by Damian Serbu
Thomas slumped. “I love him. Desperately. I want to spend eternity with him and know that he wants the same. In a million ways he tells me so. By bringing me here, for example. But he’s afraid, and the Catholic Church has poisoned his mind. He’s too trusting, too pure, too worried about helping others and what the rest of the world thinks to ignore the alleged sinfulness of his attraction. I’m American, I’ve been to New Orleans. I know about your religion. I know that you can make a spell to lure him to me.”
She laughed.
“Please, help me.” He wondered if he sounded as insane as he felt. Asking someone to cast a spell for him? What was he thinking? As he had when he went to Catherine, he violated the ethic and had gone too far in his quest to win Xavier.
“I’d love to help you in matters of the heart—believe me I would. I care about Xavier a lot myself. Not like you do, but I care a lot about him. I wish I could help. But I don’t know any such magic.”
Anger and frustration roiled in Thomas’s gut. “You’re lying.”
She shook her head. “Even saying that I knew something like that could get me killed. In case it somehow escaped your attention, this is a Catholic country. They don’t take kindly to other beliefs. I accept you, and I’m not trying to condemn anyone. But I can’t go around doing these things. Don’t you know what they’d do to some poor nigger woman who went around practicing evil? They claim to have stopped the witch trials but such things go on every day. They’d throw me out in a second. And maybe you haven’t seen this revolution heating up, and the people saying things publicly about the church. What do you think it’d do to me in this climate? I’d become an easy target. Besides, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Spells, potions, love. Nonsense to me.” She waved her hand in the air, as if dismissing him.
He leaned forward, trying not to allow his anger to cloud his judgment. “As much as you claimed to read me, I understood you more than you suspected when I walked through the door. You do practice a faith or religion, whatever you call it. You were doing it when I arrived tonight but hurried to hide things. And if your powers of perception were so great, then you’d know that all of those things that you told me mean absolutely nothing in my world. I could not care less about the Catholic Church. No one from that vile institution would ever find out what you did. As for the revolution, it fascinates me and little else.”
She pursed her lips and leaned back, studying him. “I imagine you don’t care about any gods, either?”
“Not really.”
“Well, then, neither do I.”
He glanced around the room and sensed a life form behind a pile of clothes. Not human, he would have known that instantly, but important to her. He stood and peered behind the mound when she burst into hysterics. While she laughed, he grabbed the enormous snake.
“Do all laundresses house snakes for their protection?”
“You put him down. He has no quarrel with you.”
He didn’t. “I need your help. Please stop playing games.”
“All right, then. Listen to me. No more playing with the vampire, no more hiding. Just put my snake down.”
Thomas set it on the floor and returned to the fire.
“I never imagined in the wildest visions the scene before my eyes. A vampire, eternal life and all that nonsense, all the power to kill any living being, and he’s groveling at my feet in love. All your abilities and you want my silly magic.” Then she became serious. “I can’t do a spell, or give you magic, or a potion for this. I admit I know such things and have done them in the past. But it’s not right, trust me. And I’m not concerned that it’s with another man. Don’t flatter yourself into thinking I have such concerns. Magic is dangerous, and you don’t just throw it around with no care or without a great deal of thought. These powers that you want to dabble in can do great good and tremendous harm. And this isn’t the situation to call upon them.
“I’ve heard it all before. You don’t need these higher powers. You listen here to a woman and forget those spells. Thomas, you already have his heart. Can’t you see how smitten he is with you? He may claim to worship Jesus Christ but his eyes worship you. Maybe he can’t do it now. He has a lot of problems from that church, but he cares for you more than you even imagine. If you’re so confident that you want to spend eternity with him, what’s a few more months or even years waiting for him to come around? Xavier’s too worldly to hide in that church forever, believe me. Mixing magic into this can do no good.”
She stood then and walked to Thomas, then grasped him by the neck and stared into his eyes. After a moment, she shook her head slowly. “Nah, the old tales about your kind aren’t true, are they? Just like us, good and bad, and this one here’s a good one. Though I sense an anger in you. You better get that under control, because I won’t tolerate it. Especially if you aim it at him.“ She patted his shoulder “Give him time. Don’t risk all this other nonsense. You don’t need it. He loves you and you can’t expect anything more too soon. And watch that temper. Now get outta here. You can come back another time if you want, but there’s only so much darkness left and I have to finish something. Never mind what. Your damn dead essence is going to chase away my spirits.” And with that, she bustled him out the door.
His head spun in a million directions. Relief that she had offered advice. Dread that she knew about his anger, and moreso that she was right about it. And concern that he had once again violated the ethic and become intimately involved with humans with whom he interacted because he loved Xavier. Anthony would be furious. Could he never get anything right? He had a lot to think about on this night.
Thomas: Killer
20 June 1789 Immediately following
THOMAS WALKED SLOWLY back to Paris after Anne pushed him out the door. She was absolutely correct. If he planned on eternity with Xavier, then waiting for even a couple of years meant little. The only risk was Xavier’s mortal safety, but Thomas could protect him.
Still, he hated that Xavier fought his true nature, and, despite the peace within him, his passion against the church intensified. Against his better judgment (he heard Anthony scolding him in his head), he headed for the Seine and the glorious Notre Dame Cathedral. It took no effort to locate the bishop that he wanted. They marked everything well because of their hierarchical pride. He scaled a wall, opened a window, and seated himself on the end of a bed in seconds. The figure at its head slept soundly so Thomas wiggled the mattress.
The man woke and screamed in terror. With superhuman haste, Thomas covered his mouth and ordered him to stop. “I won’t kill you if you obey,” he said. He slowly let go of the bishop, who cowered under his sheet.
“I won’t murder you if you have an open mind about our conversation, understand?”
The man nodded his head up and down.
“Are you mute?”
“No.”
“Good, because we need to chat.” Thomas got up and walked around, taking in the room’s opulence: the expensive furniture, the ornate china left from dinner, the silk vestments, all the finery that one would find in the homes of Paris’s elite. He compared it to the sparse conditions of Xavier’s room: the blank walls and broken desk. Thomas ran his hand along the crucifix, mocking its inability to protect this allegedly holy man. After a grand pause, he turned back to the bishop.
“I know I woke you and it’s late, but I didn’t think that you’d accept my request for a regular visit.”
“What do you want? Take anything.” The bishop’s voice shook.
“Are you afraid?”
“Take all of it.”
“Do I look like a common thief? Does it look as if I needed to steal these clothes?” Thomas waved his hand at the articles in question. “You and I have other business.” He took a seat on the bed next to the quivering man and ran his fingers along the wrinkled cheek, delighting in the bishop’s terror. People like this—bishops who sat in lofty positions and judged people as if they themselves were God—deserved such a
trial. They needed humbling.
“It’s about a mutual friend. But I warn you, my appearance here is no accident and our friend has no idea that I’m doing this. If you utter one word to him, I’ll return. There’ll be no stopping me, and I’ll break your neck. The same will happen if you speak of this to any other soul or seek retribution. You’ll never mention this again, agreed?”
The man nodded, hands trembling on the sheet.
“I need you to write a letter of retraction regarding the things that you’ve said about Abbé Saint-Laurent. You must admit that you were incorrect and commend him for his fine work.”
“Why do you come about him?”
“Because you unjustly torment him.”
“He defies the laws of the church.”
“That’s not why you harass him,” Thomas said, leaning forward, tone dangerous. “I couldn’t understand it before I saw you. Why would someone insult a priest who serves a parish few others would willingly enter? But I see it now. I see it in your eyes. You tried to seduce Xavier and he rebuked you.”
The bishop’s pallor faded even more at Thomas’s words.
“I thought it was about wealth, greed, and jealously, but when I saw that longing, even through your terror, as you looked at me, I realized what had happened.”
“I don’t know what—”
Thomas nestled up to the man, put his face nearby, and massaged his leg. Though Thomas glared, the bishop refused to look at the vampire. Thomas blew into his ear and then grabbed his genitals. After a second, he released them and jumped off the bed. “Still want to deny it, Father?”
By now, the bishop was weeping as he shivered. Thomas marched to a desk, snatched a parchment, and thrust it at him, who obeyed every command. He wrote three letters: one for his official files, one to the Vatican, and one to Xavier, apologizing for his mistaken condemnations and instead praising the young priest for exemplary service. Thomas took them when he had finished, sealed them with the bishop’s emblem, and slid them into his coat pocket.
“You have what you want. Leave me,” the bishop said.
“Do you understand what I mean to do if this isn’t the end of it? Leave him alone entirely. Do I make myself clear?”
“Go away. You’ve won.”
Unconvinced that the bishop grasped the severity of his threat, Thomas grabbed the foot of the bed and broke it from its hinges. The mattress crashed to the floor and the bishop rolled to Thomas’s feet. He cried and quaked anew. Swiftly, Thomas reached and broke the man’s little finger. Nothing overly violent, but enough to solidify his point, and, as the man howled in pain, Thomas smashed through the window and jumped two stories to the ground. The bishop peered out as Thomas sauntered away, laughing on his way to the saloons.
That was more fun than he had had in ages, losing himself in power and scaring unscrupulous individuals. He was also proud of his controlled temper. Xavier’s first mention of the bishop enraged Thomas to want to kill the fiend, but then, as he played with the bishop’s fear and discovered the failed sexual tryst, he wanted to behead the man. But Thomas tempered his emotions and handled the situation with restraint.
Now, to celebrate. Time for a kill.
As usual, people crowded the bars and drank, gambled, had public sex, and railed against Louis. This perfectly tawdry scene would surely produce a worthy victim or two. Thomas entered an establishment and took a seat. Nothing unusual caught his eye. No one longed for his fangs to end an unseemly life, until he heard a familiar voice. He turned, slowly, and saw Marcel seated nearby and talking to the likes of whom Thomas never wanted to even touch. They stank of men hired for dirty, illicit, and violent tasks.
Here was a group of worthy victims. He could kill all of them, including Marcel, and rid himself of a major problem. Then, against his will, Thomas remembered those damn ethical guidelines Anthony pronounced with such conviction: never meddle in human affairs. Killing Marcel, even in this setting, violated this principle. And he had already gone too far in violating the ethic with this visit to Notre Dame.
Frustrated, Thomas listened. They were making a deal and even tried to sound like shrewd entrepreneurs, but their tone betrayed a darker arrangement.
“You’re fine gentlemen, as always,” Marcel was saying. “I hardly believe that you dispatched that customer so quickly and cleanly. I appreciate your efforts on my behalf—”
“Enough talk, old man, get to the point,” said one of the men. His breath hit Thomas from two tables away, stinking of tobacco, rum, and a gross assortment of decay.
“Don’t take that tone with me. I’ve no fear of you. I have a spying assignment this time. There are two men you must watch for me. Why is none of your business, but this is more important than any previous job. I need to know their patterns, their friends, and their beliefs. Discover any weaknesses, any material for blackmail, anything that they conceal. Try to find out where they keep their money and when they sleep. I must know anything and everything about both of them. I want you to monitor the two Saint-Laurents. One of you watch Michel, the other take Xavier. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, we don’t need a long story about spying. How long do you want us to do this?”
“Until I tell you to stop.”
“That’ll cost you,” the other added.
“I’m well aware of your prices and, believe me, this is worth the cost. I’ll expect a weekly report, at this place and in person. One more thing. There’s one occasion upon which you must abandon your spying: never go near their sister. When they visit her, walk away.”
How was Thomas to obey the ethic with this news?
Marcel described Michel and told them where to find him and Thomas pictured the route to Xavier’s church as Marcel gave it to the other man, describing him, as well.
But Thomas let Marcel leave, against his better judgment, as the rules haunted him. He did follow the other two, however. He had witnessed and sensed enough to know that killing them would not violate the ethic, at least not as much as if he had gone after Marcel, who was intimately involved in the family. These two had never met anyone from the family, so Thomas decided they stood outside the ethic’s prohibitions against intervention. They walked a few blocks, singing drunken songs, clearly proud of the coins that Marcel had given them, then entered a saloon with rooms for rent. Thomas stayed close behind when they entered their room. He waited a few seconds, then burst in as they counted their money.
In a complete fury, he first grabbed the one intended to spy on Xavier. He barely noticed the terror on his face as he crushed the man’s skull between his hands and he paused as the cranium crunched like a sea shell and gore exploded all over the room. He dropped the corpse and swore softly. He had waited too long. The second man had escaped the room and his screaming brought other patrons into the hall to see about the commotion. Thomas kicked the dead body before he swiftly went into the hall, and vacated the building. He could not risk going after the remaining man as he stood among all these onlookers. Instead he went to feed, once again hungry for blood after several nights of depriving himself.
Part IV: Intensification
Xavier: Mounting Unrest
26 June 1789 Early Afternoon
XAVIER ADMIRED THE fine furnishings of the Saint-Laurent home, especially the latest items that Catherine had chosen, as he waited for his family. Thankfully, he knew the reason for their meeting. Louis’s troops had arrived outside Paris, and the city was abuzz with the news. This meant things would change drastically. Xavier soon heard Michel’s authoritative steps before he marched into the room.
He hugged Xavier tightly. “Are you safe?”
“Of course. What’s wrong?”
“Things are horrifically unstable. I worry about you and Catherine.”
As he said her name, their sister swept into the room. “Can you believe all the military surrounding our city like an occupational force?” she asked as she kissed each of them.
“Where’s Jérémie?” Michel a
sked, reminding Xavier of his brother’s latest request. Jérémie was moving into the Saint-Laurent house until further notice. Catherine told him that Michel arranged this for her protection, which at first irritated her, but before she had rejected the idea she spoke with Jérémie and relented. Xavier figured Catherine would at least appreciate the company, since she liked Jérémie.
“He’s here,” Catherine answered.
“There’s rioting in the countryside. The country is incredibly unstable.”
“That’s old news.” Catherine tossed her hand, waving Michel’s pronouncement aside.
“I mean that a revolution is inevitable. You both have to protect yourselves. I see that you hid the valuables, Catherine, an excellent decision. You both should stay near the house or church more often. And, Xavier, stop ministering at the prisons, especially the Bastille.”
Xavier sighed. Michel could be so dictatorial. “Those prisoners deserve my services as much as anyone,” he countered.
“This isn’t a time for your moral superiority. That place is a symbol to the angry citizens of what Louis does to his people.”
Thankfully, Michel turned to Catherine. “You’re sure that Jérémie came to the house?”
“Why on earth would I lie about that?”
“I’m sorry. I just need to know.”
“Yes, Michel, he’s here, in my office.”
“Is there other news?” Xavier asked.
“What else do I need to tell you? There is going to be a revolution. Louis is paralyzed. He does nothing. People riot every day. France is in chaos. Are you both being careful?”
The words chilled Xavier. His brother, always the rational, calm one, seldom jumped to conclusions or concerned his family for no reason. “I swear, I’ll be careful,” Xavier promised.
“And you, Catherine?” Michel asked. “Will you stop being foolhardy?”