Father Gordon's secretary had the kind of smile that meant paperwork was about to happen.
"Mr. Franco? The Bishop will see you now. Father Gordon is already inside."
I followed her through corridors that smelled of old wood and older incense, past portraits of Church leaders going back centuries. The Hartford Archdiocese offices were designed to impress, high ceilings, dark paneling, stained glass that filtered winter light into something almost sacred. I'd been here twice before, both times for case debriefs, both times feeling like a student called to the principal's office.
Today felt different.
Father Gordon met me at the door to the Bishop's chamber, his weathered face creased with something that might have been a smile.
"Paul. Right on time." He gripped my shoulder. "Come in. There are people who want to meet you."
The chamber held three men in addition to Gordon. I recognized Bishop Hartley from previous visits: an older man with silver hair and the measured demeanor of someone who'd seen both politics and miracles. The other two were strangers: a younger priest with sharp features and careful eyes, and an older man in civilian clothes whose bearing suggested military or intelligence background.
"Mr. Franco," Bishop Hartley said, rising from behind his desk. "Thank you for coming. Please, sit."
I sat in the offered chair, acutely aware of the formality of the moment. Whatever was happening here, it wasn't routine.
"You know Father Gordon," Hartley continued. "Allow me to introduce Father Matthews from the Vatican's Office of Paranormal Investigation, and Mr. Werner from our... consulting division."
Matthews nodded. Werner didn't move at all.
"The Perron case file was forwarded to Rome six weeks ago," Hartley said. "Standard procedure for incidents of that magnitude. Father Gorman's report was quite detailed. As was Father Callahan's testimony before his retirement."
I waited. This was clearly building to something.
"Rome's response arrived yesterday." Hartley slid a folder across the desk. "Official commendation for, and I quote, 'exceptional courage and faith in the face of major demonic threat.' Your actions during the exorcism have been recognized at the highest levels of Church supernatural investigation."
[STATUS UPDATE: FAITH NETWORK]
[CHURCH STANDING: RECOGNIZED → TRUSTED]
[ARCHIVE ACCESS: GRANTED]
I opened the folder. Inside: formal documents bearing Vatican seals, my name typed in elegant script, language praising my service to the Church and the protection of the faithful. A credential card with my photo, granting access to restricted archives. A letter signed by someone whose title included the word "Cardinal."
"This is..." I paused, searching for appropriate words. "I'm honored."
"You should be." Father Matthews spoke for the first time, his accent carrying traces of Italian beneath the American English. "The Vatican doesn't offer commendations lightly. Your work during the Perron exorcism demonstrated capabilities we rarely see outside trained clergy."
"I had good teachers. Ed and Lorraine Warren..."
"Are excellent at what they do," Matthews agreed. "But they didn't throw themselves between a possessed woman and the priests attempting to save her. They didn't take the psychic assault that would have killed Father Gorman. You did."
I had nothing to say to that. The memories of Bathsheba's attack still visited me weekly in dreams I couldn't escape.
"Your Church standing has been elevated to 'Trusted,'" Hartley continued. "This grants you access to our restricted archives, historical records, case files, documentation that most investigators never see. It also authorizes your participation in exorcisms without requiring individual approval, provided a qualified priest leads the rite."
"That's a significant level of access."
"It's earned." Gordon's voice was warm. "You've proven yourself, Paul. The Church rewards that."
The formal ceremony concluded within the hour.
Handshakes, photographs for the records, signatures on documents I didn't fully understand. By noon, I stood in the corridor with Father Gordon, new credentials in my pocket and a weight on my shoulders that felt both heavier and somehow right.
"Coffee?" Gordon offered.
"Please."
We found a small break room down the hall, ancient coffee maker, mismatched mugs, the kind of space that felt lived-in despite the grandeur of the surrounding offices. Gordon poured two cups, handed me one, and settled into a chair with a sigh that spoke of old bones and older wisdom.
"You're young for this work," he said. "Most burn out by forty. Ed Warren's held on longer than anyone I know, but even he's slowing down."
"I have good people around me."
"Keep them close. You'll need them." He sipped his coffee, watching me over the rim. "You've noticed the pattern, haven't you? The increasing activity?"
I nodded slowly. "More cases. More severe manifestations. Entities that should be local showing up in coordinated patterns."
"Rome is concerned." Gordon's voice dropped into something confidential. "The patterns you've identified, they're seeing them worldwide. Not just Connecticut, not just America. Every major Catholic center reports similar increases. Something is building."
I thought of Valak, watching from the shadows. Of the timeline I remembered from another life, where things got worse before they got better. Where the darkness gathered strength while humanity remained largely unaware.
"What is Rome doing about it?"
"Expanding resources. Training more exorcists. Establishing protocols for coordination between regional offices." Gordon set down his coffee. "But between us? They're worried. The Church has faced major demonic threats before, but not like this. Not with this level of apparent organization."
"Any theories about what's causing it?"
"Several. None proven. Some in the Vatican believe we're approaching a pivot point, a moment when the balance between light and darkness could shift permanently." He met my eyes. "That's why people like you matter, Paul. The Church needs investigators who can operate in the field, who understand both the spiritual and practical aspects of this war. You're one of a very small number who've proven capable of surviving at the highest levels."
I finished my coffee. The weight I'd felt earlier settled deeper, but it felt less like burden now and more like purpose.
"I won't let them down."
"I know you won't." Gordon smiled: a rare expression on his usually stern face. "That's why we're trusting you with access that normally takes decades to earn. Use it wisely. Research what's coming. And when the storm arrives, and it will arrive, be ready."
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― DECREE ―
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The throne acknowledges.
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