“Let’s go,” Desiderius said, taking point with the authority that came with vampiric age.His hand found the iron door handle.The door swung inward on well-oiled hinges.
We crossed the threshold.
The change was immediate and absolute.
Desiderius hit the floor first, his years of tolerance, receiving the Eucharist that had sustained him before, did noting how as he crumbled into a writhing heap.A sound tore from his throat—not quite a scream, more like a death rattle.
Ruth followed a heartbeat later, her body contorting into angles that should have snapped bones.Her mouth opened in a silent howl, eyes rolling back until only the whites showed.She convulsed once, twice, then went rigid as a corpse before the spasms started again.
Rebecca didn’t even make it fully through the door.She collapsed across the threshold, half in and half out, her slight frame jerking like a marionette in the hands of a mad puppeteer.The hunger that always twisted her features transformed into something worse—pure, undiluted agony.
And I...I felt a prickling across my skin, like walking through cobwebs.A brief ache bloomed in my chest, sharp but fleeting, as if someone had pressed a needle through my heart and withdrawn it just as quickly.My knees wobbled, but I remained standing.
Standing on consecrated ground.
The realization struck me harder than any physical blow.This place had been blessed, sanctified, made holy through ritual and faith.It should have destroyed me as thoroughly as it was destroying my companions, but they’d fed more than I had.They’d consumed human blood, and though they never killed any of the donors, they’d lost their hunger for the Sacrament.But now, all my deprivation, all my disdain for what should have been a pleasurable feed, all my self-denial allowed me to cross the threshold with no more pain than I’d experienced the last time I was at St.Mary’s.
“Mother of God!”
The voice shattered my paralysis.Three nuns in full habits rushed from a side corridor, their faces masks of horror beneath white wimples.They didn’t flee at the sight of us—these servants of perpetual mercy.Instead, they ran toward my fallen companions with the practiced efficiency of those accustomed to tending the sick and dying.
“Sister Catherine, fetch water,” the eldest commanded, her weathered hands already reaching for Desiderius.“Sister Mary, the oils.Quickly!”
They gathered up my companions with surprising strength, these women who’d dedicated their lives to charity.Ruth’s convulsions had slowed to occasional tremors.Rebecca had curled into a ball, whimpering like a beaten child.Even Desiderius, ancient and powerful as he was, could only groan as the sisters lifted him.
“You,” the eldest sister said, fixing me with eyes that held no fear, only concern.“Are you hurt?”
I opened my mouth, closed it again.How could I explain that I was the same as them, these creatures writhing in agony on holy ground?How could I tell her that I should be suffering as they suffered, but somehow, impossibly, I wasn’t?
“I’m...”My voice cracked.“I’m fine.”
She studied me for a long moment, those sharp eyes taking in my trembling limbs, my hollow cheeks, the way I swayed even standing still.“You don’t look fine, child.You look half-starved.”
If only she knew.
The other sisters had returned with water and oils, working over my companions with gentle efficiency.They’d dragged them fully inside now, away from the door, as if distance from the threshold might ease their suffering.It didn’t.If anything, the consecrated ground’s effect seemed to intensify the deeper they went.
I stood alone in the entrance hall, surrounded by religious iconography that should have burned my eyes to look upon.Crucifixes adorned every wall.Statues of saints gazed down from alcoves.A painting of the Virgin Mary dominated the far wall, her sorrowful eyes seeming to follow my movement.
None of it hurt me.Not anymore.
What had I become?Or rather—what was I becoming?St.John’s words echoed in my mind: to possess everything, possess nothing.Had my voluntary starvation, my willing embrace of suffering, somehow changed my fundamental nature?Was I less vampire now than I’d been a week ago?Or had my spiritual journey, guided by the Carmelite saints, transformed me into something else entirely?
My companions’ agony provided no answers, only guilt.They suffered while I stood, weak but whole.Whatever test this was, we’d already failed.Marcus had sent us to kill, but my companions couldn’t even crawl, much less hunt.And I—I who could walk these holy halls—had no intention of spilling innocent blood.
The eldest sister approached me again, leaving the others to tend my companions.“They need help beyond what we can give,” she breathed.“Should I send for a priest?”
A bitter laugh nearly escaped me.A priest was exactly what they needed—and exactly what would destroy them.“No,” I managed.“Just...keep them comfortable.Please.”
She nodded slowly, but her eyes never left mine.“And you, child?What is it you need?”
What I needed was blood.What I needed was answers.What I needed was to complete this mission without becoming the monster Marcus expected me to be.But all I said was, “I need to pray.”
“Then pray,” she said simply, gesturing toward the chapel entrance.“God hears all His children, even those who wander lost.”
Especially the lost ones, I thought, watching my companions writhe in blessed agony.The question was whether I was lost enough to be found, or too far gone to be saved.
I looked back toward the door I’d passed through, but couldn’t see where Gabriel lurked in the darkness beyond.Why hadn’t he rushed to help Desiderius, Ruth, and Rebecca?If not help them, why didn’t he call me to retreat, to question my resilience?Had all of this been part of the plan, part of the test?
