"ONE!"
The scream echoed through the corridor, muffled by the iron door, but still so strong that Maristela felt the words vibrate in her teeth.
Mother Teresa grabbed Maristela's shoulder. Her fingers squeezed with desperate strength.
"Listen," she whispered, her lips brushing the girl's ear. "He needs you alive. But I'm disposable. He'll kill me as soon as he gets in here. Unless…"
"TWO!"
The door creaked. Hinges groaning. This time, the sound came with a wet snap — like bone breaking inside flesh.
"Maristela." The mother held the girl's face, forcing eye contact.
"When I open the door, you throw the smoke. Don't think. Don't hesitate. Just throw."
"But what about you?"
"I'll be fine." The mother smiled. A sad, tired smile that fooled no one. "I promise."
She released Maristela. Turned to the door.
"THRE—"
Mother Teresa didn't let him finish.
"I GIVE UP!"
Her scream tore through the night. It was so loud Maristela felt her own eardrums ache.
Silence on the other side.
The creature stopped pounding.
"It's not worth saving that orphan!" Mother Teresa continued, her voice firm, calculated, every word chosen.
"She killed Father Dan. Stole money from the convent. She's only given me headaches for eight years. You can come in and take her."
Maristela held her breath.
She knew it was an act. But it still hurt.
'It's not worth saving her' — the Orphan's voice whispered in her ear.
'Once an orphan, always an orphan.'
"You're lying, nun," the creature said, its voice dragged and suspicious.
"I swear by the God who condemned me to take care of ungrateful orphans. I'm not lying."
Another silence.
Then, the sound of nails retreating on metal. The creature moved away from the door.
"Open it," it ordered. "But if this is a trap, I'll tear your eyes out slowly. One at a time. And then, you'll listen to me tear out the eyes of every novice in this place while you lose yourself in the darkness."
Mother Teresa didn't answer. She just put her hand on the lock.
"Wait," the creature's voice came again. Closer now. "First, give me the knife. The one that burns."
"I'll give you the knife and open the door. You can come in and get the girl. But first, promise you won't harm any of the guests in this house."
"I promise, nun."
"Do you think I'm an idiot? Promise by your master's name."
"Damn you. You know even that? You're not just a nun, are you, Teresa?"
"You don't live long enough without knowing enough, parasite. Now swear."
"I promise that I will not cause harm to any of the guests of this shelter by the name of Domingos. May the Final Death come to me if my master's honor is broken. Now give me the fucking knife, DAMN IT!"
Maristela saw Mother Teresa hesitate. For a second, just one.
Then, she pulled the hummingbird knife from inside her habit. The short blade gleamed in the dim light. She threw it across the floor. The knife slid and passed under the door.
"Good girl," the vampire said. "Now you can open."
Mother Teresa went to the door. Removed the iron locks.
The lock creaked.
The door opened.
The corridor was dark, but Maristela saw the silhouette.
It was tall. Too thin for a human. The shoulders seemed too wide for the thin neck. The skin was gray — not pale from illness, but gray from death, like dry clay.
The eyes had no white. Two black, shiny spheres, without iris, without pupil, just darkness reflecting the light of the oil lamps.
The mouth opened in a smile. Sharp teeth, overlapping in layers, like a dog's when it growls.
"Where is the girl?"
Mother Teresa pointed behind her, toward Maristela.
"There. Take her and get out of my sight."
The creature took a step forward.
Maristela smelled it. Rotting fruit. Dead roses. Something sweet and nauseating that rose through her nostrils and down her throat, making her stomach turn.
Another step.
Mother Teresa waited. Waited until he was half a meter from the door.
"You humans believe any shit, don't you?" The vampire frowned and smiled, showing his teeth to Maristela.
Before she could react, Mother Teresa screamed,
"NOW, MARISTELA!"
Maristela already had the glass marble in her hand. She smashed it on the floor, toward the mother and the creature.
CRACK.
The glass broke.
The green smoke exploded.
It wasn't normal smoke — it was alive. It moved like water, like tentacles, filling every inch of the room and escaping through the corridor in less than a second. The smell got worse: sulfur, burned blood, something Maristela couldn't identify.
She couldn't see anything.
"YOU BITCH!" the vampire's roar came muffled, distorted by the smoke. "YOU DAMN BITCH!"
Maristela heard the sound of nails tearing through the padded wall. Then, a thud — as if a heavy body had been thrown against the floor.
And then, in the middle of the mist, she saw shadows moving.
Mother Teresa — she recognized the torn habit — grabbed something on the wall. Chains. The same ones Maristela had noticed hours earlier, thinking they were decoration. The mother pulled them with superhuman strength.
The metal groaned.
"By the name… of the master who created you, Domingos Ruiz… I bind you."
The chains wrapped around the creature's neck before it could fight back. The iron smoked upon touching the gray skin.
The vampire roared — not in anger, but in pain. Its claws tore through the air. One of them caught Mother Teresa's chest.
Maristela heard the cut. Heard Mother Teresa grunt. But the mother didn't let go of the chains.
"May the iron… burn your flesh… until I say otherwise."
She wrapped another loop. Then another. The creature's wrists were immobilized.
The vampire thrashed, but the chains held. The skin around the metal burned, black, as if the iron were live coal.
His roar transformed into something worse: a muffled, strangled hiss, while the smoke still enveloped everything.
Then, silence.
The smoke began to clear.
And then she saw it.
The crooked crucifix — the Ankh — that Mother Teresa had placed on the floor before opening the door… was glowing.
A faint, yellow light, like an oil lamp about to go out. The glow pulsed slowly, in the rhythm of a tired heart.
Maristela looked away to the walls. The symbols carved around the chains — those she had noticed without understanding — were also glowing.
The mother was a… witch?
She spent eight years playing nun while practicing witchcraft at the top of the convent?
What kind of witch is as annoying as Mother Teresa?
The room appeared little by little.
The chains on the left wall — now holding the thing. One chain around the neck. Two on the wrists. The skin around the metal, scorched.
The vampire's eyes only looked in one direction, with a disgusting satisfaction on his face.
And behind Maristela, Mother Teresa stood.
She was propped against the opposite wall, sliding slowly, leaving a dark trail on the padding.
Her habit was torn from shoulder to waist. And on her chest — a cut.
It wasn't a normal cut. It looked like a razor had opened the flesh, from shoulder to stomach. The skin was separated, turned inside out, showing the red inside.
And then a white tip.
A small white tip stained with red on Mother Teresa's abdomen.
It took Maristela a few seconds to understand…
It was Mother Teresa's rib sticking out.
Her right arm hung at a wrong angle. Broken. The fingers of her left hand tried to cover the cut on her chest, but the blood seeped between them.
"Mother…"
"Alive," her voice came out weak, a thread of air. "Still alive, for now."
"Don't come closer." Mother Teresa coughed.
Dark blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. "You need… to run…"
"Mother, I won't…"
Before she could finish, the creature in the chains laughed.
The sound was wet, muffled by the gag — but unmistakable.
"Funny," the voice came out dragged, with effort. "You trapped me. But what about my brother? Do you have any tricks for him too? That knife only made him angrier."
"She has such a thin neck. My brother likes to hear the noise. The snap. The scream that doesn't end because the trachea is already crushed."
"Shut up," Mother Teresa's voice came out weak, but firm.
Mother Teresa turned her face to the floor. Her eyes found the Ankh — the crooked crucifix that glowed yellow, faint, almost extinguished.
She whispered something. Maristela didn't understand the words. They weren't Portuguese. They weren't Latin.
"He's coming up, Teresa," the vampire snarled. "He'll tear the chains from the wall. And then? What will you do?"
"Who are they, Mother?" Maristela didn't recognize her own voice.
The Ankh's glow changed.
From tired yellow to living red. The color of blood. The color of alarm.
"He'll kill all the girls. One by one. And your Hunter tricks won't…"
"Mmm-mm-mmm-mm!"
The vampire's mouth closed on its own, as if sewn by invisible threads. The sound turned into a muffled, strangled roar.
The black eyes widened. This time, it wasn't hate. It was fear.
Maristela saw that, even so, the lips didn't open.
Frightening. The mother was a witch.
Mother Teresa dragged herself until she was facing Maristela. Her left hand grabbed the girl's face with a strength that made no sense for someone so injured.
"You heard him. The partner is coming up. He'll kill everyone. Clara. Silvane. All of them."
"WHO ARE YOU, DAMN IT?!" Maristela pointed at the creature in the chains.
"LISTEN."
The mother's hand grabbed Maristela's wrist with a strength that made no sense for someone so injured.
"You know his master's name. Domingos. Memorize that name. If you survive, he can't touch anyone in the convent. Because you're a witness to the broken oath."
"What is he, Mother?" Maristela spoke with a low, patient voice.
Mother Teresa took a deep breath. Each sigh was an effort.
"A vampire, Maristela." Her voice came out hoarse, dragged. "A damn vampire."
Vampire.
The word echoed in Maristela's mind, and suddenly everything made sense — the blood Father Dan wanted, Mother Teresa's fear, the coins with the strange symbol.
And the memory of the man who didn't bleed when she bit him.
Mother Teresa said, wincing in pain,"Now stop whimpering and drink his blood,"