“Is something funny?” Thomas asked.
“If you really want this friendship, then I must begin with a confession, one I think you already know. I don’t have friends.” He raised his hand to ward off any response from Thomas just yet. “I know. It sounds preposterous, but I have colleagues and parishioners, and I have a deeply intimate relationship with my family. But I live with a sense of obligation to humanity that has never allowed for personal relationships.”
“I did guess as much. But you should revel in life from time to time. You’ll find that I take things to the opposite extreme. I’ll teach you all that you wish and more. May we sit?”
“Of course.”
Xavier ushered him toward a bench, with only a faint lantern for illumination. Thomas sat next to him and looked into his eyes. The proximity aroused Xavier, sending panic through his body as his stimulation increased. Before either of them said anything, Thomas laughed aloud.
“Abbé, you astound me. Why are you petrified? Your face is bright red.”
“Please, it’s Xavier.” He had never said that to anyone outside his family. The church strictly forbade intimacy between curé and flock, and Xavier was not close to any of his colleagues except one nun.
“Xavier it is, then. Do you always look so distressed?”
“No, really—not usually. I just don’t know what to do with this...friendship.” He said the word slowly, savoring it, uncertain what it meant.
“Well, what can I
do
to help?”
“I’m not sure. What do we do?”
“I see I have my work cut out for me,” Thomas said dryly. “We just do what we did last night. We talk and learn from each other. And there will be times we need to help each other. I’ll never need a priest, but I may need companionship.” Thomas patted Xavier on the back, sending shivers down Xavier’s spine. “It’s exceedingly difficult to explain how friendship works, but we’ll manage. Make this agreement with me. We’ll just enjoy the company, and when you need clarification or feel the urge to apologize, tell me and we’ll address those concerns as they come.”
“I’ll do my best, but tell me when I fail.”
“You’ll never have to guess about my feelings. In fact, I already have a concern.”
“What is that, Thomas?”
“I hear a lot of anticlerical sentiment in Paris. What keeps you safe?”
Xavier shrugged. “They lash out at the establishment. My parish never threatens me. True, worship attendance has suffered, but I don’t fear the people I serve.”
“Will the militia assist you?”
“There’s no need for such extreme measures. They attack that which threatens them, and this small church in no way endangers these people. You already know that I share many of their sentiments.”
Thomas seemed assuaged and for the next hour, they chatted as they had the night before, about the riots, government, and Paris. The more they talked, the more Xavier relaxed. But his initial hesitance embarrassed him. He found Thomas’s familiarity liberating and fun, with no inhibitions or threat of condemnation. Perhaps friendship was as simple as this, and as they quietly talked behind the church, Xavier lost track of time. He was jolted out of this leisure, however, when he heard steps echoing up the catacomb’s entrance behind the church.
Oh, no. How could he forget Maria? All of this talk of friendship and he had forgotten his one friend. Well, his one friend in the Catholic Church. Nor could he forget about Anne, the former slave laundress who he visited regularly to discuss theology. She and Maria both qualified as friends. Perhaps his problem with friendship had to do with male friendships and not friendship in general? Maria and he had arranged a visit this evening to ensure the secrecy of their plans without the watchful eye of church authorities, and in his infatuation with Thomas, he had forgotten.
Xavier jumped off the bench and away from Thomas too late. Thomas looked befuddled and then saw the approaching figure. The plump nun, dressed in black, stood quietly.
“Is this a bad time, abbé?”
“Sister, good evening. No, not at all. Please come,” Xavier said. As he floundered around, unsure what to say, Thomas rose and headed toward the gate. He nodded his head and smiled, as if to say he understood, though Xavier worried that he had offended him.
“Good night, abbé. Thank you for your counsel. It has brought me comfort.” Thomas walked away into the night and Xavier stared after him, then caught himself and turned to Maria.
“Did you forget our plans?”
“Of course not. The gentleman sought comfort about a...a business and personal matter.”
“Is there anything wrong?”
Xavier wiped his brow, and noticed that his hand was shaking. “No.”
She raised her eyebrow at him, skeptical, but he ushered her into the sanctuary and closed the door. She walked forward in silence. Xavier’s heart pounded as he followed. Did she suspect? Did she somehow know?
16 May 1789 Late evening
THOMAS LEFT XAVIER with the nun, glancing back only to show that all was fine between them. Xavier’s sudden jump from the bench and startled expression had shocked Thomas, but when he saw the nun appear from the catacombs, he understood, and watched as the nun and priest went into the church, then he swooned at the outline of Xavier’s head, loving the mere shadows that the beautiful abbé cast. He had to leave before he jumped through the window and ravaged the priest’s body.
Thomas walked through Paris, never bored with watching humanity. Being confined to the night did not bother him. Others longed for the sun and questioned the goodness of their souls while they pronounced themselves evil. Not Thomas. He never wondered about such divine nonsense. Instead, he reveled in eternal life and his power. As far as watching people, he found the night proved infinitely more interesting than the daylight. People did more entertaining things under cover of darkness and indulged in forbidden pleasures or masked their crimes.
When Anthony made him, he had taught Thomas quickly to only feed on criminals and to never touch the innocent. Anthony commanded him to obey this ethic, that no other lesson meant more. Thomas smiled, thinking about how Anthony also agreed with him about the vampire’s soul. He saw no overt evil or alliance with a devil. Rather, he saw a transformation through the blood that his kind kept hidden from mortals. Oh, how Anthony had sounded like an Enlightenment era philosopher. But Thomas held to the code.
He walked toward his favorite bars in Paris, craving people. A man’s blood. Thomas licked his lips. Xavier, that innocent, angelic priest, brought out the worst in him. He grinned at the irony and set to work hunting to quell his rising hunger.
It never took long in these modern cities to find fitting victims. One only had to look into another’s eyes to view evil. People seldom disguised their natures because they felt that nothing threatened them. Indeed, a likely candidate for this night’s amusement suddenly stood before Thomas. Moments later he left the degenerate soul dead in the alley. Thomas wiped the blood carefully off his mouth, avoiding another taste of it so as not to see a repeat of the man’s murderous existence. The one curse that came with his vampirism was the fact that in tasting the blood he also saw the victim’s life pass before his eyes.
Fed, Thomas felt better, but he had tired of watching people and Paris, so he dashed through the darkened, damp streets to his flat.
Inside, he reveled in the serenity of his home, removing his clothing. He had always loved being naked. Thomas liked the feel of different wooden chairs or plush velvet on his skin, and his vampire senses heightened this pleasure. He sank into his favorite silk chair.
Without meaning to and within minutes he had pleasured himself. The young man from the night before barely satisfied him. He wanted something deeper. And so it served his purposes more to satisfy the urges alone, to envision Xavier underneath him, clinging in love.
Ah, Xavier. You haunt me
. Thomas frowned, thinking about him. Could the priest ever accept his own sexual longings? Thomas had no such qualms himself. In contrast, Thomas saw fear on Xavier’s face when they sat near one another, or when Thomas intentionally brushed his hand against Xavier’s. Sighing, Thomas stood and began pacing throughout his apartment. What to do? He ached for Xavier but the mere thought irritated him. He had known Xavier for only two days. How could he possibly possess such strong feelings?
Yet he could not delude himself. Thomas spent almost every moment contemplating making Xavier his mate. The one thing that he longed for, the one area of his life that remained unfulfilled and empty, was the absence of a partner. He knew that this emptiness made him bitter and angry at times. Perhaps Xavier would solve this issue for him. He had no doubt that Xavier would enjoy the passive role and want the protection Thomas offered, if only he would yield to his sexual longings. Perhaps, after Xavier accepted the love of another man, it would destroy his faith in that damnable Catholic Church and allow Thomas to tell him who he really was.
Thomas laughed. His confidence astounded even him. He stood gazing out into the night, thinking. How to proceed? Anthony had made the lessons simple for him, about how easy it seemed to navigate through eternity. But he had failed to explain that emotion persisted in the darkness, that desire for love and companionship intensified the longer Thomas remained alone. True, Anthony had mentioned the need for a mate and had hoped for such companionship from Thomas, but both proved too strong-willed to stay with each other as lovers.
Yet in all those lessons, Anthony had failed to mention the intensity of these feelings that Xavier had brought to the forefront of Thomas’s existence. And now, how could he convince Xavier to accept sex with another man? And how would he react to the possibility of eternal life? Would the priest in him see only sin and damnation? And if all of that happened, how could he secure a bond with Xavier?
Thomas wrapped a silk robe around himself and went onto the balcony. The still darkness of this street surrounded him with peace. But in his mind, loneliness plagued him. He knew it now more than ever and realized that he wanted a lifemate.
24 May 1789 Afternoon
WHAT WAS XAVIER hiding. For the past few days, he had left earlier each night. They spent almost every evening together, having dinner, reading, and talking until they were too tired to continue. But recently he left even before sunset, mentioning some nonsense about obligations and work, but Catherine suspected that he was hiding something. As they sat together again this evening, talking about the day’s events, she listened for a while but finally stopped him.
“Where do you go when you leave here?”
“Go?”
“At night, when you leave here.” Catherine poured more tea and took a sip. “You’re doing something. You can’t hide from me.” She looked at him pointedly. “You leave before dusk now, and I want to know why.”
“I return to the church,” he hedged.
“To do what?”
“What do you want to know?” Xavier’s face turned red, betraying him.
Comprehension dawned. “You’ve met someone! Who is it?”
Xavier looked at the floor and fumbled with the cross dangling from his neck.
“You’re seeing someone. I knew it.” She sat back, surprised but delighted. “Tell me everything.”
“Catherine, please.” Xavier looked around the room. “I took a vow of celibacy. There’s no woman in my life.”
“I never said that.” She wanted to blurt out that she knew Xavier fancied men over women but thought better of it.
“Fine. I have a friend from America who visits. There’s nothing else. We talk about many things. He isn’t Catholic.” Xavier leaned forward with a huge grin. “This sounds ridiculous, but he’s my friend. Except for you and Anne, I don’t have anyone from outside the church to talk to. So that’s my secret. Rather anti-climactic. I didn’t tell you because it sounds so trifling.”
“Well, thank you for doing so. I’ll leave you alone...for now. We just got through the anniversary of father’s death and now today arrives. How are you?”
“I know this day affects you and Michel. It certainly hurt father, but I only reflect upon it mildly. I obviously can’t recall it.”
Catherine strained to remember their mother, strained to remember that fateful day. The Saint-Laurent household had buzzed with excitement because the promised baby was soon to arrive. She and Michel heard over and over about the responsibility they had in helping raise it and comforting their mother after the birth. Catherine and Michel had waited patiently in the adjacent room to their mother’s quarters when suddenly, the nurse raced out and shouted for the butler to get a doctor. Soon thereafter, their father ran through the room without looking at them. When he got into the bedroom, he roared with grief. It was the first sound they heard from behind the door, their father wailing and beating his fists against the wall.
The nurses pushed him out of the room, and he fell into a chair, broken, his hands limp at his sides.
Then Catherine heard the baby. She recalled vividly, the memory burned into her young mind. A baby was crying.
The nurse brought the small bundle into the room. “Monsieur, he needs you,” she said to their father. “More than before, this baby will need you. Take him.” She thrust the child into his arms and retreated to the birthing room.
Tears streamed down his face as he clutched the babe in his arms. Michel sat at attention in the corner, bewildered. Not Catherine. She had had enough and slid off the sofa, going toward her father. She crept up to him and glanced at the baby.
“Papa? Who is it?”
Her father, despondent, gathered his senses and looked at her. In retrospect, she realized that at that moment he accepted the responsibility of caring for these three children on his own. He smiled through his tears and held her hand. “This is Xavier, darling. Michel, come here and meet your brother.” Michel had plodded across the room and gazed at the baby. With one arm holding the baby, their father embraced his other two children in a hug and resumed crying. And then he told them that their mother had not survived.