by Damian Serbu
“We keep it in the church to give each other support and so that we still do good works. He never forsook you, you forsook Him.”
“Maria, I renounce the Church. I renounce God. Can’t you understand my words? He’s nothing to me. Until He shows me that He cares, that it’s not all a big game so that those in the church can feel powerful, I denounce Christianity and announce that none of it means anything to me.”
She stared at him, horrified. “Xavier, after everything, after all that you believed, how can you feel nothing in your heart? You still have your friends. Catherine is with you. What makes you think that you could know all of the answers to the mysteries of this world?”
“I don’t care.”
“Stop it. Sober up. This blasphemy is unbecoming. I pray for your soul.”
“You may pray to the Nothingness all that you want.”
Maria’s voice softened but she stood over him. “This is the test for you. The pain is your test.”
“For God’s sake, Maria. A test?” Xavier could not stop a harsh laugh.
“Abbé, you’re hurting my feelings.”
The giggles kept him from responding, so Maria stormed out of the room.
He settled down after she left and realized that he sat in complete darkness, with only a slight glow from the window coming into his room. He reached up and got the bottle of wine, opened it, and drank as the sadness and misery stormed back. Wonderful, Xavier told himself, you chased Thomas away, then you murdered Michel, and now you alienated Catherine and Maria. If only Marcel had killed him instead. Xavier, you are useless. You cast God out of your life, so what remains? You are in the way, you are needy, and you hurt everyone you love.
Xavier picked himself off the floor and looked out his window, hoping to see Thomas’s mirage again, but saw nothing but blackness broken occasionally by the fire of a lantern. The fire led to an abyss, the great unknown of nighttime Paris.
Xavier dressed in his bourgeois garb, grabbed another bottle of wine, and started to leave. No one was in the hallway. He slowly slipped down it but remembered something. He felt naked without it, so he returned and got his cross. He carefully dropped it under his shirt so that no one could see. Strange that he still wanted it with him. He returned to the hall, went down the back stairs, and snuck out a side door. He walked in the shadows for a few blocks before breaking into a run.
He had no intention of returning and getting in the way again. He loved them that much.
Thomas: Crying in the Wilderness
23 September 1792
THOMAS WOKE AND hurried to leave his flat. This past two weeks had been more hell than he had ever experienced. After the confidence that he could win his love back, Xavier disappeared. Gone. Completely. Not at the Saint-Laurent home, not at the church, or anywhere in his parish. Denys had no idea where to find him. Even Anne, busy packing because she was “closing” her business and had other things to do, had no idea. She seemed uninterested in Xavier, which saddened Thomas even more.
Thomas dressed carefully, still concerned about his appearance, and admired the black that he loved to wear. Then he went to search for Xavier. All that he did these days was hunt for his love.
Paris was frenzied with revolutionary talk, as usual, but Thomas hardly cared about the latest events. It seemed mundane to awaken two nights ago to the news that they had abolished the monarchy, which was all too predictable. Then they created a new calendar to date things according to the major events of the French Revolution, which he thought ridiculous.
However, the brutality that now governed the revolution startled even Thomas. As he walked, he passed another of the French symbols of their struggle. They called it a guillotine. And Thomas called it hideous. A machine designed to efficiently cut off someone’s head, but it really just made death a public spectacle despite their insistence that it made executions more humane. The victims knelt before everyone as they pleaded for forgiveness. Everyone saw the wicked death as the head dropped into a basket and the body was thrust aside. This was French liberation? As they now arrested, attacked, and murdered anyone who simply disagreed with this new regime? They gave up the monarchy for this? But for Thomas, one fear alone haunted him—that he would pass one of these baskets and see his beloved’s head staring at him.
Guillotines adorned every street and park in Paris. Charming. How morbidly charming.
But where was Xavier? Thomas had run out of places to search and covered the same ground over and over. He obsessed about the day Xavier disappeared. Early in the evening, Thomas had gone and saw Xavier watching out the window, drinking his wine, and thought for a second that Xavier had spotted him. The following night, he could not find Xavier anywhere. Strangely, he noticed patrols leaving the Saint-Laurent home on a regular basis, so he ran to the house and asked for Catherine, though it violated Anthony’s rule. To Thomas’s chagrin, Maria came to the door.
“Catherine’s gone. Go away.”
She tried to slam the door in his face but he caught it.
“Maria, I don’t like you any more than you like me. Answer one question.”
“What?”
“Why do these patrols leave the house?”
“They’re looking for Xavier.”
The door swung toward him again.
“Wait. What do you mean?”
“You said one question.”
Thomas smashed his fist into the door and paid no attention to how it slammed into the wall, Maria just jumping out of the way.
“Where is he?”
“Would they have to search for him if we knew?”
“Stop it.”
“Michel was murdered yesterday. By a mob. Xavier saw it, he was upset, he argued with Catherine and then me. When we went to find him later he was gone. That’s all we know. Catherine is out looking and we have men searching, too. Now get out of here and don’t return. You’re not welcome here, unless you know where Xavier is.”
“No, I don’t,” Thomas said meekly. He allowed Maria to shove him out the door and bang it behind him. He fled into the street and began his quest. Michel, dead? And Xavier witnessed it? Where was Xavier?
First Thomas checked the obvious places like the church and the Seine but found nothing. He even tried to remember the various secret places that Xavier had revealed to him, but each of these memories brought only pain.
He almost lost control and violated the ethic when he spied Marcel in his shop, mixing some concoction with three young women in the room, all obviously drugged. He hated this man.
“Where’s Xavier?”
“None of my business, as you know.” Marcel dropped the spoon he had been using behind his back, as if Thomas would not see it.
“Stop toying with me. Do you know where he went?”
“No. I’ve upheld our bargain. And I’d get out if I were you, because this is my lair.” Thomas left when his scalp started to tingle.
He next got a predictable reaction from Anthony when he spoke with him. More cautioning and admonitions that Thomas stay out of it. After Thomas told him that no one could find Xavier, Anthony reluctantly allowed Thomas to search on the condition that, if he found Xavier, he had to tell Catherine without interacting with the abbé.
On tonight’s search, Thomas turned down a narrow street where he had seen people selling opium. Perhaps Xavier had turned to something more powerful than wine as he built a resistance to alcohol. But Thomas found only a couple of prostitutes and their pimp.
“Hey, mate, you look like you could use a lay,” the man shouted after him. Thomas surged ahead. “You deaf?”
Though inaudible to humans, Thomas’s keen senses heard the knife cut through the air toward his back. In one swift motion he turned and grabbed it, making his hand bleed as he held it tightly and advanced methodically toward the man and his whores. Thomas glowered, stopped a couple of feet away, and lifted the knife before them. He cut off his finger and allowed it to heal before their eyes. One woman fainted while the
other screamed horrifically as the man stared in disbelief until Thomas planted the knife between the pimp’s eyes down to the handle. He twisted it around when Anthony roared into his ear as he strangled the prostitute.
“Enough!”
“He tried to kill me. I’m sure it fits within the ethic.”
Anthony glanced around and sneered at Thomas before yanking his arm. Thomas followed willingly, despondent more than anything, thinking that a berating from Anthony would at least amuse him. Inside Anthony’s flat, Thomas started the conversation. “You humor me by coming after me all the time. If I violated the code then kill me. Otherwise accept me for the vampire I’ve become. I’m independent, Anthony. I can only obey so many edicts before my emotion governs the day. Why should vampires lose passion because we hide our identities?”
“It has nothing to do with emotion, Thomas. It’s your irrational behavior.”
“He was a fiend.”
“I’m not defending him. I’m talking about the twisting of the knife inside his skull as some poor woman, who was probably terrorized by him, watched in horror. That makes sense to you?”
Thomas shrugged. “I’m searching for Xavier. Surely you’d bring your mate back from the dead if you could? I may have that chance. Why do you so begrudge me that?”
Anthony wiped his eyes and ran his fingers through his long, blonde hair before plopping into a chair and looking up at Thomas.
“How many times do I need to say it? I’ve no issue with your emotion or passion, or whatever you call it. I’d gladly sanction a relationship for you if it made you happy. I’m also accustomed to your anger and realize that you somehow control it most of the time. For better or worse, you’ve a flair for the theatrical.”
“Then why do you lead me around and stop me all the time?”
“Because I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Anthony got up and paced, scratching his chin with his long, elegant fingers. He slowly moved toward the window and spoke with his back to Thomas. “Then listen to me. You consistently turn these conversations into a forum for how much we care about each other, but that has little to do with it. My admonitions have nothing to do with my love or respect for you. We can disagree without threatening this relationship. Nor do my comments have as much to do with the ethic as you think. I know that you think some vampire coven watches everything that all vampires do and then administers punishments for those who fail to obey our laws. I’m sworn to secrecy about the exact nature of this group, but you needn’t worry about anyone swooping in and condemning you. It’d have to be quite an egregious offense and risk the safety of more than just yourself before this force is mobilized, and I’d alert you well in advance. Though you’re loath to admit it, my concern is for you and your well-being when you’re alone.”
Anthony turned from the window and looked at Thomas. A lamp gave him a halo, like an angel sent from heaven.
“You’re young, Thomas, regardless of how worldly you feel. You can’t understand the stamina it takes to live for centuries. Your impatience is a problem. You can hardly wait for an hour, let alone a decade, or perhaps much, much longer, before you find a mate. I had one and have looked for centuries to replace him and have yet to do it. You can’t jump into bed with the first beauty that you meet if he’s not amenable to the situation.”
Anthony grabbed Thomas’s hand, moved them to the couch and sat, putting his arm around Thomas and squeezing tightly.
“This situation has put you in a foul mood. You’re ruthless on a good day, let alone when something angers you. You insist that Xavier’s the one, but he hasn’t even accepted his attraction to other men. How will someone with such a deep Christian faith ever deal with vampirism? All I want, Thomas, is for you to be happy and adjust to this new life as easily as possible. You may fail, and I don’t want it to devastate you. When I see you terrorize people and stalk the streets like a madman, I worry. What happens if you find Xavier dead? What if you find him and he casts you out? Can you handle that brutal honesty?”
Thomas did not know the answer but shook his head to show that he listened.
“One more thing. I apologize for the bluntness, but Xavier is lost. He’s gone. This isn’t the character of someone who can handle the life that we lead. How could he feed himself when all he wants is to save people? I think you’re on a hopeless mission.”
He finally said it. The brutal truth. Thomas was not angry. On the contrary. He had to hear this. Thomas hugged Anthony. “You’re wrong about him, and I intend to find him. I’ll keep you informed.”
Catherine: Death to Tyrants
21 January 1793
CATHERINE HEADED TOWARD the Saint-Laurent home, numb as usual, because much troubled her about the government, the revolution, and all that happened around her. But her heart’s sorrow dwarfed those concerns. Losing two brothers in one year had deflated her, so she existed by ignoring her emotions, or at least trying to.
She had wandered into the street earlier that day only after her friend had burst into her office and insisted that she come immediately. She had followed, though hardly surprised by the news and reluctant to witness whatever demonic plans the fiends had concocted for Louis. But she followed nonetheless.
This latest government had trumped up charges against Louis. Of all things, they accused the monarch of treason against his own country. Catherine thought it ludicrous. You could call him neglectful, aloof, stubborn, aristocratic, or certainly absorbed in his power and blinded by his alleged divine calling. But Louis was not a traitor to France. Yet Paris buzzed with excitement because treason was a capital offense— they had to execute Louis.
The crowd propelled her toward the scene.
First Louis stepped down from his carriage and shook off the guards as they attempted to remove his clothing, which he did himself. First the greatcoat and then his hat, shirt, and collar. He recoiled indignantly when the guards went to bind his hands, but finally acquiesced. He yielded his hands and took on the appearance of a commoner about to suffer public execution. There was a dignity, however, to the way that Louis carried himself.
Louis stood beside the scaffolding that had been crudely constructed to hold the guillotine, upright and rigid as if at Versailles with a foreign diplomat. He fought to maintain decorum, even to the bitter end acting as king. Perhaps there was a bit of honor in the odd little man after all. Catherine remembered seeing him at official palace functions, long before the revolution, which she attended as her father’s escort. He had been haughty yet slightly overwhelmed with the attention, and Catherine was struck more by his short, pudgy build than his rank. Today, after all the stress and turmoil, he finally overcame that awkwardness.
Quite suddenly, even the boisterous crowd quieted at the awe of this event. Catherine and everyone gave full attention as Louis ascended the stairs toward death. The drums tapped for effect, beating the heartbeat of Paris as it pumped out a diseased political system.
When Louis reached the guillotine, he signaled for the drummers to stop, who obeyed, and he spoke to the crowd in a loud voice: “I forgive those who are guilty of my death, and I pray to God that the blood that you are about to shed may never be required of France. I only sanctioned upon compulsion the Civil Constitution of the Clergy—”
An officer broke in and ordered the drummers to continue, cutting Louis short. Catherine jumped when the bang of wooden drumsticks met canvas drumheads. The entire plaza filled with this deadly cadence.
The men positioned Louis on the guillotine and let the blade fall, but it failed to severe his head. Perhaps because of his fat or a defect in the wicked machine, they had to lift the thing and do it again. It took a great effort to again slam the blade into his neck before the king’s head finally fell before the crowd. A hush fell over the throng as a young guard hoisted the head before them. There was a moment of silence before shouts of “Vive la Nation” and “Vive la République” filled the air. People ran forward with handkerchiefs
and scarves in an attempt to get a drop of the royal blood as it dripped from the severed neck onto the crowd.
That was enough madness for Catherine. She shoved her way through the people, no easy task since most pushed toward the scaffolding. With effort, she got through the crowd and headed home. It was on this walk that she realized what she was becoming.
But her true despondency came from her personal plight. She had lost two brothers to this madness. Two. Catherine had lived for her family, and now it was gone.
Her mind drifted each day to the cemetery a few months before when she buried her older brother. It was a bitter, lonely day, standing before the coffin as it disappeared into the ground. And, though she wept often for Michel, her tears that day and most others were for Xavier.
In a nefarious mood, Catherine had rebuked Xavier and his drinking, causing him to disappear into Paris’s darkness. Why had she lashed out at the one man who needed sensitivity more than any other in France? She chastised herself again and again for driving him away. And so the funeral had become a punishment that she suffered alone.
For five months she had searched for Xavier, had organized patrols, and marshaled everything at her command to find him. Some days she found her confidence, but other days brought horrific images of Xavier, drowned in a river or murdered for spite.
Today the latter ruled. Catherine was sure that Xavier was as dead as Louis.
As she neared the house, she saw Maria standing in the front parlor. Even this innocent nun, too rigid in her ways but very caring, brought nothing but sorrow because she reminded her constantly of Xavier.
“Catherine, did you hear?” Maria asked.
“News about Xavier?” she looked up, hopeful.
Maria cast her eyes to the floor. “No, about Louis.”
“I saw it.”
“You were there?”
“Yes, and there’s little to tell. They marched him before everyone and unceremoniously whacked off his head after a couple of tries.”