by Damian Serbu
“Marcel and I are perfectly fine,” Catherine said. “I told my brother a thousand times that it was no concern of his. The same applies to you. How dare you insult my fiancé?”
“Can’t someone disagree with you?” Jérémie retorted.
“I don’t see why all of you dwell on it.”
“Marriage is something to dwell upon. You raced into this without ever exploring other men who might love you even more. Did you ever think that you could have independence and love? Without the strangeness of Marcel?”
“He’s not strange.”
“Catherine, he is. You’re blind. With everyone else, you assess situations logically, even when you hate them or love them. But with this you’re utterly blind.”
“This is about that ridiculous idea about a spell, isn’t it?”
“You know about it?” Jérémie stared at her.
“I know that Anne has a crazy idea that Marcel has me under some spell with a love potion.”
“I don’t think that you need to demean what Anne believes.”
“Dammit, I just want all of you to stay out of this. Stay out of my life. Stay out of my decisions. I can make them on my own. I was happy to see you again, but if this is our new relationship, I think it best if you leave.”
Catherine planted herself in front of him. He grew quiet and the meek Jérémie returned.
“Forgive me, I only wanted to suggest that there may be others who love you, too, and deserve a chance. I at least deserve the right to be heard if I’m to respect your wishes in return.”
Catherine touched Jérémie’s arm as a sign of peace. She had not meant to be that harsh.
“We’re still friends?” she asked.
“Of course,” Jérémie said and kissed her on the cheek.
Thomas: Bewitched
20 June 1793
THOMAS AWOKE EUPHORICALLY every night, more excited about life than even when Anthony first embraced him with that fatal kiss. He rushed to take care of a few business matters, donned his black cloak, and headed out. His patience had not wavered, his anger had been in check, and he had controlled himself entirely since his transformation. He even considered writing to Anthony.
As usual, he first went to see Xavier from afar and smiled at the beautiful night. The stars shined brightly and the moon illuminated even the darkest allies. He had almost turned down Rue St. Denis when a familiar voice echoed down a passageway. A stone arch blackened the scene, but Thomas had heard Marcel. The fiend. Here was someone who still tried his patience.
Despite promising to obey the ethic and not interfere in Catherine’s affairs, Thomas wanted to see what Marcel was doing. He slid along the stone, barely making a move or sound. Candlelight shown from around a corner, so Thomas peeked.
Marcel sat there, picking through the pockets of several jackets while laughing. The sight disgusted even Thomas. Marcel had piled a stack of dead, naked and rotting bodies in the corner to scavenge. Thomas almost left to avoid breaking Marcel’s neck, but before he moved Marcel got up. Thomas jumped to the ceiling and clung to the stones. He had avoided detection. Marcel was out of the passage in seconds. As he turned the corner, Thomas saw that he carried a small, green velvet bag.
Thomas followed.
Marcel stalked through Paris, clutching the bag as if someone might steal it. To hide himself, Thomas swung onto a nearby roof and watched from above by jumping from building to building.
After a few blocks, Marcel stopped suddenly, cocked his head, and listened. Thomas heard the same thing: a man was down a small street, peeing on the side of a building. Marcel glanced around and reached into his bag. He looked at a couple of vials of powder, selected one, and slunk toward the unsuspecting victim. Marcel startled the poor man, who jerked around to face Marcel.
“Sorry to alarm you,” Marcel said jovially. At the same time, he took a pinch of his powder and flicked it at the man. Under his breath he whispered, “Signpost.”
“I—what...oh my,” the man said.
When Marcel first approached, the man stopped peeing but could not lift his trousers. He fumbled for them, but whatever Marcel cast at him aroused the poor gent, who fondled himself. Acting as if alone, he dropped his pants completely, hugged an apothecary’s signpost, and gyrated against it.
Thomas shadowed Marcel a few more blocks and watched him infect two other people with different mixes. A woman became insanely enraged and screamed at everyone, while a second man wet himself and cried with fear, screaming that a huge rat chased him.
Marcel next approached a young child crying in the street, alone and afraid. He reached into his bag and knelt before the little boy, saying something soothing though the child grimaced. When he rubbed an ointment in the child’s hair, another figure approached. As this intruder got closer, the child fell into odd laughter and batted at imagined bugs flying through the air. Marcel got up to see who drew near and then suddenly ducked.
Thomas recognized Xavier at once. Why this? Why such a test of his patience?
Xavier picked the child up, held him closely, and muttered about adults’ irresponsibility when he saw Marcel in the dark. Then, the priest, perplexed, noticed that the boy failed to respond to him.
“What did you do to him?” Xavier asked the shadowy figure.
The boy giggled but never acknowledged Xavier, so Xavier put him down, prompting him to chase more imaginary bugs. Xavier glared at Marcel, then his eyes grew wide with fright.
“Who are you?”
He backed up slowly, ignoring the child and trembling. Thomas, afraid that Marcel would attack Xavier with one of those potions, wanted to swoop down. But what if his presence confused Xavier? He clutched the ledge of a roof until the bricks crumbled in his hands.
Then, without another word, Xavier ran. He snatched up the boy and raced as fast as he could away from Marcel and the evil he was concocting.
Marcel followed and closed the distance between them, Xavier at a disadvantage because of the child in his arms. Marcel fumbled in his bag for something as Thomas jumped from roof to roof behind them.
For better or worse, Thomas leaped off the building and landed in Marcel’s path. Marcel dropped the bag and halted in shock. Regaining his senses, he snatched it up and scowled when he recognized Thomas.
“You wretched beast, I thought we had a deal,” Thomas said.
“And you—I thought you were gone.”
“Clearly, I’m not. So you wanted to hurt him?”
“He got in my way this time. I didn’t seek him.”
Thomas raised his hand to strike Marcel and send him against the wall—he ignored the ethic out of necessity. But Marcel threw something in his face. The powder stung. Thomas closed his eyes and wiped at them as blood tears ran down his cheeks. In but a few seconds his body healed, but this was long enough for Marcel to disappear.
Fearing the worst, Thomas raced toward Xavier and found him a few blocks away, giving the child water with Marcel nowhere in sight.
Thomas sucked in a few deep breaths and watched Xavier care for the child. When the boy came to his senses, he cried all the harder and pleaded to go home. Xavier inquired why he was alone, and the boy explained that he lived in an orphanage but that many of the priests and nuns had gone, so the boys frequently went out. He had wandered away from the older boys and gotten lost. Xavier comforted him and slowly guided him back to a dwelling, where a kind old man scolded him softly and took him inside.
Thomas followed Xavier until he returned home, where Catherine waited on the steps.
“Did you go to him?” she asked.
Xavier slapped his sister lightly on the arm and laughed. “Will you leave me alone?”
“Every night I hope that you’ll come to your senses and go to him, instead of pining away like a damsel in distress.”
“Catherine, people might hear you.”
Thomas smiled. Xavier and Catherine’s love calmed all of the nerves that Marcel had tweaked. He walked away contented, ev
en thrilled because he had passed this first test of his new patience. He had stayed in the background until absolutely necessary, and still he had not interfered with the abbé.
Which reminded Thomas, he had a letter to write, so he ran to his flat and picked up his quill. He wrote furiously, a long and impassioned letter, telling Anthony everything that had happened since he had stormed away. Only then did he notice his fatigue, brought on by failing to feed in several days. He carefully searched Paris and easily found another worthy victim before returning to his quarters for sleep.
Xavier: Revelations
28 June 1793
THE PREVIOUS EVENING, Xavier had taken a long walk alone to confirm what he wanted. The last month had cleared his mind and given him confidence to follow his dreams. He was ready. When he had gotten home the night before after reflecting upon the past month, he left a note on Catherine’s door, asking if they could dine the following day. Being an early riser, Catherine apparently raced to Xavier’s room immediately and barged in as the sun began to rise on this day.
“Let’s do breakfast instead of dinner,” she said and tugged at his covers.
“For heaven’s sake. Are you a rooster?”
“Come on.”
Xavier rolled over and pretended to fall asleep, so Catherine tickled him mercilessly until he promised to join her. She left and he dressed hurriedly and went downstairs, where Catherine paced the room.
“What is it? What has you so excited this morning?”
Catherine punched him in the arm and forced him into a chair. “You won’t get a bite to eat until you explain this note.” She waved it in his face.
“I’m ready,” he said.
“For what?”
“It’s time, that’s all. Nothing has changed, but I’m prepared. I want to take the next step.”
“Which is what?” Catherine asked.
“You act as if you’ve no idea. I want to find Thomas.”
Catherine squealed and jumped up to hug Xavier.
“I’ve been waiting to hear that.”
“Catherine, settle down. Help me with this.”
“Help you? Don’t you need to do it on your own?”
“I’ve no idea where to find him.”
“I think I know,” Catherine said but hesitated. “It will have to be toward evening. I can show you where to look. What about the church? Does this mean you’re leaving the priesthood?”
Xavier nodded his head solemnly. To follow his dreams meant defying the church. He could not lead a double life. He was leaving the priesthood forever. “Yes, I’m leaving.”
“Well, you know there’s no worry financially. I never approved entirely of the church. You’ll be much happier out of it.”
Catherine’s eyes filled with tears without warning and Xavier worried that he had upset her. “Michel would be so happy for you. He worried as much as I did about you in that church and how it stifled you. I wish he could see you today.”
Xavier cried, too, though with more anguish than Catherine, knowing that Michel’s killer still lurked in their lives.
After breakfast, Xavier kissed Catherine on the cheek and said that he had other people to tell. She, too, ran off to begin her day, so Xavier went into the sitting room to meet Denys, who sat amidst a sea of papers as part of his new duties: salon accountant. The man who always wore the clothes of a worker sat in formal attire.
“I’ll never get used to seeing you as a gentleman.”
“Abbé,” Denys said, “and you in citizen’s clothing.”
“Denys, I have something to tell you,” Xavier said as they took seats opposite one another. “I’ve a number of people to tell and I’m worried about disappointing you. You’ve done so much for me—”
“Abbé, you’ve done as much for me and everyone else.”
Xavier fumbled with his shirt buttons, searching for his cross, and then ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m leaving the priesthood.”
“Why would that disappoint me?”
“I didn’t want you to think I’d abandoned my flock.”
“Nothing will change how I feel about you, not even this. We’re friends, which I hope is a deeper bond than that between parishioner and the man assigned to him from Rome.”
The two men hugged, said goodbye, and Xavier started down the hall. Where Xavier expected resistance, he found love and support.
“So, you don’t consult those you pretended were your friends. You abandon everything that was important and forsake God—the one thing that you should cling to.” There stood Maria, behind the door, eavesdropping.
“I was coming to find you next. You’re more important to me than that.”
Maria grunted and pushed past him.
“Wait.” Xavier tugged her arm.
She whipped around angrily. “You abandon your vows and expect understanding?”
“Why are you so angry?”
“Because we’ve an obligation to these people, and instead you become as fickle as a dog, swaying this way and that, giving them nothing. How can you cast God aside?”
“I haven’t changed what I believe. But I know that I can do that and take care of myself at the same time. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I suppose this means that you intend to disappear with that heathen Thomas.”
This hostility from Maria, his friend, shocked Xavier. Maria and he had never obeyed every edict of the Catholic Church or even believed its theology. So why this anger? Unable to keep his frustration inside, Xavier yanked her into a nearby parlor and slammed the door.
“How dare you? How dare you question my commitment to helping people?”
“I’m not the one who ran away.”
“Who are you to judge? Did they make you bishop of Paris recently?”
“We made promises to each other, and to everyone. We made vows. There are rules to follow and standards. You can’t just throw them out the window on a whim.”
“For the love of God, Maria, listen to yourself and then look at your own life. You run around with a pack of nuns as lovers. How is that different? You act like a dog that thinks no one knows what it’s done unless they witness the act. You even pretend that Catherine doesn’t know. And don’t preach to me about it being different because you keep it in the church.”
Maria turned bright red, but whether out of anger or embarrassment he didn’t know. “And don’t tell me about my responsibility to that dying church. Why do you cling to something that so many people question? As the Catholic Church collapses in its blind hierarchy, why do you still hide behind it?”
“You’re such an elitist,” she snapped. “Of course you can’t understand, with all of your wealth and manhood to protect you. I don’t have the resources to just take up whatever fancies me at a particular moment. And did you forget that we’re single women? What, pray tell, did you think our options were if we left the nunnery? Marriage to a man? Spinsterhood? Think about it. This was the only option that offered some independence. We did it because it was safe.”
“Why does that condemn me for leaving?” Xavier asked, baffled.
“Because—oh, forget it and go lead your selfish life and leave me alone.”
The two fell silent.
“Maria,” Xavier said quietly and walked toward her.
“No. You can’t choose to have everything exactly as you want it,” she said and left the room.
Part X: I Know the One My Heart Loves
Xavier: Ringing of the Bells
29 July 1793
FINALLY THIS MORNING the screaming mobs stopped startling Xavier. He sat in complete darkness on the porch, watching the occasional passerby and wondering when this latest rioting would stop. He had tried to search for Thomas last night but the uprisings made it too dangerous, so he waited on the porch, hoping Thomas might chance by. But another name plagued Xavier’s mind.
Maximillan Robespierre. The very name sent shudders through him. Two days ago the man took control of
the Committee on Public Safety and transformed it into a private police force that seemed intent on initiating a reign of terror. How he had seized such power baffled Xavier, but since his rise he had further attacked the church, and any peasant or citizen who dared question him found themselves on the guillotine. Robespierre first went quietly about his business until Parisians had had enough and, in the fashion of the day, rioted in protest, which engulfed Paris in total chaos.
Xavier usually disliked sitting on the porch without candlelight. He had feared the dark since childhood. But tonight it offered relief. He had the perfect vantage point for observing people without detection. He sat in shadows when a small group of about ten people approached the door. The guards blocked their way because Catherine and Jérémie had ordered tighter security until the rioting subsided, but they patiently explained their purpose.
“Please sir,” an elderly woman begged, “we must see our abbé.”
Xavier could not resist the soft pleading of this woman who had supported him earnestly in his old parish. He walked to the ledge and looked down.
“Good evening.” Each of their faces lit up at his voice.
“Abbé, we’ve a request of you,” the elderly woman began.
“What is it?” Xavier asked.
This time, a well-respected carpenter in his late fifties responded.
“Abbé, they burned our church to the ground. All the priests refuse to come to our neighborhood. But, abbé, can you do one thing for us?”