I remembered something then, a distant memory from my human life.“I recall when Karl Marx died,” I said softly.“Father cursed his name, said he was a devil trying to tear down everything good and holy.What you’re saying, it sounds like Marx.”
Desiderius laughed again, this time with genuine amusement.“I’m no Marxist, Alice.Marx wasn’t wrong about everything.He diagnosed the evils of capitalism, the suffering it caused.His cure was the problem.What he proposed was just another way of turning people against each other, a struggle not to achieve any kind of holiness, but for material equality.At the end of the day, it’s the love of money that lurks behind Max Weber and Karl Marx alike.”
I furrowed my brow, trying to place the name.“Max Weber?I don’t recognize him.Is he a philosopher?An economist?”
Desiderius waved a dismissive hand.“He’s a young German sociologist, barely thirty.But his ideas...they’re already making waves among the industrial elite.I encountered him in Berlin last year at a gathering hosted by one of the steel magnates.Weber was there as a guest speaker, presenting his theories on the Protestant work ethic and its role in capitalism.”
I shook my head slightly, trying to absorb this new information.“And what did he say?”
Desiderius leaned back against the wall, his eyes taking on a distant look as he recalled the memory.“Weber believes that the Protestant work ethic—the idea that hard work and material success are signs of divine favor—has been a driving force behind the rise of capitalism.The wealthy elite lapped up his words like cats at a bowl of cream.They saw in his theories a justification for their avarice, a sanctification of their greed.But I saw something else—a perversion of faith, a twisting of Scripture to serve mammon rather than God.”
Desiderius’s eyes met mine, and there was a fervor in them I had not seen before.“It was in that moment, Alice,” he said, his voice low and intense, “that I saw the truth.I am a vampire in flesh, yes, surviving on the blood of others.But the capitalist, he is no different.He thrives on the blood and sweat of the suffering, draining their life force to accumulate his wealth.”
I stared at him, taken aback by the raw conviction in his words.“You’re saying they’re the same?Vampires and capitalists?”
He nodded, his expression grave.“Both feed on the lives of others to sustain their own existence.The methods may differ, but the essence remains the same.The Order believes us to be demons, yet they overlook the veritable monsters who walk among them, disguised as respected men of society.They call us evil, yet ignore the wickedness committed in broad daylight, sanctioned by their own laws and customs.”
I let his words sink in, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the frosty night air.The world he described was stark, brutal—a place where monsters wore many faces, not just those with fangs.“If that’s true,” I said slowly, “then what hope is there for any of us?”
Desiderius pushed off the wall, his eyes never leaving mine.“Hope lies in resistance, Alice.In refusing to become what others would make of us.The Order sees us as tools, weapons to be wielded against their enemies.But we are more than that.We have choices—to feed or not, to kill or spare, to serve their agenda or our own.”
I considered Desiderius’s words, turning them over in my mind like stones in a riverbed.His comparison of vampires and capitalists struck a chord within me, resonating with an unsettling truth.But there was another answer, one that didn’t rely on the cold logic of economics or the brutal calculus of survival.I reached into my coat, feeling the familiar weight of St.Teresa’s book against my ribs.The leather binding was warm from my body, the pages softly yielding as I opened it to a passage I’d marked earlier.
“‘Let nothing disturb you, let nothing frighten you,’” I read aloud, my voice barely above a whisper.“’All things pass away: God never changes.Patience obtains all things.Whoever has God wants for nothing.God alone suffices.’”
Desiderius watched me, his expression inscrutable.I continued, the words slipping from my tongue as naturally as my own breath once had.“‘To have patience is to possess a treasure.Let us then strive to serve God well, for in Him is our true strength.’”
Desiderius watched me with an unreadable expression, but I could sense the weight of his thoughts pressing against the silence.He might have seen the world through the lens of his centuries-old struggle, but I saw it through the words of St.Teresa—a battlefield of the soul, where patience and faith were our weapons.
The actual struggle wasn’t between the Marxists and the capitalists.Neither approach provided any real security, any lasting hope.“We must seek first the Kingdom of God.All these other things will be added unto us.”
I closed the book, holding it close to my chest.‘We’re not just vampires, Desiderius.We’re penitents seeking redemption in a world that would deny us even the chance.We’re citizens of another Kingdom.The Order sees us as monsters, but Father O’Malley saw something more—a spark of divinity that still lingers within us.The image of God still in our being.’”
Desiderius’s eyes bored into mine, a silent challenge that I couldn’t ignore.“You truly believe that, don’t you?”he murmured.“That we’re more than monsters?”
I met his gaze steadily, despite the churning in my gut.“I have to believe it,” I replied.“Otherwise, what’s the point of all this?Why endure the hunger, the suffering, if not for the hope of redemption?If not because we believe in something real, something better, something lasting.”
He looked away, his jaw tightening.“Hope is a dangerous thing, Alice.It can keep you going, but it can also blind you to reality.”
“Reality is what we make of it,” I countered, tucking St.Teresa’s book back into my coat.“And I choose to make something more out of this existence than just survival.”
Desiderius pushed off the wall, his movements sharp.“But survive we must no less.”
He had a point.Rebecca and Ruth—not to mention the ravenous hunger burning in my gut—made that clear.I refused to let it define me, but I still had to find a way to feed that didn’t involve attacking innocent people.“The Order in New York haswillingblood donors?”
He nodded.“The Order has cultivated a network of faithful who believe their blood serves a holy purpose.They’re told it keeps monsters like us contained, prevents us from hunting innocent victims.They tell them they’re contributing to their crusade, their ‘righteous’ mission.Which, I suppose, contains enough truth to ease their consciences.”
“And they’ll simply accept us?Four unknown vampires appearing from nowhere?”
“Not from nowhere.From Exeter.”Desiderius moved to the window, peering through the gaps at the darkening city beyond.“Silas Blake is dead—that much the Order knows.His chapter was small but significant.It would be natural for his Nightwalkers to be reassigned to a larger city after such a loss.”
“Reassigned by whom?”I shook my head.“There was no one left!”
Desiderius stroked his chin.“Perhaps ‘reassignment’ is the wrong angle.”His reflection caught in a shard of broken glass still clinging to the window frame.“We’ll claim we served under him.That his death left us without purpose, without guidance.Matthias found us in hiding, trying to survive without purpose.It’s not a lie.We’ll say that we’ve come seeking redemption through service.”
“If he asks too many questions—“
“Which is why our story must be simple.You were recent converts, transformed shortly before Silas’s death.He’ll know my reputation already, which I believe is still spotless so far as the Order is concerned.”
