Page 59 of Of Faith and Fangs

Father O’Malley shook his head. “Not all of you. Not Alice, not Desiderius. And for you and Ruth, the pain will lessen with time and faith. It’s purification, not destruction.”

The words echoed what I’d told my progeny before our attack on the church. Had I been right, then? Was there truly hope for creatures like us?

“The chamber has no windows,” Father O’Malley continued. “No way for sunlight to reach you. There are supplies there—blankets, candles, books. It will give us time to plan our next move.”

“Our next move?” Ruth looked up from her bloodstained hands. “What next move? Sarah, Martha, Elizabeth—they’re gone. Turned to ash. We’ve lost everything.”

“Not everything,” I said, more firmly than I felt. “We’re still here. We still have a choice about what we become.”

“And what is that?” Rebecca asked, her voice small. “What can we become, besides monsters?”

I had no answer for her—not one I believed in my soul, if I still had one. I looked to Father O’Malley, hoping he might offer the comfort I couldn’t.

The oil lamp flickered, shadows dancing across his weathered face. “Witnesses,” he said simply. “To a truth the Order has tried to bury—that grace can reach even those they deem beyond salvation.”

Desiderius made a sound that might have been a laugh, if his throat hadn’t been burned raw. “A noble sentiment, Father. But sentiment alone won’t protect us from what’s coming.”

“No,” Father O’Malley agreed. “But it gives us reason to fight.” He stood, wincing as he put weight on his injured leg. “We should go. The passage to the chamber is behind the altar—ironic, I know, that your salvation lies through the very ground that pains you.”

Rebecca’s eyes widened with panic. “I can’t—I can’t go back in there. Not after what happened. Not after what we did.”

Ruth nodded in agreement, her trembling intensifying. “The pain... I don’t think I can bear it again so soon.”

I knelt beside them, taking their icy hands in mine. These women had been strangers to me in life, accused witches I’d hunted at the Order’s command. Now they were bound to me by blood and death and whatever twisted version of motherhood vampirism had granted me.

“You can,” I told them. “You’re stronger than you know. And this time, you won’t be alone. I’ll be with you every step.”

They looked at me with such naked trust that I nearly flinched. What had I done to deserve such faith? Nothing. But perhaps that was the point Father O’Malley had been trying to make—grace wasn’t earned but given freely, even to the most undeserving.

“Lead the way, Father,” I said, helping Ruth and Rebecca to their feet. “We’ll follow.”

As we prepared to leave the small sanctuary of the rectory for the uncertain protection of the hidden chamber, I caught Desiderius watching me with an unreadable expression. Something like recognition flickered in his ancient eyes—or perhaps it was merely the lamplight playing tricks.

“What?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” he said, his ruined mouth attempting a smile. “Just wondering what it is about you that makes me think perhaps, after all these centuries, I might finally be on the right path.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. So instead, I simply nodded and turned to follow Father O’Malley into the night, toward whatever salvation or damnation awaited us beneath the church.

The chamber beneath St. Mary’s lay hidden for nearly two centuries, its existence known only to a succession of priests who guarded its secret. Candles burned in iron sconces along the walls, their flames steady in the still air, casting our shadows like giants against ancient stone. Father O’Malley had led us through a narrow passage behind the altar, down worn steps that spiraled into darkness, until we reached this unexpected sanctuary. I watched Ruth and Rebecca huddle together on a pallet in the corner, their faces still etched with pain from crossing the consecrated ground above, while Desiderius stood near a crude wooden cross, seemingly lost in memories older than any of us could fathom.

“You’ve been here before,” I said to him. It wasn’t a question.

Desiderius nodded, the movement causing fresh pink skin to stretch across the burns that still marked his aristocratic features. “Many times, though not in recent years.”

Father O’Malley settled himself on a wooden chair, his wounds freshly bandaged but still clearly causing him pain. “Desiderius has been a friend to this parish longer than I’ve been alive,” he said. “Perhaps it’s time you shared your story with Alice and the others.”

The ancient vampire turned to face us fully, his golden eyes reflecting the candlelight. When he spoke, his voice emerged as a rasp from his damaged throat, yet carried the unmistakable cadence of another century, another world.

“Vienna, 1823,” he began. “I had existed for nearly two centuries by then, moving from place to place as suspicion grew or I tired of the endless cycle of feeding and hiding. I had been many things—a merchant, a scholar, occasionally a monster when hunger or anger overcame my restraint.”

Rebecca looked up, her bloodstained face intent on his words. Ruth too seemed drawn to his story, momentarily distracted from her trembling hands.

“I encountered Father Adalbert Neuhauser quite by accident. He was carrying the Eucharist to a dying man, and I... I felt it as he passed. A presence I had not experienced since my transformation. Something that called to what remained of my human soul.”

Desiderius moved closer to the cross, his fingers hovering near but not quite touching the wood. “I followed him. Watched him administer last rites. And when he emerged from the house of the dying, he looked directly at me, standing in shadow, and said, ‘You may come to me when you are ready to return to God.’”

“He knew what you were?” I asked, incredulous.

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