So much has happened since last I wrote in this journal. Good heavens, I swear the parish is growing by leaps and bounds since Fr. Eamon took up his post as elder priest. And for the first time in many weeks, despite the darker events that have shadowed the church of late, I start to feel real hope that the parish and its people will survive intact. It is not only the Catwalkers now who watch over us (although many of them continue to guard the church, like furry angels standing sentinel in the dark). There are others now as well--some of them strange and fell souls, almost as nervewracking as the villains who continue their attempts to harm the parish--but their grim and determined loyalty to the Church seems so very genuine, and despite the occasional unease I feel in their presence, I couldn't be happier they are here.

The father has restored the office of the Templar Swords, a small gathering within the parish itself that exists by special dispensation from our bishop--their purpose to provide additional protection to the parish, its clergy and congregation. It is currently being headed by a new arrival to Midian, a retired police officer from Chicago named Matthew O'Keeffe. He is an older gentleman, but hale, and so very kind to everyone who has come to the parish for help. And he has been such an incredible boon to the parish! It seems Matthew owns both a construction company and an importing business. And bless the man, he saw to acquiring the supplies we needed for repairing the church! The pews, carpet, and windows have all been replaced, and the church looks more beautiful than ever.

Poor Matthew, though--his health is not the best. I keep him in my prayers, and hope he will quickly heal, but Midian is not known for being kind. He is such a great and kindly soul--I pray God will keep him safe. Matthew has also joined our tiny choir as our organist; I had the opportunity to hear him play yesterday, and his talent is truly extraordinary. We are so very lucky to have him!

Yesterday's repairs to the church went surprisingly well. It is true, what they say, that many hands make light work! We were joined by a rather interesting woman--a biomech, I believe--named Samantha Han, whose strength was truly amazing. She was able to go to the docks, to Matthew's ship, and bring all the stained glass panels back to the church in a single trip. Then between Matthew, Sam, Guin, and a pretty neko named Tae (I think? oh, I am so bad at remembering names!), they were able to remove all the wood that Fr. Eamon put up to cover the empty windows and replace them with the brand new glass. The church is so lovely now! (I'm afraid I didn't do much myself, other than hold the doors for Sam when she returned with the panels. If the church looks beautiful now, it is because of them! God bless them all!) The conversation I had with the neko was an interesting one. She seems such an innocent where the Church is concerned--trying to explain the nature of my position and the priests of the parish was an exercise in comedy and misunderstanding. But I found our conversation enjoyable, and I hope she will return.

Unfortunately, she does seem to be terribly skittish, bless her heart. Sammy seemed to set the neko on edge more than once, and Matthew's organ playing, while very beautiful to me (and I would imagine Sam as well, as she seemed very taken with the music while Matthew was playing) appeared to be making the neko nervous. To her credit, however, she did remain, and her nimbleness and skill at scaling the church's old stone no doubt eased the difficulty of replacing the stained glass windows. I hope she comes again, as I would love to talk with her more about the Church. Perhaps it would be in vain, but one never knows. The Lord works in mysterious ways. I take heart in this, our brief moment of brightness, and hope it will continue. There is such darkness surrounding the parish of late, with rumors and whispers of terrible things waiting to strike against us, but the continued determination of the father, and now the stalwart presence of Matthew and our new friends, leave me hope that we will weather this too and be stronger for it in the end.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me...

"Satan exalted sat, by merit raised
To that bad eminence."
~ John Milton, Paradise Lost

The past few days have been busy indeed at St. Michael's. I have been given much to think about, and I must admit, I scarcely know where to begin. I suppose I must start with a strange conversation I had approximately a week ago with Fr. Zelenski and one Delia Noel, the latter a member of the parish choir, and the selfsame woman who came to my aid the day the church was being abused by those... nun-things. Delia and I had been practicing music for Sunday Mass (although heaven help the girl, she had obviously been drinking, which made for an interesting practice, to say the least). But we were joined very shortly by Fr. Zelenski.

As always, I greeted the father warmly and asked after his evening, but rather than the usual exchange of pleasantries, he showed Delia and I a hole in the hem of his robes, and explained that it was the result of a bullet passing through the fabric--and narrowly missing him. Of course, I was shocked--I know Midian City isn't safe, but I am still having difficulty accepting the fact that there are those who would shoot at our priests. But be that as it may... Of course, Delia and I wanted to know more, but the things the father had to tell me--I scarcely know where or how to begin, or what I should even believe. But he added weight to the rumors that there are, well... vampires, for lack of a better word, living behind the church. And strangest of all, I found myself believing it. I've had my suspicions, of course, and he is not the first to speak of such things--even Fr. Eamon has mentioned them a time or two. But it was always with an air of skepticism, and I confess, I didn't want to believe.

The mystery of these creatures deepens. Speak of them in a public place, and the reactions are much as they would be at home, on the mainland. They are things of fairy, things of nightmare--but never real. Yet I met one who claimed to be such a thing, and Fr. Eamon seems to be suspicious of something, and then there was the conversation I had with Wolbert, not long ago. And now, Fr. Zelenski, who seemed convinced he was telling the truth. It is not my habit to doubt a priest--and I'll admit, in the candlelit dark of the church that night, with no one but the father and Delia for company, it was easy enough to fall under his spell, to believe as he did that such things exist, and that they mean us harm. God forgive me if I have done wrong, but I even offered to help the father in any way I could. Still, the next day, in the red light of Midian's dubious morning, it was harder to believe. The entire conversation seemed like a dream. And troubled in heart, I went to speak with Fr. Eamon.

Fr. Eamon has ever been a comfort to me since arriving in Midian City. For all his occasional gruffness, he has always been unfailingly kind, and there is something soothing in that whiskey-rough voice when he speaks to those who come to him in need. I poured out everything to him at last--the stranger I'd met, Wolbert's troubling whispers, the strange tale of Fr. Zelenski--and he listened without comment until I was finished, his face grave but calm. And it was then he asked the one thing that turned all my surety to confusion.

How do you know it's true?

I must admit, I blinked at that--if I cannot trust a priest of the parish, our Fr. Zelenski, who can I trust?! Fr. Eamon waved that away, assuring me he didn't mean the other priest had been spreading untruths, but he cautioned me against jumping to conclusions. And the more we talked, the more I realized he was right. It was so strange, coming to this city and finding the catwalkers--something we'd heard about in my mainland home, but something as much a creature of legend as perhaps these vampires themselves. Yet here they are in Midian, living and loving and building their society in the labyrinth above our streets. Many of them come to Sunday Mass--we have opened our parish and our arms to them all. We have made dear friends among their kind. They are here. They are real. And I suppose, in accepting one reality, it made it so much easier to accept the possibility of others. Vampires... sin-eaters... heaven only knows what next.

But Fr. Eamon is right. Something is going on, but I should hold my tongue, reserve all judgment, and watch and wait. There is something rotten in the city of Midian, but I will do no good by feeding into a situation that may amount to nothing more than misguided hysteria. It is difficult, knowing who to trust, knowing what to believe, but I have my faith, and as Fr. Eamon so gently reminded me, adherence to the precepts of my faith will never steer me wrong. I will strive to emulate his quiet conviction.

Note to self: I must speak with Gin or one of the friendly catwalkers as soon as I can. Some strange feline followed Fr. Eamon's assistant, Guin, back to the father's apartment after Mass last Sunday. I stumbled upon him myself when I arrived there after visiting with a sick parishioner. Guin, wise girl, did not open the door, which made for a very strange conversation as she spoke through the window and I stared down the cat, but I could tell from the sound of her voice that she was shaken. The catwalker claimed to have news for the father "from the bishop," which was ridiculous, of course (heavens, the bishop would have simply called him), but he left shortly after my arrival, his news undelivered.

Guin let me in, and spoke with me. It seems the cat had seen Fr. Eamon and Guin talking after Mass, had taken pictures of them talking, and even went so far as to record part of their conversation. Now, I saw the picture, and it was innocent enough, and what little Guin could remember of the recording sounded quite innocent as well, but it appears the foolish cat was trying to blackmail Fr. Eamon (or possibly Guin herself) by implying that something inappropriate was going on. The utter ridiculousness of such an idea! Fr. Eamon, whatever his faults, is a fine and decent man, and Guin is a good girl in every sense of the word. I was beside myself with fury that this cat would not only follow Guin, but threaten her and frighten her with baseless accusations. And if I happen to find this fellow, he is going to get an earful.

Opportunistic idiot. The nerve.

Otherwise, the parish has been quiet--although the events recorded here are quite enough to go on. *sigh* Our Father in heaven, bless this parish with peace, and keep all your children safe.

"It is Lucifer,
The son of mystery;
And since God suffers him to be,
He, too, is God's minister,
And labors for some good
By us not understood."
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The last few days have been very busy in the parish. Fr. Eamon has given me permission to form the parish choir, although I think this has less to do with my powers of persuasion than his sincere desire to have someone else leading the liturgical music at Mass so he can stop singing chant every Sunday, not to mention his continued concern for my safety, bless the man. He's right, however. If there is someone dangerous lurking about the church, as he seems to believe, the chance of such a person doing me or my charges any harm is considerably lessened as long as we meet in groups. We have a soprano and an alto already, as well as one young lady (my rescuer from the incident with the--ahem--psychotic nun-things) who I've not yet placed by voice, but already we're well on our way. With God's grace, I hope to have them ready to sing at Mass this Sunday, and by next Sunday at the very latest. ((OOC: If you're interested, look up Groups: Midian Parish Choir))

There have been strange leavings in the church as of late. The first time this happened, the objects were long gone by the time I returned to the chapel, but apparently some enthusiastic but misguided soul had placed a framed picture of a Hindu goddess, Kali-Ma, upon our altar, with a dead rat (God in heaven!) and a letter expressing the wish that our gods "share the temple." Fr. Zelenski removed the items and the altar was thoroughly cleaned and reconsecrated, but a few days ago, our mysterious visitor returned. This time, in addition to the usual note and the picture of Kali-Ma, incense was placed... and the chalice on the altar was filled with blood. There are no words to describe my shock and horror when I realized what was inside it. I quickly poured it out in the cloister sink and cleaned the entire thing thoroughly, then I moved the incense away from the altar and hid the picture away in Fr. Eamon's desk. I then wrote my own note on the back of the letter and left it on the altar, explaining why this was not a Good Thing, to leave such offerings there, and inviting this confused but well-meaning stranger to seek me out so that we might talk about it.

Fr. Eamon seemed both exasperated and amused when I told him what I'd done, but he agreed at last that the intent of our visitor seems to be an offering of goodwill, and while we're both growing terribly weary of cleaning and reconsecrating the Lord's altar and tools, he agreed to keep his temper until I'd had a chance to speak with our guest. God willing, this may be an opportunity to guide another soul to the fold.

A far more unpleasant thing happened today, however, and it is this that saddens me most. I returned to the chapel this evening after supper, and found little Luci Jameson fast asleep in one the pews. She looked exhausted, bless the child, and there was an oddly strong stench of chemicals around her--chemicals I discovered later consisted mostly of acetone and cleaning solution. I fetched a blanket from the cloister and covered her up, thinking nothing of it, but in meeting with Fr. Eamon shortly after, I found out what had happened. Luci had entered the church this afternoon with the intention of sweeping behind the altar, as I'd asked, but she was therefore the first to find that someone had spray-painted GOD IS NOT HERE ANYMORE in huge red letters on the beautiful old mural behind the altar. After telling Fr. Eamon what had happened, she insisted on cleaning the mural herself, and apparently spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening doing just that. Fr. Eamon, furious and heartsick over the vandalism to that old, lovely painting--not to mention the insult to the parish--tried repeatedly to help her, but Luci adamantly refused. She seemed to take the vandalism personally, and I suppose she did. The church is as much her home now as it is mine.

The paint is gone now, thanks to Luci, but the injury remains. Parts of the mural have been terribly damaged, the paint faded in places--it breaks my heart to see it. But Fr. Eamon is undeterred; he is already investigating the possibility of finding an artist in Midian that the church can commission to repair the damage. And if the person who did this thinks to weaken our resolve or cripple this parish with such a heartless, childish trick, they are sorely mistaken. (Although we may need to guard the church more carefully from now on. *sigh*)

In far happier news, however, Fr. Eamon has been appointed head priest of St. Michael's and Midian Parish! Fr. Donovan has returned to the mainland for another diocese, and we wish him all the best and God's continued blessings in His service. Fr. Eamon has stepped up to take his place on a permanent basis, with Fr. Zelenski being assigned new duties as well, both as Fr. Eamon's assistant and advisor and Grand Master of the Templar Swords--an organization within the parish that I confess I know little about, but I pray God will bless their good works.

I have yet to hear back from my Reverend Mother about Wolbert's troubling report, and there has been no opportunity to catch Fr. Eamon alone to pester him for answers. But it will happen. Never fear!

"Needs must when the Devil drives."

 I met Father Zelenski again today, our first real meeting since our accidental encounter, and we ended up speaking at length. I find him to be a pleasant man, very kind and warm and solicitous of my well-being and those I serve. He introduced me as well to a new priest, recently arrived in Midian. I believe his name was Father Quinnell, but he spoke very little and spent most of my conversation with Father Zelenski standing behind him, slightly to one side, and watching us both. I'll confess, it made me a little uneasy, but I have no real reason for this. I suppose I have simply become too used to Father Eamon, who seems to enjoy talking with me, and with Father Zelenski for immediate comparision (as I said, a pleasant priest with an amiable disposition), the other priest's silence seemed passing strange.

Father Zelenski wished to know how much I knew of the parish's history. I told him, of course, that Father Eamon had filled me in on much of it, although there is ALSO much he refused to tell me. God bless the man, but he's overprotective to a fault. Father Zelenski seems equally cautious, however, and when I told him Father E had nearly tried to get me on a boat back to the mainland (this after he'd told me that I was alone, the only active nun of Midian parish), Father Z agreed. Oh heavens, I could kiss them both and shake them silly besides. God sent me here for a purpose, and I will not run away. Yes, I know it is dangerous for me here, but sister nuns or not, I'm hardly alone. I have made friends in this city--kind souls like Gin--and while I would never be so foolish as to think myself protected, it's not as if I've been cast into this vipers' nest alone. I have the priests. I have my faith. Pray God it will be enough.

As a brief aside, I am considering forming a choir for our church. We have very few parishioners, and the church has been locked in a process of decay for so long, there is no one to lead the music for the Mass. Father Eamon has been doing a beautiful job of filling in with chant--which I love, for purely selfish reasons, and he has a lovely, deep baritone well-suited for such. But I know he longs for a proper choir, so I may present the idea to him and the other priests in hopes of their approval. I have a solid background in liturgical music; I think I would do well with this. And it would be good for the church, for a multitude of reasons--no less as an open expression of our plans for stabilizing the parish.

BUT... enough seriousness for the moment. I do have one other thing to write, then I must return to cleaning this *sigh* empty cloister. Something marvelous and delightful happened today, and I simply must write about it. At one point yesterday, Father E returned from his walk and was actually grinning, and anyone who knows him would KNOW that a grin on that man's face is practically unheard of. I couldn't help smiling in return, and I asked after his mood. He then told me the strangest story.

While down at the waterfront, he was approached by two mice. Yes, MICE. Mice-women, to be exact, not unlike the catwalkers--except, of course, mice as opposed to cats. He said they were "bonny things," as he puts it, all in white and pure white themselves--sisters and twins, unless he missed his guess. They asked him how he felt about "church mice," and explained that they were looking for shelter. They were also very quick to offer their services for cleaning and maintaining the chapel. And after he got over his initial surprise (not to mention his apparent amusement), he invited them both to make the church their home.

So... it appears we have church mice! *laughs* I met them this afternoon myself, and a more darling pair of girls I cannot imagine.

I also met a friend of Father E's, from the mainland. Her name is Guin, and she's equally charming. Father Eamon has mentioned her a time or two before, mostly in passing, but I gathered from his comments that she's a good friend from his past. She was very warm, and I liked her a lot. I hope to see her again. I am so glad she came to Midian as well, for she seems to know Father Eamon well, and it would appear they are very close. I try, of course, but he broods SO much, it gladdens me to know he has someone to talk to, someone to confide in. Between his friend Guin and our new little mice, maybe the man will start smiling more often!