Except she was actually a nun, wearing a black habit and a cowl.And she was staring straight at him.He walked over to her.She was very old. Wrinkles creased every inch of her face, but as she smiled at him, there was a bright light in her eyes, and her cheeks seemed suddenly round and rosy. If there was any light in the church, he found himself thinking, it emanated from her.“Sister Maria Elizabeta?” he asked softly, but he already knew the answer. And she was indeed the woman he had seen in his dream. He almost bolted, remembering how her face had changed in that dream. Was he a fool? Seeking this woman, thinking she could help him—when there might be far more behind the façade than he could imagine.She spoke to him in barely accented English. “So, you are the first.”“Pardon?” The idea that her gentle face might turn into some hideous mask of evil seemed suddenly absurd.“You are the first. The first of twelve, the first of the first three,” she said, and smiled beatifically.
