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And no one’s told me what I did to deserve it.

Being good has done nothing to stop it. I did what I was told. I tried. I tried so hard. I repented. I begged for forgiveness.

For what? This?

If this is the reward, I’d rather not try anymore. I’d rather bebad.

Sister Agatha drags me toward the other side of the curtain, but I fight her every step of the way. Yanking and throwing my body in the other direction. Screaming my own anger and defiance.

“No! Let go of me!”

Her teeth clenched together, Sister Agatha yanks the other side of the curtain back and grinds out, “You little vampire whores are all the same! Vicious little beasts who should be exterminated without prejudice! You should be grateful His Holiness granted you mercy and allowed you to live!”

Sweeping forward and using the momentum of her own body to force me to follow her, she drags me through a stone archway that leads to a small, musty room.

The room is bare except for an unlit torch on the wall and a set of stone steps that lead down to a dark abyss.

Terror fills me at the sight of the stairs, and I turn on Sister Agatha, lashing out at her. Fear pushing me to the point of no turning back.

I slap at her. Kick at her.

My mouth fills with salvia and I try to bite her.

But it’s all for nothing.

Sister Agatha may be thin and bony, but she’s still an adult nearly twice my size. And despite all my efforts to hurt her, to stop her, I’m no match.

Most of my hits and kicks are dodged. What few I manage to land only cause her to yank on my arm harder.

Her adult strength dragging me down each step.

Even my attempt to bite her fails. The way she holds me and drags me with her arm straight out, keeping me at arm’s length, makes it impossible to reach any part of her body.

A wail of desperation tears out of my throat as she drags me ever downward. Throwing out my free arm, I claw at the stone wall. Searching for a way to stop the descent.

But this, too, proves to be futile.

Only earning me my fingernails being broken off or ripped from my nail beds.

When we finally reach the bottom, she drags me a few more feet then shoves me away from her.

I fall to my knees, my shins cracking painfully against the stone floor, almost completely exhausted.

“Jeffrey!” Sister Agatha bellows. “Come forward!”

Jerking my head up, I peer through the mess of my black hair and see a boy I recognize step out of the shadows in front of me with a wooden rod gripped in his hand.

He’s Howard’s son… and we’re both the same age. We’ve sat beside each other at almost every Mass I can remember, and he’s always been nice to me. Sometimes so nice it makes his father mad.

Jeffrey glances nervously at me and his voice trembles as he asks, “Yes, Sister Agatha?”

My sobs quieting, I peer up at him as if seeing him for the first time.

His short blonde hair has been parted in a way that makes him look older and he’s dressed in a dark suit like all the men in the cathedral were. With a white rose blossom pinned above his heart.

What is he doing down here? Is this where they kept all the boys?

Is he tainted like I am?