Bernadette came into the room. Her formidable figure seemed to take up a great deal of space. She loomed, which Winnie found intimidating. "Somehow, I fail to believe you," Bernadette said. "I'm the Mistress of Novices, Sister Winnifred, which means I have a great deal of experience with young women. You may not be a novice any longer, but I still feel that you require guidance."

"I don't know what you mean, Sister." There was a nervous quivering in Winnie's stomach. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"I'm not calling you anything," Bernadette said, eyeing the dresser. It was a solid oak piece, painted white, with an embroidered cloth across the top. Not pretty but servicable, as was most of the nun's furniture.

Bernadette continued, "Sister Phil told me that you asked her about Eleanor and Dolores, after I had specifically ordered you to drop the subject. I've known Philomena for many years, and the two of us keep no secrets from each other. She had to tell me. You may think I'm being irrational and petty, but your welfare is my primary concern."

"Am I being accused of something?"

"Only of being young and foolish." Bernadette crossed to the dresser, pulled open the top drawer. Winnie's breath caught in her throat. The older nun drew out Winnie's notebook, thumbed through a few pages. "I thought your library trip was a little too convenient."

"Sister Bernadette..." Winnie began, but was interrupted by Bernadette. "My child, I hoped that you would accept my authority and curb your curiosity. I see now that this is impossible. Well, I'm to blame. I should have known better. Eleanor's mystery was too potent."

Winnie blurted, "Her name is Sophia Quinn, not Eleanor."

"I can read for myself." Bernadette quickly skimmed through Winnie's notes. "You may think that I was born in the dinosaur age, Winnifred, but I do have some understanding of modern technology. I've used the newspaper archives at the library a time or two myself." She closed the book with a snap. "You lied to Mother Superior."

Mutely, Winnie again pointed to the stack of books she had checked out. Bernadette smiled. "A lie of omission is still a lie, my child. Even a Jesuit would find it difficult to rationalize his way out of that one."

What would Sister Bernie do to her? Winnie wondered. She could not be turned away from the order - that would require a much greater sin than a small lie - but she could be disciplined. Mother Francis favored confinement to one's room for a period of time, with a rule of silence to better aid meditation on one's sins. It was not an unendurable punishment, but... if Mother Francis knows I've breached her trust, so much the worse! She began to feel very guilty.

"I will not inform Mother Superior at this time," Bernadette said, much to Winnie's surprise. "However, I am going to confiscate this," she held up the notebook, "and assign you to kitchen duties in the shelter. Beginning now, in fact. If you hurry, you'll be in time to help serve the evening meal."

"This is supposed to be my free day," Winnie replied nervously.

"No free days for three months. When you're not working with Sister Jean in the shelter kitchen, or in the chapel for prayers, you'll be here in your room studying for your teaching certificate. I will also put you on the visiting roster for Mount Olive Psychiatric." Bernadette grew grim. "Yes, you'll get a chance to see poor Sister Dolores, but don't expect much. She hasn't been rational for a long time. Perhaps if you view her condition first-hand, you'll realize that my apparent pettiness is motivated by concern for your well-being - physical, mental, emotional and spiritual. I told you once that obedience is a necessity. I expect to be obeyed on this matter. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sister Bernadette."

"Good. I hope we will not have to repeat this conversation. Steer clear of Eleanor. Do not approach her in any way. Avoid this fascination with her as you would the Devil's own temptation. Can you not see that your curiosity has already led you into sin?"

"I don't..." she began, but in her heart, Winnie knew that Sister Bernie was right. She bowed her head. "I understand."

"Then go to St. Sebastian's directly. I'll make the necessary changes to your work schedule." Though she wore a white shirt and denim skirt instead of a black habit, no one could have mistaken Bernadette for anything other than a nun - a martial nun, used to command, confident in her abilities, secure in her faith. Against such authority, Winnie had no defense. Besides, she knew that she was in the wrong.

"I'm sorry," Winnie whispered as she went to the open door.

"So am I," Bernadette replied. "I will pray for you, my child. And you should pray for yourself, as well."

The St. Sebastian Shelter was busy. The weather was fine, with no forecast of rain, so many homeless people came for a hot meal rather than a bed for the night. Sister Jean and several volunteers were dishing up baked chicken legs, mashed potatoes, green beans, brown bread and applesauce. The meal had been cooked and donated by a Church charity group. To nourish souls as well as bodies, another volunteer - Winnie knew her as Mrs. Ellen Marks, a devout Catholic widow - read aloud from the Book of Psalms. She spoke loudly enough to be heard over the buzzing conversations at the tables.

"Hear me when I call, O God of my righteousness: thou hast enlarged me when I was in distress; have mercy upon me, and hear my prayer," Mrs. Marks said. "Lord, lift thou up the light of thy countenance upon us. Thou hast put gladness in my heart, more than in the time that their corn and their wine increased. I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety."

Before Winnie could approach Sister Jean, someone came up behind her and touched her arm. She whirled around and saw Eleanor. Sophia Quinn, her mind prompted.

"I'm sorry," Sophia said, trying to smile. The scar that sliced through her cheek had paralyzed that side of her mouth. The lopsided expression was grotesque, but not threatening. "I'm very sorry, Sister Winnifred."

"Why are you sorry?" Winnie could not help responding.

"You remind me of her. My Angel."

Now Winnie knew that Sophia was referring to an actual person - Angel Latimore - rather than a spiritual entity. Curiosity welled anew, but she recalled Sister Bernadette's injunction and sighed. If anyone saw her questioning Sophia, there would be hell to pay. Or at least, Sister Bernie's version of Hell, which is not altogether different save in degree. "I have to go," she said to Sophia gently.

Mrs. Marks continued her reading. "Lord, how are they increased that trouble me! many are they that rise up against me. Many there be which say of my soul, "There is no help for him in God." But thou, O Lord, art a shield for me; my glory, and the lifter up of mine head. I cried unto the Lord with my voice, and he heard me out of his holy hill."

Winnie agreed. Lord, hear me! Be my shield against temptation, I pray! She turned to go, but Sophia stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"You have her strength," Sophia said, cocking her head to one side. Her hair was clean. It was blue-black and fine, with floating tendrils that clung to her face. She had taken a shower at the shelter, and was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans that she must have gotten from the donation bin. The former was too big; it ballooned around her emaciated frame, the sleeves hung past her elbows, the hem nearly to her knees. "You have my Angel's strength. You aren't afraid."

"I fear many things," Winnie said, trying to disengage her arm without angering Sophia. "Please, let me go."

"It's too late. Well, maybe not." Again, Sophia gave a lopsided grin. "I think you'll do."

"Do what? Please, Sophia..." As soon as she said the name, Winnie knew she had made a mistake.

Sophia's eyes narrowed, her smile faded. "What did you call me?"

"Nothing." Winnie glanced around frantically, but no one except a homeless woman noticed her plight. She contemplated screaming. That would bring immediate help... except that Sophia was holding a knife in her free hand. Light glinted off the edge, which seemed razor sharp.

"I warned you, but you couldn't let it be. I didn't want to do this. I wanted another way." Sophia tugged Winnie's arm, drawing her towards a door at the side of the dining room. "Just be quiet and don't give me any trouble, Winnifred. I'm a desperate woman with nothing to lose. Remember that. A lot of people could get hurt if you don't cooperate and I'm forced to defend myself. Do what I tell you, and I promise that no one will be harmed."

Winnie suddenly thought about rape. Could a woman rape another woman? She supposed was possible, and she did not really want to find out. Sophia suddenly chuckled. The blade came up, touched Winnie's throat. "Don't flatter yourself, Sister. What I want from you isn't remotely sexual. Besides, I'll answer all your questions. Wouldn't you like that? I pegged you as a nosy little girl from the first moment we met."

Abruptly, Winnie's fear changed to indignation. "I'm hardly a little girl." She resisted the impulse to push the knife away. There was no point in risking Sophia's anger. The woman was unbalanced, unpredictable. Did she kill Angel Latimore? Her theory was gaining credence in the light of Sophia's willingness to commit violence. Perhaps she had been too impertinent. Antagonizing Sophia would only make matters worse.

Commending her soul to God, Winnie said meekly, "Do with me what you will, but please spare the others."

"A proper martyr's attitude." Sophia lowered her blade, until it hung at her side. "Now come along, Sister. We're going to the attic."

The attic? Winnie was not aware the shelter had such a feature. She said nothing, merely allowed herself to be led without resisting.

Sophia took her to a disused storage room that contained little besides boxes gathering dust. She pointed at a short piece of rope dangling from the ceiling. "Pull the ladder down," she said.

Winnie tried, but could not reach the rope. "You're taller than I am," she said. There was dust on her skirt, dust on her shirt, a light powdering of the stuff on her veil. Some got into her nose and she sneezed.

"I warn you, don't try to escape or I'll forget my manners," Sophia warned. She reached up easily, caught the rope, and gave it a good yank. A panel in the ceiling swung down, and a ladder unfolded from the space beyond. "Climb up."

Winnie glanced at the ladder, then towards Sophia. "I'm wearing a skirt," she said.

Sophia was amused. "So what? I'm not interested in sins of the flesh. We're both adults, we've seen it all before." When Winnie stubbornly refused, Sophia continued, "This is childish. If I give you my word not to look at your panties, will you go ahead? I'm not going to stand here and argue with you all night."

Oddly, this promise gave Winnie some measure of relief. She started up the ladder. When she entered the attic, she had a brief notion of finding something she could use as a weapon and attacking Sophia with it. Winnie abandoned the idea, however. She had put herself in God's hands, and had to trust that He would protect her. All according to Your divine will, Lord, and in obedience to Your plan.

Sophia climbed into the attic behind her, pulled the ladder up and locked the access panel. "Over here." She gestured with the knife. "Be careful. The floorboards are uneven in places. I wouldn't want you to twist your ankle."

Winnie went where she was told. The attic did not contain much - a few trunks, a lot of spiderwebs, a dressmaker's dummy, a broken rattan birdcage. Dim light filtered in throgh a filthy, round glass window. In the corner was a tall object, covered by a sheet. Sophia stopped her. "Sit down on the floor. Don't move. Don't think about escape. I have some preparations to make."

"You said that you'd answer my questions."

"So I did," Sophia answered, opening a trunk and rummaging through the contents. "What do you want to know?"

"What happened to Angel Latimore." Winnie sat down, legs folded to one side for decency's sake.

"Oh." Sophia lifted something from the trunk. It was a seven-day candle in a glass container, the front painted with a depiction of the Virgin Mary. "I thought you knew the whole story when you called me by my real name."

"Only what I read in the papers." Winnie quickly gave the gist of what she had learned. "I know that you and Angel were lovers. She disappeared. You were suspected."

"For a while, but with my money, I could afford the best lawyers." Sophia lifted the candle's twin from the trunk, making a pair. "I could afford the best. What I couldn't do, for all my money and resources, was get Angel back."

"Back from where?"

Sophia closed the trunk and sat down on it, oblivious to dust and spider webs. "Why don't I start at the beginning, eh? Save you the trouble of playing Twenty Questions. We aren't likely to be disturbed for a while." She consulted a watch strapped to her wrist. Winnie saw that it was an expensive Rolex, and wondered how she had kept it from being stolen while living on the street. Then she looked at the knife, and realized that no one stole from Sophia Quinn with impunity.

"Angel and I were a couple for nine years. We loved each other deeply, although we had different interests. Angel was... well, she was very much into the occult. Not practicing witchcraft, mind you, but the study of the arcane. Knowledge rather than practical application." Sophia began flipping her knife up and down, catching it expertly by the hilt. "I didn't think much of it. Anyway, she started researching for a book on folklore and magic, to be published by my company. That's the point when Bloody Mary entered our lives."

"Who's Bloody Mary?"

"Depends on who you talk to. Ever heard of Mary Wails?"

"Oh, yes!" Winnie shivered. "She's an evil spirit, Satan's bride. We used to scare each other to death at school with stories about Mary Wails. I heard that some girl at St. Agnes had her face scratched off in the girl's bathroom a long time ago..." She stopped, eyes opening wide.

"Something like that." Sophia used the point of her knife to tap the scar on her face. "I'm not that girl, by the way. Your version of the folklore is common. Mary Wails is also known as Mary Worth, Bloody Mary, Hell Mary... the legend has many variations, but a kernal of truth remains. There is an evil entity that uses mirrors as portals. If properly summoned, Bloody Mary has the power to interact with our reality."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"You will." Sophia rose, took the candles and set them on either side of the sheet-wrapped object. "To continue my story, Angel was intrigued by the legend of Bloody Mary. You might say that she became obsessed, oblivious to any danger. I was too busy with my own problems - a company takeover which had to be averted - to notice that her obsession was verging on the dangerous. Besides, I didn't believe the occult was serious. Just a lot of mumbo-jumbo that could do no harm. Jesus, how wrong I was!

"I came home one night to find Angel in front of a mirror. There was this thing with her, a horrible monster that was pulling her into the glass. I tried to stop it. Bloody Mary - the unholy bitch, as I later discovered - slashed me across the face. I was blinded by blood. The next thing I knew, I was alone. Angel was gone. The room was a wreck. I managed to dial 911 before I passed out again. When I woke up in the hospital, I thought it was a nightmare, but Angel was really missing. I couldn't tell the police the truth. They'd have locked me away for good."

Winnie realized that Sophia sounded more lucid than usual. She commented on that fact tactfully, and Sophia snorted in response. "I am not mentally ill," she said. "I played a part, that's all. Or do you think I've been wandering the streets for more than ten years?"

That was precisely what Winnie believed, and she said as much.

"Oh, no. I have to come back to St. Sebastian's every year, on the anniversary of Angel's abduction," Sophia said. "The rest of the time I live on a private estate in Europe. That's why I donated this building to the Church, to be specifically used as a homeless shelter. I knew I'd need access when required. Another stipulation was that the attic be left alone. Any violation means that the property reverts back to my company, and I do have people who check from time to time."

"Why the charade?"

"Angel's case remains open. If the police knew I was in town, I'd be followed everywhere, because they haven't found a suspect, other than myself, who fits their theory. If they knew I was coming here, they'd get a sympathetic judge to issue a warrant to tear this shelter apart, looking for Angel's body. I need to work without harrassment. This was my best solution."

Winnie's toes were growing uncomfortably numb. She shifted slightly; the floorboards creaked in response.

Sophia glanced at her, suddenly wary. She pointed the knife at Winnie. "I will do anything to get Angel back. I know she's still alive, somewhere in the space behind the mirror, captive of an evil entity. I've spent the better part of a decade going around the world, learning everything I could, paying for and sometimes stealing information. I've consulted witches, shamans, sorcerers, and magicians both black and white; from Nepal to Mexico, Siberia, Africa... I've spent a lot of money. I've done things that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I've spilled blood. The price I've paid is worth it, if I can save Angel."

"You could have trusted in the Lord," Winnie said.

"It wasn't God that stole Angel away from me." Sophia crossed to another trunk, took out a velvet bag. "I have no faith, Sister, except in myself. God helps those who help themselves."

"Even the Devil can quote Scripture," Winnie countered.

Sophia laughed. "You think I'm delusional."

"I'm sure you believe that everything you've told me is the truth." Winnie shifted again, accompanied by more creaks. She decided to speak her mind. "However, a simpler explanation would be that you killed Angel Latimore - whether by accident or design - and suffered a mental breakdown, crafting an elaborate delusion to avoid your guilt. That is rational. Talk of the occult, of evil spirits and mirrors, doesn't make sense."

"Your Church believes in demonic possession, doesn't it?"

"The Church does not lightly indulge in exorcisms."

"Yet the Vatican issued updated exorcism rules in 1999. The Pope himself performed an exorcism in 1982."

Winnie acknowledged this was true, and added, "But Bloody Mary did not possess Angel. According to you, Angel was taken bodily into a mirror. I find this difficult to believe."

"You won't take it on faith? I'm sorry, Sister. I admit, the story is difficult to swallow. You'll have proof soon enough." Sophia took a piece of chalk out of the bag, with which she proceeded to draw a circle around the seated nun.

No, not a circle, Winnie thought, as Sophia added strange symbols around the outer rim. "What are you doing?"

"Protecting you. You're going to play a part in the rescue."

"If I refuse?"

Sophia's blue eyes turned to the color of cold steel. "I advise against it."

Winnie subsided. It was probably better to let Sophia's fantasy run its course, as long as no one was hurt. When nothing happens, will she release me? Or kill me in frustration? It was difficult to have confidence that this was all part of God's eternal plan, and yet... Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me.

When the protective circle was finished, Sophia found a box of matches and lit the candles. From her velvet bag, she drew out a folded sheet of newspaper and a few tacks, which she used to cover the attic window. The room was completely dark, except for the faint candle glow.

A small book was thrust into Winnie's hands. "The page is marked," Sophia said.

Winnie could hardly see the words on the pages. The handwriting was crabbed, uneven, blotched with ink. She leaned forward, to put the book into better light.

"No!" Sophia pushed her back, but gently. "Stay in the circle."

"But I can't see to read."

Sophia turned around, found another candle in the trunk, lit it, and placed it inside the circle near Winnie. "Anything else?" she asked.

"I want to know what you're doing."

"I'm going to summon Bloody Mary. Where she is, Angel will be. And then I'm going to fight her, destroy her, with your help."

"You are mad."

"Quite right, Sister Winnifred." Sophia squatted down, her face very close to Winnie's. "I'm as angry as you can get without going completely insane. You would be, too, if the love of your life was kidnapped by a fiend from Hell. Hardly a day has passed that I haven't been tormented by the notion that there may have been omething I could have done to prevent it. Do you have any idea what it's like to have your life destroyed in an instant? To stand by, helplessly watching while the most precious part of yourself is ripped away? That wound has never healed. I'm bleeding internally, Sister. Every moment without Angel, I bleed a little more. I die a little more."

Sophia paused, wiped her face, and continued, "I will get Angel back, or I'll die trying. We're going to be together, one way or the other. It's as simple as that. I really don't care if you believe me. I don't care if you think I'm steeped black with sin. You're entitled to your opinion, Sister. However, you are going to help me."

"Very well," Winnie replied, feeling a surge of compassion for the woman's obvious pain. "I will do whatever you require, so long as it does not endanger anyone's soul. Including yours."

"Thank you for your concern." Sophia stood up. Flickering candles threw patches of shadow and light across her scarred face. For a moment, Winnie caught a glimpse of the vibrantly beautiful woman that she had been.

"That book you're holding was written by a Spanish priest in the late 1700's," Sophia said. "He was particularly adept at exorcisms. It's said that he wrestled with the Devil himself, and sent the Evil One howling back to Hell. Father Miguel Fidencio also fought Bloody Mary - Maria Sangriento, he called her - for the life of a nobleman's daughter in Madrid. I'll spare you the details, but if you're interested, Father Miguel's personal journal is in the Vatican library. The point is... the priest faced Mary and defeated her. We can do the same."

Winnie looked at the book. "We are not priests."

"You have faith. I have knowledge."

"That may not be enough."

 "It will have to do."

Winnie had a sudden suspicion. "Is that what you told Sister Dolores?" she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"What?" Sophia grimaced. "You've got it wrong. I made the mistake of telling Sister Dolores the truth. She seemed genuinely interested, and to be honest, it was a relief to share my burden with another person. Unfortunately, I told her a little too much. She took it upon herself to summon Bloody Mary, and she wasn't ready for it. The confrontation destroyed her mind. I regret that, I really do." She sighed. "Poor Sister Dolores. I had no idea what she was going to do. If I had, I'd have stopped her."

"Will I..." Winnie swallowed, then went on, "will I end up like Dolores?"

"No. You're protected, remember?" Sophia pointed at the chalked symbols on the floor. "If anybody's at physical risk here, it's me. Bloody Mary will take no more innocent victims if I can help it."

"What do you want me to do?"

"When I tell you, simply read from the book. Begin at the top of the page and continue until the end." A thought occurred to Sophia, and she added hastily, "You can read Latin, can't you?"

"Yes." Winnie glanced at the page. "What will happen if we fail?"

"I'll be dead. You'll be alright as long as you remain in the circle." Sophia ran fingers through her dark hair. "I've already waited long enough. Let's begin." She reached up and whipped the cloth off the large object in front of Winnie.

It was a long cheval mirror made of carved mahogany. The frame sported little cherubs, all chubby cheeks and curls and dimples. "Angel found it in an antique store," Sophia said. "I had it brought here after the incident."

Winnie was starting to sweat. The attic was airless, stuffy and overly warm. She blinked salt from her eyes.

"Well, no time like the present," Sophia said. She lifted the knife, quickly slashed her palm Speaking a few words in a tongue that Winnie did not know, she pressed her bleeding hand against the glass.

Winnie was not prepared for what happened next.

The mirror turned into a silver liquid, a mercury pool impossibly supported by its vertical frame. Sophia's hand sank down beneath the surface. Droplets of blood rose and scattered, swirling, inside the pool. "Bloody Mary," she chanted, calling the spirit's name, "Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary!"

A wind sprang up, blowing Winnie's veil forward, over her face. She flipped it back with a shaking hand. Terror made her mouth dry. Her heart lurched painfully in her chest, and she was having difficulty breathing. It's real! It's not a delusion! Jesus, protect us!

Sophia said another few words in the strange language, and withdrew her hand. Instantly, the mirror changed from silver to red - scarlet and crimson and vermilion waves rippling from side to side. A shadow appeared in the center. Sophia tensed, raising her knife.

The shadow resolved into a nude woman - tiny but exquisitely formed. The woman's image grew larger and larger. Winnie realized that the spirit, or whatever it was, was walking towards them. She began to pray fervently, but silently. O Divine Eternal Father, in union with your Divine Son and the Holy Spirit, and through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, I beg You to destroy the power of Your greatest enemy.  Cast this evil spirit into the deepest recesses of Hell and chain it there forever.

Winnie was clutching her rosary with one hand, the book in her other. Sophia did not spare her a glance. Her attention was solely on the woman in the mirror. "Angel! Angel, come on!"

Angel's red-blonde hair was whipped by the same wind that clawed at Winnie's veil. Her eyes were green as emeralds, and sparkling with tears. "Sophia! Thank God!"

"Come on!" Sophia extended a hand... and something struck at it so viciously, her index finger was sheared off. Winnie choked back a scream as the bit of bloody flesh bounced into her lap. She looked up to see that the figure of Angel had vanished, replaced by a visage more terrible than anything she had ever imagined.

Bloody Mary had finally made her appearance.

"Read the book!" Sophia screamed. When Winnie failed to respond, she reached back and smacked the nun on the side of her face. "Read the book, damn you!" Warm blood splattered from the stump of her finger, dripped off Winnie's chin.

Winnie was paralyzed with fear, mesmerized by the unholy vision in the mirror. Bloody Mary's skin was stretched achingly tight over sharp bones. Her mouth was wide, stretching all the way back to her ears, and filled with row upon row of jagged teeth. Her fingers were tipped with iron claws. It was the eyes that held Winnie fast, or rather, the not-quite-empty sockets where her eyes should have been. Those sockets were ringed with tiny fangs. The demon blinked, and the toothy lids clashed together hungrily.

"Mother of God!" Winnie gagged as the smell of rotten flesh poured into the room.

Bloody Mary swiped at Sophia, who countered with her knife. Steel and iron clashed with a shower of sparks. "Read the book! Read the book, Winnifred!" Sophia repeated. She blocked another blow, but there was little room to maneuver in the close space between the mirror and the seated nun.

Preserve me, O God: for in Thee do I put my trust. Winnie seemed to hear Mother Superior Francis' voice inside her head, quoting from Psalms. The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower. I will call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised: so shall I be saved from mine enemies.

Strength flowed back into her, warming her veins, heating her blood. She felt calm now, as if sheltered from a savage storm. Whether she lived or died was not important. Only God knew her fate, and He would decide. All doubts were cast aside in the purity of simple faith.

Winnie wrenched her gaze away from Bloody Mary and opened the book. "Deus, in nómine tuo salvum me fac, et virtúte tua age causam meam," she recited, the Latin prayer flowing from her lips as she began the exorcism ritual that Father Miguel had written so long ago.

Bloody Mary screamed, a triple chord that came from mouth and eyes. Blisters began appearing on her face. The wind continued to howl, but the candle flames were steady. Sophia slashed at the demon's throat, opening up a great rent that did not bleed.

Winnie continued to read aloud. Sweat trickled down her forehead. Bloody Mary's voice insinuated into her thoughts: Submit to me, O daughter of Eve, and all the treasures of the world shall be yours. I will give you beauty everlasting. Men will worship at your feet. Power to fulfill your every craving, every desire... this I will do, if you submit to me.

The demon's voice was smoky and seductive, compelling, nearly irresistable. Yet it left Winnie feeling as if she had been violated by some slimy, rotting thing that crawled and slithered inside her head. Without pausing in her recitation, she cast back: Vade retro Satana! Nunquam suade mihi vana! Sunt mala quae libas. Ipse venena bibas!

Begone, Satan! Never tempt me with your vanities! What you offer me is evil. Drink the poison yourself!

Bloody Mary screamed again. Angel slipped around the side of the demon, reaching out from the mirror. Sophia snatched at her hand, but the demon was faster. Long claws tore down Sophia's arm, leaving deep wounds. Angel was sobbing, struggling to get through. The demon's hand - impossibly huge - came out of the mirror, knocking Sophia aside, flexing towards Winnie. She ignored the threat, continued to read aloud. The claws passed within an inch of her face, but the nun did not flinch, nor could the demon get any closer. Denied her prey, Bloody Mary snarled and gave Angel a backhanded blow across her cheek that sent the blonde woman sprawling.

That act infuriated Sophia past the point of sanity. "You bitch!" she screamed, brandishing her knife. "Leave her alone!" She made as if to enter the mirror herself.

Winnie knew, somehow, that this was exactly the wrong thing to do. The knowledge seemed to come from a place outside herself. That same source suggested a solution. She held up her rosary and thought: Crux sacra sit mihi lux...

May the holy cross be my light...

And immediately, the small crucifix began to glow with a white-hot light. Where the beams struck Bloody Mary, the demon's flesh began to bubble and blacken. Bloody Mary shrank back, giving Angel a chance to dart back towards Sophia. The women's hands met, and Sophia began to pull Angel out of the mirror. The undulating crimson surface gave way reluctantly, clinging to Angel's skin, trying to hold her back within itself. Bloody Mary hooked a claw through Angel's leg, and she let out a shrill agonized cry.

The exorcism prayer was nearly finished. As Bloody Mary's screams echoed through the small attic, Winnie called upon the power of St. Michael the Archangel, Chief and Commander of the Heavenly Hosts, vanquisher of rebel spirits, guardian of souls. Divine grace flooded her soul. She was filled with light, a gloriously divine light that threatened to crack open her skin and illuminate the world. In her mind's eye she could see a blue-robed woman, her face so full of compassion and love, Winnie nearly wept. Mary, Queen of Heaven, Queen of Angels...

What happened next was something that Winnie would never forget.

The room was filled with the sound of rushing wings. Feathers brushed her cheek, warm and alive. The air was filled with a sweet perfume that was a balm to her senses. A glowing figure stood before the mirror, an androgynous but beautiful youth clad in burnished gold armor, a shining sword in its fist. The sword rose, then fell downward, shearing off Bloody Mary's claw with a single stroke. The demon screeched, Sophia pulled Angel completely out of the mirror, and the youth vanished.

Winnie stood up. Her body was limned in fire. Her eyes flashed, bright as summer lightning. She commanded, "In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, by the power of the Holy Spirit, through the powerful intercession of the blessed Virgin Mary, of the angels and saints, in the blood of Jesus, evil spirit, we cast you back into Hell, and may you be chained there until the day of judgment! Vade retro Satana!" Her voice rose to a roar. "Begone! Begone! Begone!" and she hurled the glowing rosary into the mirror.

For a moment, there was a hushed silence, as though the earth itself was waiting breathlessly for the outcome. Then Bloody Mary's image began to crack. Crazed lines appeared, zig-zagging upwards with a sound like shattering ice. Bloody Mary was frozen in place, fanged eye sockets agape, mouth open in a voiceless shriek. The image of a crucifix glowed on her brow. The liquid surface of the mirror turned black and bowed inward, sucking the demon down into unimaginable depths. A thin wailing could be heard - the lamentations of the damned - and the angry bellows of the King of Hell.

The mirror suddenly exploded outwards, sending a spray of silvered glass everywhere. Winnie instinctively covered her eyes with her arm as she was blown off her feet by the violent explosion. Shards rained down, slicing into her clothing, stinging her flesh. Her head was filled with a rushing noise. Winnie lay still, unable to move, hardly able to catch her breath. When the showering fragments stopped falling, she rolled laboriously onto her side.

The last image burned into her brain was that of Sophia and Angel clutching one another, oblivious to their wounds. A fierce embrace that left no doubt as to their love for one another - a love that had endured Hell itself. Murmuring words of comfort, their tear-slick faces nevertheless glowed.

Winnie smiled.

Finally, mercifully, the nun surrendered herself to oblivion, sinking into peaceful darkness with a little sigh.

Sister Bernadette was not a happy woman.

The homeless woman Eleanor (Sophia Quinn, as she had discovered) had disappeared three weeks ago - around the same time they had found Sister Winnifred unconscious in the shelter's attic, covered by the remains of a shattered mirror. Bernadette had feared the worst; an attack, a madwoman gone homicidal, attempted murder. To her surprise, Winnifred had suffered no worse than superficial cuts and bruises.

Since that time, Sister Winnifred had become almost inhumanly serene. She went about her business with a soft half-smile that seemed rather suspicious. Bernadette had kept an close watch on the young nun, but could not catch her doing anything wrong. It was very frustrating, as she knew that there was something going on.

Mother Superior Francis had extensively interviewed Winnifred following the incident - a private interview to which Bernadette was not invited, but Father McGoldrick and Bishop Donohue were. Bernadette did not think it was right to keep secrets from her. As Mistress of Novices, she had a right to know, even if Winnifred was technically not a novice anymore. Complaining to Mother Francis had been most dissatisfying. Bernadette had been told, in no uncertain terms, to mind her own business. Winnifred was not to be punished or questioned. Instead, the girl was to be sent to St. Agnes school next year, to take over teaching the Catholic Faith and Justice course.

The situation was very frustrating.

It was almost enough to drive her insane.

Especially when Winnifred received a postcard from Paris. The card had a picture of the Eiffel Tower on it. A simple inscription on the back read: "We're fine, thanks to you. Revenge is over; now we can live again. May God bless you, Sister, and your unfaltering faith." No signature. Bernadette had carefully checked the card, even going so far as to steam off the stamps, in case there should be a secret message hidden beneath. When she found nothing, she had no choice but to give the thing to Winnifred.

The young woman had read it, and without making any comment, slipped the postcard inside the pages of a burnt and blackened book. Bernadette's fingers twitched at the memory. She was absolutely positive that there was a mystery here, if only she could unravel it.

At last, Bernadette could not contain her curiosity any longer. She cornered Sister Winnifred in the hallway and asked bluntly, "What happened in the attic? Tell me, child. I must know."

And Winnifred had the nerve to quote Psalms to her!

"Thou hast proved mine heart; thou hast visited me in the night; thou hast tried me, and shalt find nothing; I am purposed that my
mouth shall not transgress," the young nun murmured. Slipping past brawny Sister Bernie, Winnifred had gone to the kitchen to help Sister Jean prepare the evening meal.

Bernadette grimaced. She could not go further, not when there was a possibility that Winnifred might complain to Mother Francis. It was beginning to look as if she would never find the answers she wanted.

Oh, it was all so unfair!

THE END

<~~~~~ Return to the Library