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The leader of the Order—still just “the man at the center” to me, though I now understood every congregation had men like this, built from equal parts conviction and ice—allowed the silence to thicken, stretching it until the air itself vibrated with the tension.

“We have a plan,” he said finally, his voice pitched for the acoustics of stone and blood. “There is always a plan. The only question is whether you are prepared to do your part, Miss Bladewell.”

I wanted to protest, to refuse, but something about this man frightened me. Against my better judgment, I simply nodded.

The leader barely smiled, only the upturn of a single muscle at the corner of his mouth. “Good. Then let’s review.”

He raised his hand, and the circle of men leaned in as if drawn by a single string. “Tomorrow evening, we will confront the vampire. She may attempt to return to her home again, but she’s also claimed victims near the tavern.”

I gulped. Victims? I didn’t want to admit it, but maybe this so-called “Order” served a necessary purpose.

Vampires were a thing like ghost stories, tales told of their haunts around campfires or by older children trying to frighten the younger.

I’d never thought they were real—and when I’d learned they were, that Mercy had apparently become one, I doubted they were as evil as people imagined.

If such a thing existed, surely they were misunderstood.

But if Mercy Brown had truly claimed victims —more than one—maybe this creature that she’d become was as evil as these men believed.

“Miss Bladewell,” the leader continued, you will carry the stake.

” He gestured to the bundle of tools on the table—a length of sharp wood, splintered at one end and stained dark at the other.

“You will attempt to drive it through her chest. If this fails, as it might, seeing as though the creature’s heart was removed once already, you are to use the second measure. ”

I snorted. “If you burned her heart, why even attempt it?”

“Because we cannot say why, despite what we’ve done, the vampire still rises. It is a peculiar mystery, and the simplest explanation is that we’d only been made to believe that we’d taken her heart, that the witch who appeared to cut it out of her had done so by sleight of hand.”

“We think that we may not have removed Mercy’s heart at all,” Mr. Brown added, though I could tell from the look on his face he didn’t quite believe it.

I didn’t either. “I heard her screams. I saw what happened. I find it hard to believe the witch did anything less.”

“Witches are notoriously skilled at deception,” the leader insisted. “But you are right to believe that there is some other diabolical magic that revived the vampire, that she has defied all our knowledge and found a way to exist apart from her heart. That is why we have another plan.”

“The glowing crucifix?” I added. “You want me to use that against her?’

“Not exactly.” George Brown nodded curtly.

“You’ve awakened the celestial power within it, and we thank you for that.

But your faith protects you from the likes of vampires.

You need to distract it, to get close enough to give someone else—me—the opportunity to expose the vampire to the light emanating from the cross. ”

“Distract her?” I tilted my head. “You’re certain she can’t harm me?”

“Of course we are.” Mr. Brown sounded matter-of-fact, but there was a hesitancy in his voice that made me question it.

The leader, eager to move past the question, signaled to one of the hooded men at his right.

The man reached under the table and produced a burlap sack, the bottom heavy with something coarse and pale.

“Crushed garlic,” the leader explained. “The old stories are not wrong. She will not be able to breathe, to see, to resist. The sack goes over the head. Immediately.”

“And then?” I asked, voice barely there.

The leader’s eyes lit at the question, as if he’d waited all night for me to speak. “Mr. Brown will reveal the crucifix. The vampire cannot bear its celestial light.” He regarded George with a new, sharp interest. “You will finish it, Mr. Brown.”

“I still don’t understand why I shouldn’t carry the crucifix. If I have to get that close—“

“Because it is my cross to bear.” Mr. Brown barely held back his tears.

“It is my fault that I’d not prevented Mercy from getting involved with witchcraft to begin with.

It is my duty, according to the vows I’ve taken as a member of the Order, to be the one to eliminate the devil that has awakened in what used to be my daughter. ”

I swallowed, forcing the bile back down.

I still didn’t like the plan—and I wasn’t sure I was as protected by my supposed “purity” as they seemed to think.

But what choice did they have? I was just a girl, and these men had authority.

My father had insisted I do as they ask.

It wasn’t becoming of a lady to refuse the demands of such men, much less for a puritan girl to disobey her father.