DAGON MANSION

CHAPTER THREE: VAMPIRE CLANS

Unbeknownst to Rogers, Theolinda Brady had taken Mia's advice.

That morning, she requested a private visit at Ablington State Prison. The request surprised everyone, including the inmate himself.

When Brady entered the visitation room, Ryan Dagon was already waiting for her — his hands cuffed, his posture composed. Despite the dull grey uniform and harsh lighting, he exuded an impossible charisma. Even behind bars, Ryan looked out of place — too refined, too self-assured.

He smiled the moment he saw her.

"Hello, Assistant Detective Brady. To what do I owe the honor?"

"Detective Brady now," Theolinda corrected, with a faint smirk.

Ryan raised his brows, amused. "Then congratulations. I'll be Ryan from now on. Dagon reminds me too much of my father."

She sat opposite him. A metal table, bolted to the ground, divided them.

"I came to talk to you about something," she began. "We need your help with an investigation."

Ryan tilted his head. "And why, exactly, should I help the police?"

Brady stood, crossing her arms. "It seems you're not as 'redeemed' as the reports say."

Ryan laughed — a deep, musical sound that echoed through the sterile room. "Please, sit down, Brady. I didn't say I wouldn't help. I'm intrigued. Tell me."

Theolinda sat again, her expression firm.

"Ryan, we have what appears to be a ritual murder. Mia Richardson told me you're the one who knows the most about rituals."

At Mia's name, Ryan's smile faltered — replaced by something softer. "Mia told you to come?"

"She did. And congratulations. You have a beautiful daughter."

Ryan's expression melted into unguarded joy. His eyes brightened.
"My daughter, Scarlett, is the most beautiful girl in the world."

Theolinda smiled slightly before sliding a folder across the table.
"The victim is a seventeen-year-old girl. Found naked, inside a circle, surrounded by symbols. I don't think you'll be squeamish about the photos."

Ryan chuckled, eyes glinting. "I'm a dangerous assassin and cult torturer, remember? I can look at anything."
He wiped at the corner of his eye. "Show me."

Brady spread the photographs out. Ryan's gaze sharpened as he examined the markings on the ground. His expression darkened.

"This wasn't just a ritual," he murmured. "This was done by a vampire clan."

Meanwhile — Dagon Mansion

Scarlett giggled in her playpen, surrounded by toys.
Mia entered the room carrying a bowl of porridge, smiling as she watched her daughter playing.

The little girl picked up her rag ball — and accidentally tossed it out of the playpen. Her tiny lips trembled. She clenched her fists, her blue eyes narrowing with frustration.

Then, the ball moved.
It rose slowly from the floor and drifted back into the playpen, landing in Scarlett's hands.

The child gasped, then laughed with delight. She lifted her hand again, and the ball began to spin gently in the air.

"Scarlett, I'm here with your food!" Mia said as she entered.

Startled, the child dropped the toy. Mia didn't notice the motionless ball at her feet — she only smiled as Scarlett clapped her hands for porridge.

Back in the Prison

Brady frowned. "A vampire clan? Are you talking about a cult, like the one you belonged to — where you drank blood?"

Ryan shook his head. "Not at all, Brady. And please — may I call you Theolinda? Actually, that's too formal. Can I call you Theo?"

The rapid change of tone caught her off guard. "All right. Theo, then. But answer the question."

Ryan leaned forward, his eyes fixed on hers. "Theo, I'm talking about real vampires."

She laughed nervously. "You're joking. If this is your idea of cooperation—"

As she began to rise, Ryan reached across the table, his cuffed hand brushing hers.

"Wait," he said quietly. "Let me explain. The supernatural is real. There are powers — dimensions — things beyond what you understand. That's where vampires begin."

Theolinda rolled her eyes. "Do they sparkle in the sunlight too?"

Ryan burst out laughing. "Not even close, Theo. That's pure fiction. But would you like to see something real?"

Her suspicion sharpened instantly. God, she thought, he's going to show me his penis.

Ryan smiled faintly, reading her perfectly. "It's not what you're thinking. But... if you'd prefer, I could."

"No, please," she said quickly, exasperated.

"Relax," Ryan said, chuckling. "I'll show you something else."

Theolinda hesitated — but her curiosity was stronger than her fear.

"Fine," she said, resting a hand on her holster. "Show me."

Ryan nodded toward a small book resting on the bed behind him. With a subtle motion of his wrist, the book lifted into the air, hovering, then spinning slowly before landing softly in his hand.

Theolinda froze. Her pulse quickened.

"That's... impossible."

Ryan smiled, calm and deliberate. "That's just discipline. Now, about the clans."

Ryan's voice dropped to a murmur that scraped the table's metal edge.

"Three bloodlines, Theo. Not cults—lines. Older than your badge, older than the island."

He tapped the photo of Sia's carved chest, tracing the sigil with a cuffed finger.

"Custodes Sanguinis – the Guardians. They don't feed to live; they correct. Every cut is a verdict. The circle you found? That's their courtroom. The girl was judged—her heart weighed on scales you can't see. They leave the body arranged like a closed case file: throat north, palms east, ribs opened to the verdict.

Servorum Sanguinis – the Mercy. They drink without killing. A vein tapped, a memory borrowed, the donor wakes dizzy but breathing. They move in pairs: one drinks, one sings the lullaby that erases the night. You'll find them in hospitals, blood banks, night-shift nurses with too-steady hands. Their sigil is a drop inside a circle—contained. If Sia had been theirs, she'd be alive and forgetting her own name right now.

Principes Sanguinis – the Crown. Aristocrats who measure time in centuries, not heartbeats. They don't hunt; they collect. A rare voice, a painter's eye, a child with the sight—snatched, drained slow, distilled into vintage. Their kills are galleries: bodies posed in marble pallor, eyes painted open with their own blood. They do not feed very often but are refined and choose their victims very carefully."

He leaned closer, breath fogging the photo's gloss.

"Your circle had jagged edges—Custodes work."

Theo stared at him, her rational mind warring with the evidence before her.

Ryan smiled faintly. "You wanted answers, Detective. Now you have to decide how far you're willing to go to believe them."