“You didn’t feed,” I said quietly.
Her eyes, filmed with the red haze of hunger, met mine briefly before dropping again.“I can’t,” she whispered.“Not today.”
“The anniversary?”
She nodded.One year since her turning, since the life she had known ended.I understood too well how such dates carved themselves into memory.
“Come with me after I speak with Desiderius,” I told her.“We’ll talk.”
Constance nodded again and slipped away, her movements betraying the weakness hunger had inflicted on her.I watched her go with a heaviness in my chest.Some nights, guiding my flock felt like trying to lead souls through purgatory while still trapped there myself.
I turned toward the small door at the side of the chapel, the one that led to the stone stairs descending beneath the convent.Desiderius would be waiting, and with him, news I both craved and dreaded.The world of vampires outside our sanctuary was vast and chaotic—and increasingly, I feared, aware of what we were building here.
Thestonestepsspiraleddownward into darkness, worn smooth in the center from centuries of feet.No electric lights illuminated this passage; we had no need of them, and their modern presence would have offended Desiderius’ sensibilities.The air grew noticeably colder and damper with each step, carrying the scent of earth and stone and the faint musty odor of old books.I descended alone, my footsteps making no sound—another habit I had cultivated over the years.The predator in me never truly slept, merely submitted to the discipline I imposed upon it.
At the bottom of the stairs, a narrow passageway extended before me, its walls lined with niches that had once held the remains of nuns long dead.They were empty now, their occupants properly re-interred in the cemetery behind the convent when we had repurposed these catacombs.Still, I felt their phantom presence each time I passed, a silent audience to our strange experiment in redemption.
The passage opened into a chamber that had once been a crypt but now served as Desiderius’s study.Candlelight flickered across walls lined with books—theological texts, historical volumes, grimoires confiscated from those who would misuse their knowledge.In the center stood a heavy oak table, and behind it, Desiderius himself.
“Sister Alice,” he greeted me, his voice carrying faint traces of his Dutch origins despite the centuries that separated him from his homeland.“You are later than expected.”
Unlike the rest of us, Desiderius maintained the appearance of the era in which he had been turned.His severe black clothing with its starched white collar belonged to a prosperous merchant of the 1660s, not the modern world of 1914.His pale face bore the sharp, angular features of aristocratic lineage, and his silver-white hair was precisely trimmed.Only his eyes betrayed his true nature—crimson and ancient, like rubies holding secrets from another age.
“The flock required additional attention tonight,” I replied, taking the seat he indicated across from him.“We have three new arrivals.”
“So I’ve been informed.”He made a small notation in the leather-bound book open before him.His handwriting was perfect, each letter formed with the precision of someone who had learned his penmanship with a quill rather than a steel nib.“Brother Vincent reports that the boy shows promise.The women he is less certain of.”
I suppressed a smile at the predictable assessment.Where I saw souls to be saved, Desiderius saw resources to be evaluated and managed.His cold, methodical approach had initially repelled me, but over time I had come to appreciate its effectiveness, if not its lack of compassion.His monastery of male vampires, connected to my convent through these underground passages, operated with the rigid discipline of a military camp rather than the gentle guidance I preferred.
Different methods, same goal.
“They all deserve our patience,” I said.“The transition is never easy.”
He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging my point without conceding it.“Patience is a luxury when indiscretion could destroy everything we have built.”His fingers, long and pale as candle tapers, traced the edge of his book.“Two of my monks required discipline this week.They ventured into the Italian quarter and fed on a dockworker.”
My stomach clenched.“Did they kill?”
“No.They showed enough restraint to leave him alive, though not enough to resist feeding entirely.”His tone held neither approval nor censure, merely clinical assessment.“They have been confined to the meditation cells with reduced rations.Brother Isaiah oversees their penance.”
I nodded, knowing better than to question his methods openly.Desiderius’ discipline was harsh but effective—the meditation cells were small stone rooms where offenders were locked with only a Bible and their thirst for company.It was cruel, perhaps, but less cruel than the final death that awaited those who could not control themselves.
“Our blood supplies?”I asked, changing the subject.
“Sufficient, though increasingly difficult to maintain without arousing suspicion.”He closed his book carefully.“The new health regulations require more detailed record-keeping.Brother Anthony has been creating the necessary documentation, but it is...imperfect.”
“We could reduce consumption,” I suggested.“The older ones among us can sustain on less.I was not given the luxury of easing into the Eucharist at all, and at a certain point, it’s easier to endure the pain than continue to drag it on with more blood rations.”
“My thoughts precisely.”His eyes fixed on mine.“You look concerned, Sister Alice.More than these mundane matters would warrant.”
I hesitated, trying to organize my thoughts.Desiderius valued precision in communication as much as in all things.
“I’m concerned about the growing hostility toward immigrants,” I said finally.“The war in Europe has stirred anti-German sentiment, but it’s spreading to affect all foreigners.There have been incidents—vandalism at the synagogue on Orchard Street, a family from Romania forced from their apartment in the Bronx.”
“And you fear this sentiment may eventually threaten our sanctuary.”It wasn’t a question.
“The convent relies on its anonymity and the general respect afforded to religious institutions,” I explained.“However, the Catholic population has always been viewed with suspicion by the Protestant majority.It will not take much if they believe we’re aiding those aligned with foreign enemies.Their suspicion of foreigners is often turned against those who harbor them...”
“They will look more closely at who comes and goes,” Desiderius finished, nodding slowly.“A valid concern, though not our most pressing one.”
