Still furious following the calamitous ritual he had just performed, Daniil tumbled into the communications room, his ceremonial robe flapping around him like a whip, his right hand plunged into his pocket, his fingers still tight around the rest of the dagger. He immediately rushed towards Father Roland and stopped a few inches from his face.
“What?” he shouted without preamble.
The priest took two steps back before looking at the vampire hunter carefully. His outfit, straight out of a bad fantasy film, must nevertheless have demonstrated a particular activity that naturally aroused his curiosity.
“What are you doing?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
“The laundry,” Daniil said gruffly. “You interrupted me. Why?”
“I have very bad news. Can we talk about it?”
Kaliov pointed to a desk with
