Dominic's POV
The abandoned warehouse on the city's outskirts provided perfect cover for meetings that could never take place within sacred walls.
The location was chosen carefully—far enough from the cathedral to avoid detection, isolated enough that our conversations wouldn't be overheard, with multiple exits in case retreat became necessary.
I'd first suspected something was fundamentally wrong about "Wren" during her early days at the cathedral. Small things, easily dismissed individually but damning when viewed as a pattern.
The way she flinched when holy water was blessed nearby, her face going pale as if the sanctification caused physical pain. Her uncanny knowledge of ecclesiastical Latin despite claiming minimal education.
Most telling of all were her reactions during certain prayers.
When we recited the Litany of Saints, specifically the invocations against dark forces, I'd watched her mouth move silently as if she were speaking different words entirely. When Father Atticus blessed the congregation during Mass, her eyes would dart toward the exits like a trapped animal seeking escape.
She was either demonically influenced or something far worse.
My investigation into her background had confirmed my worst suspicions.
The documents supporting her identity were masterfully forged but ultimately fabricated. No trail of hospital records, school enrollment, employment history—nothing that would indicate a real person had lived under that name before she'd appeared at our doors.
That's when I'd reached out to my contacts in the dark community.
The Order maintained a network of informants among those who dealt with otherworldly threats—hunters, scholars, even reformed practitioners who'd renounced their dark arts.
Through careful inquiries, I'd learned of a powerful coven called The Briarblood, led by a high-witch, matriarch Octavia Powell who'd been apparently desperately searching for a missing daughter.
The description matched perfectly.
Making contact had required delicate maneuvering.
I couldn't approach them directly—a priest reaching out to known witches would raise questions I couldn't answer. So I'd used intermediaries, contacts in the underground who owed the Order favors from past arrangements.
The message I'd sent was simple: a witch matching their missing family member's description had been spotted in Gladstone, Oregon, seeking sanctuary within Church walls.
If they were interested in recovering their lost daughter, perhaps a mutually beneficial arrangement could be discussed.
Their response came within days—not from the matriarch herself, but from her two eldest daughters. Professional, cautious, but clearly intrigued by the possibility of finally locating their wayward sister.
The first meeting had taken place in neutral territory, an abandoned warehouse outside city limits. Morgana and Lilith had arrived with typical witch arrogance, clearly expecting to intimidate a simple priest into providing information for free.
They'd been surprised by my preparedness.
My knowledge of their family structure, my understanding of coven politics. More importantly, they'd been intrigued by what I offered: not just Rowan's location, but ongoing intelligence about her activities, her integration into Church society, her vulnerabilities.
"What do you want in return?" Lilith had asked, her pale eyes calculating as she studied me across the dusty space.
"Information," I'd replied simply. "Your family has connections. I want locations of active covens across the country—names, numbers, operational capabilities. Everything you know about witch communities from coast to coast."
"That's a considerable request," Morgana had said, her fire magic crackling around her fingertips in an unconscious threat display. "Why would we betray our own kind for one runaway sister?"
"Because your runaway sister has embedded herself within the heart of our operations," I'd explained patiently. "If she's allowed to remain, she could compromise everything we've built here."
The sisters had exchanged glances, some unspoken communication passing between them.
"We'll need proof," Lilith had said finally. "Evidence that she's actually where you claim, doing what you suggest."
Over the following weeks, I'd provided exactly that.
Photographs taken discreetly during Church services, showing Rowan participating in holy rituals. Documentation of her marriage to Father Mikael. Evidence of her growing influence within our community, her access to restricted areas, her systematic infiltration of our inner circles.
With each piece of evidence, the sisters' interest had grown.
What had started as simple family recovery had evolved into something far more strategic. They began to see Rowan not just as a missing family member, but as a valuable asset positioned perfectly for long-term intelligence gathering.
The bargain had formalized naturally: they would provide comprehensive intelligence on coven locations, allowing the Order to eliminate dozens of threats in coordinated strikes.
In exchange, I would monitor Rowan and ultimately deliver her to them when the time was right.
Neither side trusted the other completely, but mutual benefit made for a stable alliance. They needed someone inside the Church hierarchy; I needed their intelligence network to serve God's greater purpose.
When Morgana and Lilith arrived tonight, their usual arrogance was notably absent, replaced by genuine shock that told me something significant had occurred.
"She's not what we expected," Morgana said without preamble, pacing between the warehouse supports like a caged predator. "The power that erupted from her… None of us anticipated anything like that."
"Tell me exactly what happened," I commanded, though I kept my voice level.
These women responded better to authority than requests.
"We confronted her in the countryside," Lilith explained, her pale eyes bright with something that might have been fear. "She wielded wind magic that tore through my illusions like tissue paper, shields that sent Morgana stumbling backward."
"This changes everything," Morgana added, her fire magic crackling anxiously around her fingertips. "She's actually dangerous now."
I absorbed this information with careful calculation.
If Rowan—I refused to think of her by the false name she'd adopted—possessed genuine magical ability, she was an even greater threat than I'd suspected.
A witch hiding within the cathedral's walls, close to sacred relics and holy artifacts, with access to information about the Order's operations.
"Your mother still needs her for the Solstice Rite?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"Yes," Lilith confirmed. "It requires a specific bloodline for the power amplification ceremony. It's the only way to strengthen our coven sufficiently to defend against others."
The ritual they'd described to me months ago made strategic sense. A desperate coven seeking to increase their magical capacity to survive in a hostile world.
Dangerous, certainly, but not the existential threat that justified extreme measures.
"We can still deliver her," Morgana continued, "but we'll need more time to develop a new approach. Her awakened abilities mean we can't simply overpower her anymore."
"And you'll honor our agreement?" I pressed. "Full intelligence on coven locations across the country?"
"Of course," Lilith replied smoothly. "Twenty-seven active communities from coast to coast, complete with membership details and operational capabilities. Everything we promised."
The intelligence they'd provided so far had already proven invaluable.
Three covens eliminated in coordinated strikes, dozens of practitioners captured or killed, countless innocent lives saved from witch’s predation. When they delivered the complete list, the Order would be able to eliminate hundreds of threats simultaneously.
"We'll need inside assistance to capture Rowan safely," Morgana said. "Someone she trusts, who can get close without triggering her defenses."
"That may be possible," I replied carefully. "Father Mikael has grown... attached to her. His feelings could be exploited if approached correctly."
Both sisters smiled with predatory satisfaction.
They had no idea that their own elimination was already being planned with the same clinical precision. Once they'd provided all the coven locations and helped deliver Rowan for whatever fate awaited her, I'd ensure both sisters met their end as well.
This alliance was purely tactical—useful idiots who didn't realize they were walking toward their own execution.