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“Then there are some humans you care about, aren’t there?”

I ignore that. Jorge was the exception.

“So how many of your kind are there in the world?” I ask, switching the subject. “Are you all priests and doctors? Are you all trying to battle some monster inside?”

He gives me a measured look. “There are monsters inside everyone, Larimar. The only difference is we’re the only ones who know how to deal with them.” He pauses. “But no, most of us aren’t priests. Only the ones at the monastery. But we were a different…breed.”

“What does that mean?”

His sun-bright blue eyes stare at me for a moment, and I feel unsteady, like the room has started to spin. It’s hard to tell if it’s the wine or if he’s trying to do some sort of magic on me.

But then the sensation stops, and he looks away, letting out a long exhale, running his slender fingers over the shiny fabric of the dresses we’re sitting on.

“They say there is a name for us now,” he says in a low voice. “Vampyres. We’ve always called ourselves bloodsuckers, blood-drinkers. The fact that there is a name for us is troubling. It means the humans are starting to catch on.”

“I’m sure they’ve noticed people going missing, drained of blood with teeth marks in their neck,” I comment.

“We know to be careful,” he says quickly. “Or, should I say, most of us do. When I say I’m part of a different breed, I’m part of the ones who aren’t careful. You see, there are two ways Vampyres are created. The first and most common is that you are born to Vampyre parents. If you’re a female, you turn into a Vampyre at the age of twenty-one. If you’re a male, you turn at thirty-five. But you are born knowing what you are, and you are raised accordingly. You know how to hunt, you know how to blend in with humans. These are the ones who walk amongst everyone else.”

He pauses for a moment, eyes seeming lost. “Then there are…the beasts. The monsters. The ones who were born human and turned into a Vampyre by another bloodsucker. They are killed and brought back to life by drinking the blood of the Vampyre who slaughtered them. When this happens…you are born a creature of Hell. You have no mind, no conscience. You are pure power and bloodlust, and you don’t even look human anymore. It’s these creatures who kill indiscriminately, without mercy. They are hard to control, even harder to kill, and they become the subject of every frightening bedtime story told to children.”

Priest looks at me, his eyes taking on a red sheen I hadn’t seen before, his mouth opening into a gruesome, fanged smile. “Want to guess which one I am?”

Fear runs down my spine like an icy finger. For the first time, I actually fear him. For the first time, I realize his monster isn’t a figure of speech.

“But you’re…” I whisper.

“A priest,” he says matter-of-factly, the redness disappearing from his eyes. “The monastery was started by Abe and a few other Vampyres to take care of creatures like us. He figured it wasn’t our fault that we were turned. All Vampyres know the consequences, but not all Vampyres are good. Some only want chaos. I was turned by one called Kaleid, who led his band of bloodsuckers across the middle of Spain to create an army of killers. I suppose he succeeded. He just happened to pick a witch when he did it.”

My eyes have been wide the whole time I’ve been listening to him, thoroughly engaged. We have our own problems in the underwater world, and there are Syrens who are cruel and dangerous to others, but all of this seems utterly fantastical.

“So learning about God kept you in line, kept you human?” I ask.

He nods. “Yes. In the beginning, it was hard to understand. All I knew was hatred and rage. But I suppose the Good Book has some good use. It got through to me. I started believing it. Combined with the discipline that was a part of our lives, we slowly came around. Eventually—and we are talking centuries here—I realized it was all made up, just stories to keep people in line. But the rigid routine, the vows, the structure? That kept me in control. That brought me to here and now, how I’m able to talk to you without wanting to rip your head off.”

I swallow uneasily at that. “So you stopped believing in God…”

“No,” he says, biting his lip for a moment. “No, I believe in something. Maybe it’s God. Maybe it’s something else, someone else. But all these rules, this guilt? That’s all man-made.”

“But you’re peddling it,” I point out. “You’re spreading these rules and the guilt to the people here, and you don’t even believe in it. You’re spreading lies.”

He lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “In time, they will come to their own conclusions. Maybe on their deathbed.”

I think about that for a moment. We have our own beliefs in Limonos, but none so complicated as this. Then again, my head feels foggy from all the wine I’ve consumed.

“Earlier, you said it’s Friday. How long was I out for?” I ask him.

“Twenty-four hours,” he says.

My eyes widen. “You left me tied here for a whole day?”

“You said you wanted to be alone,” he says mildly. “Besides, now that I don’t have to wet your tail every couple of hours, I don’t need to tend to you as much.”

“I see,” I say, suddenly not hungry. I put the plate down. “So I’m just supposed to spend my days in here like this, with you only dropping by when you feel like it to throw me some bread?”

He stares at me, his expression curious, like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle.

“What is it exactly that you expect from me?” he asks.