“Can you believe it?” Thomas asked. “We have found him. They’re on their way. Let’s follow. They’ll never know.”
“No spying.”
“I won’t reveal myself.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Oh, don’t always spoil things. There’s no harm in my seeing him. I promise not to let them know I’m watching.”
“Did you listen?” Anthony raised his arms in the air in exasperation. “That’s not what I said. When Catherine or Xavier, or someone, decides that it’s time to bring you back to him, Catherine knows where to find you. She’s been faithful to your friendship. Leave it to her.”
“I will, I will.” Thomas stopped and tried to pull Anthony the other way.
“Hold on. Have you thought about the implications?
Catherine
has accepted you, not Xavier. Did you ever think that he’ll resent the man who almost whacked his head off? Did you ever consider that his love for you may be in the past?
Leave it alone.
”
Thomas grabbed Anthony’s shoulders as an involuntary smile illuminated his face. “I love him. I must see him. Something in my heart tells me that all of those worries will go away given the right amount of time.” He kissed Anthony on the cheek, and Anthony reciprocated without a word. Then Thomas slapped Anthony on the back and quickly skipped away.
Breezing past everyone too quickly for the human eye to see, Thomas caught up with Catherine and Denys. They walked for some time along the river until all traces of humanity stopped. Thomas sensed at once that they had entered a protected zone created by Anne, like the one around her laundress flat—an aura surrounded it that forbade evil and threatened those who defied her.
To avoid detection, Thomas followed far behind in the darkness. He made his move when Anne and Xavier saw Catherine and the two embraced. The distraction allowed him to move to the other side of the bridge and perch on the stone arch. The shadows hid him, as did the inaccessibility of his position. Carefully settled, Thomas took in the scene. There was his abbé! Thomas was happy, too, for Catherine as she clung to her brother and lost control. He sobbed quietly with them.
The minutes flew by as Thomas heard that Xavier had stopped drinking, and he rejoiced to learn about Xavier leaving behind his strict Catholicism. Not to mention the illusions Xavier had about loving men, or perhaps a specific man. He could only hope.
Thomas watched Xavier when he walked toward the river, the lay clothes revealing the muscles that he had always hidden underneath his robes, and the familiar gait, too, sent shivers through him.
Then, without warning, this happiness evaporated and tension returned. Thomas gripped the stone hard enough that it crumbled as Anne told Catherine about Xavier’s transformation. Thomas thought he misheard at first. But no, he was correct. How could they be so nonchalant? What did this mean?
A sailor? A dirty, whore sailor?
Impossible.
Thomas fought for control as the anger built. Xavier was his! Thomas was supposed to bring Xavier into this life, not some filthy wretch who lived among the rats.
Thomas held onto the bridge in an attempt to stabilize his emotions. This anger was wrong. He could hear Anthony admonish him, yet it mounted out of control. Was he angry with Xavier? No. The sailor deserved punishment. The sailor must suffer.
He sat for a long time as Catherine, Anne, and Xavier, his Xavier, conversed. But the words filtered into the air without Thomas hearing. He struggled but lost the battle against anger. He had to release it. He had to. He became so angry that he lost himself and allowed Anne to sense his presence. Dammit. He had to leave at once. Thomas slipped off the other side of the arch and flipped onto the bridge above. Within seconds, he had gone down the road and safely away from Anne’s intuition.
Still he raved.
Using vampiric speed, Thomas even surprised himself at how soon he reached Brittany Province. It was nothing to pass over the water, find the ports, and locate the boats. Anne had given a good description, and the little she said about where Xavier had met the swine told Thomas enough.
Thomas’s body moved involuntarily through the throngs of men, some gambling, some drinking, some negotiating with a prostitute. It was never difficult, either, to find the male whores in the dark corners, most of them disrobed.
Thomas passed an officer who offered to pay Thomas for a good suck. Thomas, too angry for offense, glared the man away. Then he found someone who might help.
“You a regular here?” he asked the thirty-something man.
“You paying?” the guy asked.
Thomas whipped out a large sum of money, so the man pulled out his penis.
“Put that away. I need information. Is there a sailor who lives here? He likes the boys as do you, but he brings them into his home.”
“You’ll pay me just for that?”
“If you give me the right one.”
“Well, there’s more than one in these parts. Who you looking for?”
“I don’t know his name. But he knows, or at least knew, a friend of mine by the name of Xavier.”
“The priest. The abbé who lived with Christophe for a time. He’s still heartbroken—”
“Where is he?”
The man moved quickly into the street and led Thomas to a small, stone house. Peering through the window, Thomas saw that a fire burned brightly and two men were inside. Without speaking, Thomas handed his guide double the sum he had shown him and ordered him away.
His prey at last within reach, Thomas crashed into the room. Christophe and his latest toy jumped with fright, Christophe grabbing a revolver and shooting without a word. Thomas grabbed the bullet in midair and laughed loudly. He threw a shirt at the young man and instructed him to get out, which he did, leaving Christophe and Thomas alone.
“What are you? What do you want?” Christophe shook with fear.
He had a pleasant enough demeanor, with the muscles of a sailor, piercing green eyes, and curly blond hair. And he had a quaint little home. Perhaps he had genuinely loved the abbé, but someone must suffer for his transgressions. At first Thomas wanted to torture him, to make him feel the same anguish and torment that surged through Thomas at the thought of Xavier having been with this other man. Yet Christophe appeared innocent enough, guiltless enough. He at least deserved a swift death.
Thomas reached out to break the man’s neck when he saw one of Xavier’s crucifixes on the mantel, evident from the Saint-Laurent crest emblazoned on the bottom. He paused. Was this the action of a vampire reformed? Was this how he got his anger under control? What would Xavier want?
He released the man and staggered out of the home, afraid of himself.
Thomas immediately headed back to Paris, slowly and with angst in his heart. The sailor had seemed sincere, hardly the fiend who Thomas envisioned. At any rate, he felt better but guilt-ridden at the same time. He had stopped himself, but the anger had begun without his knowing it.
Unsurprisingly, Anthony waited in his flat. “You killed someone, didn’t you?” Anthony said flatly.
“I’m a vampire.”
“Enough games, Thomas. What happened?”
Against his better judgment but with guilt plaguing him, Thomas told him the entire tale.
“You won’t say a word, and you’ll truly listen.” Anthony sat Thomas down and held him there. “I’m leaving. I’ll no longer be party to your fits of rage and irrational anger. You didn’t kill this sailor. How noble. You love Xavier. How wonderful. But what kind of vicious love are you offering? Control yourself, Thomas. You’re attempting to control a situation that’s not yours to govern. I love you, but I won’t stay and watch you destroy yourself. You want to deal with this on your own, so be it. And next time we meet, we’ll know whether you failed or succeeded. I pray that you win this battle, but unless you’re willing to change I fear that you’ll tragically lose.”
Anthony had waited until the sun began to sear Thomas’s skin to release him, just in time to flee to the casket. Losing Anthony made Thomas more determined than ever to get control of himself and win back Xavier at the same time.
8 June 1793 Earlier that night
IT WAS TERRIBLY late, almost midnight, and Catherine and Xavier had talked for a long time with Anne before leaving her under the bridge because she had no desire to return to Paris. They had invited Anne to move into their home but the trappings of wealth held no allure for her. She said it stifled her creativity.
As Catherine walked toward Denys, who would escort them home, Xavier drew back alone with Anne. “Thank you again, for everything. You saved me.”
“I told you, it’s what friends do. You help me, too. Now go on with your life.”
“One last thing. I may have been a drunk, but I remember your promise, that if I sobered you would help with Catherine, regardless of the consequences or black magic.”
“And I keep my promises. You got to give me time. I need something I can’t get here. It’s from the New World, and on its way.”
Xavier nodded and then hugged Anne goodbye. Perhaps he could never seek justice against Marcel for what he had done to their brother, but he would do everything he could to get him away from Catherine and trusted Anne to do the job. He caught up with Catherine and Denys on the edge of Anne’s territory. Xavier had a short reunion with this old friend before they returned to the house and Denys went home.
Despite the hour, neither Catherine nor Xavier could sleep. Too much excitement pumped through Xavier at having taken the step to return home. He had to tell people that he had left the church, and some people would learn about his secret desires. Despite his self-acceptance, he had procrastinated under the bridge for fear that those he loved were angry and might not accept his transformation. Two people in particular concerned him.
The first, of course, was Catherine, and she had embraced him without question.
But the conflict ran deeper with the second person. Despite everything, Xavier passionately loved Thomas and desperately missed him. Whether they could renew even a friendship Xavier had no idea, but at some point he had to see him. But not yet. He wasn’t ready.
He and Catherine settled into her office and opened another bottle of wine as they caught each other up on the smaller details of their lives. When the slight intoxication loosened Xavier’s tongue, he proudly stopped drinking for the night. It was like old times—nothing could have felt better.
The evening’s conversation, however, had focused on him. Xavier wanted to know more about Catherine. He finally got to what he really wanted to know: “Catherine, where’s Jérémie?”
She looked away. “I’m not sure. His last dispatch was from some ship. You know he and his family hid in London, but they had to leave once France declared war on England. He still assists me from afar, and I miss him.”
In other words, nothing had changed.
“And Marcel?” he asked reluctantly.
“Such nonsense. Still frightened of Paris. Isn’t that ridiculous? We finally gave up on the wedding date because he can’t be sure when it’ll be safe to return!” Catherine giggled nonsensically, her eyes glassed over. It hardly surprised Xavier that Marcel still pretended that he was in America. “Which is fine, really, that I’m not dealing with a husband yet. I can’t imagine having looked for you with some man at the same time claiming he owned me.”
“If you feel that way, maybe you don’t have the right man.”
“Don’t return to that conversation. No more accusations. You know how I feel.”
That ended the discussion. Sadly, Marcel still had her under his spell. Xavier’s only hope was that Anne could come through with a solution, as promised. Thankfully, Catherine changed the subject when a couple of guards strode by.
“Every time I see a uniform, I remember Michel. That was the hardest part of your absence. Mourning alone.”
They fell silent as the pain flooded back. Xavier admired Catherine’s resilience, that she had maintained her salon even after Michel’s death and his own disappearance. She brushed it aside, crediting Jérémie and Maria, but Xavier knew that it had been all Catherine.
“Well,” Catherine said, “I’d rather save that misery for another day. I’m more interested in having you back.”
Xavier smiled and wiped away a tear.
“You can’t imagine how much I went over this moment in my head. It took nearly all of my willpower not to give you up for dead. Why, Thomas—” Catherine stopped mid-sentence. The awkward moment only became worse because Xavier was at a loss. Why had she not continued with her thought? Should he admit his love for Thomas? Did she already know? Was he even ready to talk about it? “Thomas looked just as earnestly as did I,” she finished.
Xavier wanted to run to Thomas and avoid him at the same time. Leave it to Catherine to make him confront this beast so soon.
“There’s one thing that I know Anne and you never broached,” Catherine continued. “Since you were born and until you left, you had lived this idealistic life as a model citizen and trusting priest.”
“We were all raised that way.”
“Yes, but Michel and I didn’t take it to heart. I’m not criticizing you. Father, Michel, and I sheltered you too much. You heard the lessons about helping everyone, but we refused to let you know about the more troubling aspects of this world. We all wanted to protect you. You were our little baby, and I’m afraid that it hurt you more than it helped, because all of us hit moments when we realized that our ideals can go only so far. But you had farther to fall when you discovered reality.”
Catherine had come across the room and held Xavier’s hand. She brushed Xavier’s hair out of his eyes. He found himself fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt and felt the cross underneath. He had no idea what to say. His mind vacillated between defending himself and knowing that she was right.
“Being a woman has always grounded me in reality. Father raised me as a boy, but the rest of the world only sees my breasts.”
Xavier chuckled.
“It’s true. And Michel, he felt so much pressure after Father died. Even before, he saw things in the military that balanced his perceptions. You were naturally a free spirit, even without the way that we treated you. You loved so intensely. And we sheltered you, fearing that the corrupted world would ruin our little angel.”