Thomas nodded.
“Under no circumstances can you convert Xavier simply because you want him. It’ll never work. Thomas, this has nothing to do with the ethic, it has to do with his soul.”
“You have my word.”
“Then you have my blessing.”
With that, Anthony kissed Thomas on the lips and held his head. Then he kissed his forehead. “I want this for you as much as you do,” Anthony stated. “But it must be right. Go to him. And, if you’ll be so kind, leave this establishment so that I may get on with the night’s business and be out of here before sunrise and back to the sanity of my native England.”
2 September 1793
CATHERINE’S EYES DECEIVED her. Marcel’s letter from just yesterday described him still in America, away from warfare and the harsh revolution. Yet she was sure that Marcel stood down that ally, selling Indian remedies. She ordered the driver to halt and jumped out before he opened the door.
“It is you,” she said, staring at him.
“Catherine,” Marcel mumbled. “What brings—”
“I see that the others were correct.” She stormed back and hopped into the coach, which lurched away as Marcel ran to the window and begged for Catherine to listen. She ignored him, but he jumped onto the runner and clung to the exterior as the horses clopped through Paris. Something about his charming persistence kept her from pushing him off, so he stayed there until they got to the house. Still she refused to acknowledge him, instead heading inside and going into an empty parlor, hoping that he would follow.
Catherine’s head spun with rage one minute and sympathy the next. She wanted him out of her life completely, then she wanted him to apologize and marry her at once.
When Marcel appeared in the doorway, she broke into a big smile despite her anger. “America?”
“Let me explain.”
“What’s there to explain other than you lied?”
“Can I offer you some wine?”
Marcel’s soothing voice controlled her rage, but he would not easily woo her this time, she told herself, without a complete explanation.
“I arrived today,” he said, “and of course I was going to come see you, but some of my clients insisted that I first come to them, even at the expense of my fiancée. Will you forgive me? I was in America but weeks ago and dispatched a letter to you. I’d no idea that business would necessitate my return this soon.”
Marcel handed her a glass of red wine which bubbled, though Catherine assumed she was seeing things, so she took a big swig and a feeling of numbness and peace swept through her.
“Would I neglect you? Do you really think that I’d lie to you?”
“No,” Catherine said softly, embarrassed at her behavior. Will you forgive me?”
“I could never be angry with you. It was my fault,” Marcel said as he eased over and stroked Catherine’s hair. “I should have come to you sooner. Perhaps I’ve neglected you too long and let others plant insidious thoughts in your head.”
Catherine almost protested that no one had put anything into her head, but he was too cute and charming, so she smiled and simply asked what on earth he meant.
Before answering, Marcel handed Catherine another glass of wine, which she drank willingly. This glass, too, fizzled, but it came from the same bottle so Catherine figured it was a trait of the wine. A tingling sensation swept through her, more powerful than from the first glass; and embarrassingly, her private parts throbbed and moistened. She snuggled up to Marcel.
“I wish that you’d tell that awful friend of your brother’s not to interfere in your family. Thomas is a liar and troublemaker.”
“What did Thomas do? He just wants to bed my brother.”
“He’s more evil than that. You know it, too, or you wouldn’t have asked me how he might be killed.” Marcel’s tone alarmed her. “Thomas threatened my life if I continue to see you. He demanded that I never come here again.”
Catherine’s head whirled. She sat up, suddenly uncomfortable with her swooning, and fought to control of her senses. She corrected her posture but allowed Marcel to hold her hand.
“Catherine, Thomas is dangerous. He’s not even human.”
“He was honest about it, though, from the time he started courting Xavier.”
“Two
men
can’t court.”
Catherine patted his hand and kissed the top of it. “Leave them alone. You’re not in charge of determining everyone’s courtship.”
“You’re not drinking your wine.”
“No, I’ve had enough. Will you please forget Thomas? I want to talk about us.”
Marcel hesitated. His face convulsed with anger and reddened, but he softened quickly, patted her head, and kissed her cheek.
“Just promise you’ll be careful around Thomas. He really hates me. But now that we’re finally together, I have a radical proposal. I’m sorry to say that I will soon sail again for the New World, New Orleans, but I want you to go with me.”
“What would you think of my sailing just before winter?” she asked. “I can’t go right now, especially with Xavier still hurting. If you give me a couple of months, I can finish some work here and join you later, and maybe Xavier will come.”
Marcel winced, but Catherine often ignored the antagonism between them. He stood and pulled Catherine out of her chair and grabbed her from behind and pulled her toward him, smashing their bodies together, their faces just inches apart. He kissed her forcefully and sent passion through her body.
“Come to me in New Orleans as soon as you can,” he said. “We can start our marriage there. Promise you’ll hurry. Maybe Thomas will have taken Xavier away by then and we can be alone.”
He kissed her again and was about to leave when he turned around. “I almost forgot, how are your nerves?”
“Unfortunately the same.”
Marcel reached into his bag and handed her more headache elixir. He left with another kiss and sweet grin.
Catherine closed the door and fell onto a fainting couch, exhausted. Contradictions and confusion spun through her head as she tried to convince herself that she had made the correct decisions. When she finally saw straight, Catherine started with surprise when a man entered the room. Her heart calmed only when she saw Jérémie, though he looked menacing.
“Jérémie,” she acknowledged.
“Catherine, can’t you see what that man is doing to you? Do you really think all these medicines are for your headaches? I can’t stand by and watch him ruin you.”
“You were spying on us?”
“Only for your protection.”
“Out. Get out of my sight. Michel did enough to try to control my relationships and died knowing that he was wrong. There’s no need for someone to take his place. You’ll have to accept my decisions or you can leave. Get out of my sight before I say something I regret.” Catherine stood her ground and watched Jérémie turn from a defiant giant who surprised her into a little puppy, rebuffed and retreating with his tail between its legs.
8 September 1793 Evening
THE DAYS SINCE he discovered Thomas’s vampirism, Xavier’s spirit was tortured, worse even than when he had left Paris with Anne because the existence of the undead had never been a reality to him. He was raised with Enlightenment beliefs combined with a Christian faith. Together, these doctrines allowed for the fact that God had created as of yet unexplained things. Vampirism, however, was the stuff of legend, completely impossible in its fantasy. Its existence in the man he loved tormented Xavier with millions of unanswerable questions. Was this a sign of evil? Was it merely another state of being? Or was it something altogether different?
Typically, Xavier fled to religion and its rigid norms. It answered difficult questions so that he did not have to determine answers that were too philosophical. But his journey back to serving people and working with Maria had hardly fulfilled him. His anguish persisted, nothing soothed his pain, his head spun, and his heart ached. He still pined for Thomas. Indeed, learning that Thomas had watched him from afar and then saved his life only strengthened the attraction because it proved that Thomas loved Xavier as much as the priest loved him. How could this be evil?
Yet why did Thomas hide? And he had killed those men who attacked Xavier without flinching or remorse. Only one person could help Xavier, and it was not Maria as he had first hoped. Only one had the answers to his sexuality, the vampirism, the love, and completely understood Xavier. And so he found himself outside Thomas’s door, nervous and wondering how Thomas would receive him after he had run away yet again. Xavier leaned against the wall to find the courage just to knock.
Xavier took in Thomas’s luxurious life, even by Saint-Laurent standards, as he delayed the inevitable. This flat was exquisitely decorated and located among Paris’s nobility. The woodwork was ornately carved, the brass glistened, and candles illuminated everything as if it were daylight. Xavier always suspected Thomas’s wealth based on his clothing and what he said, yet Thomas’s rare mention of his past indicated that he came from the lower sorts. Xavier assumed that the vampirism explained this confusion, too. He stared at the gold encrusted nameplate when he heard someone coming from down the street.
“I’m sorry, sir. You can’t be here,” a lad of about sixteen said. “Mr. Lord is unavailable and refuses guests unless invited.” He was courteous but betrayed his alarm at finding someone this close to Thomas’s front door.
“I came to see Mr. Lord,” Xavier said. “Can you tell him that I’m here?”
“I’m not supposed to.”
Xavier sighed and hung his head.
The servant hesitated. “Perhaps I can give him your name, but that’s all.”
“Xavier Saint-Laurent.”
The lad’s eyes lit with recognition and he hesitated. “If you’ll wait a moment, abbé,” he said as he took out a key and entered the flat.
How did he know Xavier? Xavier’s heart sank as each second ticked by, sure that Thomas would turn him away or, worse, be angry.
Then he heard rustling and Thomas yanked the door open.
“Xavier!”
“Thomas, I apologize. I didn’t realize—”
“Nonsense,” Thomas interrupted, grabbed Xavier’s hand, and pulled him inside. The interior was just as lavish, though darker. “Please, sit. Can I get you anything? Some wine?”
Xavier wanted the wine to calm his nerves but thought better of it. “No, thank you,” he answered.
Thomas sat across from him and waited, but Xavier panicked inside. Thomas quietly got up and came to Xavier on the couch, put his arm around him, and held his hand.
“What is it?”
“I came...I wanted to see you because—” Nothing sounded right. Thomas touched Xavier’s hair and looked into his eyes, but Xavier had to stop staring because Thomas’s beauty distracted him, those brown eyes pierced his soul. But the soft expression gave him courage. “I left you that night because I was so confused. I should have behaved differently. And I trust that you won’t hurt me again.”
Thomas shook his head.
“I just wanted you to know.” Now Xavier grabbed Thomas’s hand with both of his for courage and stability. “I came because I don’t know how to feel or what to do. I still love you.” Xavier’s heart pounded through his chest about to burst out but the words escaped with relief. Thomas hugged him closer.
“I love you, too. You’ll always be my little abbé.”
“I tried to go back to serving people,” Xavier continued. “But I don’t trust humanity as I used to. But I can’t give it up, either. I’m totally lost.”
“Xavier—” Thomas began but Xavier stopped him.
“Let me say this.”
Thomas smiled and nodded, then continued to massage Xavier’s back.
“In the past,” Xavier said, “I always fled to the church, not because it answered any of my questions but because I could hide from them, but this time Maria’s didactic pronouncements run cold in me. I suppose that you know she despises you and thinks you’re an agent of the devil.”
Thomas smirked and shook his head slowly.
“She represents everything that’s wrong with the Catholic Church. It’s not just the leadership but everyone that acquiesces to its insane judgments. Sometimes Maria is insightful and loving, but other times she becomes a frightened child, running as if the devil chases her. I can’t live in that world again.” Xavier paused to catch his breath. The more words that came out the better he felt. “I mean, what is religion? Why do humans crave it and talk about loving each other while making more rules and condemning? Religion either functions as the most profound statement of our love or the ugliest tool for oppressing that I’ve ever seen. And then there’s you. You confuse me even more. I tried to condemn you as Maria instructed. I wanted to run away from you for good, but I never stopped loving you. I only longed all the more to be near you.”
“Then how can I help?”
“Maybe we can start with you. Are you a monster?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Then what are you?” Xavier asked.
“That, I’m afraid, is far more difficult to answer.” Thomas held Xavier’s hand tightly, nothing but devotion and love emanated from his eyes. “I may be different but the transformation didn’t come with the key to why life exists. I’ve no idea what created me. I know as much as you, which is nothing. My emotions are the same as when I was human. There’s nothing evil about what I think or do most of the time, and it’s never out of what is typical human behavior. The vampires that I’ve met act like any group of people would if you lumped them together randomly. Some are deeply good individuals and some quite vile. So I don’t know where vampires came from or why we’re here. The only difference is in our strength and ability to defy aging and death. We die only in sunlight or fire, but what created this is a mystery. I’m not sure if that helps you. I know you want more, but it’s the truth.”
Xavier believed him, not because he analyzed every sentence or because Thomas manifested some rational explanation, but because his instincts told him the truth. Xavier leaned his head into Thomas for comfort, and his hard chest strengthened Xavier’s conviction and pulled him toward the vampire. Thomas gently kissed Xavier’s head.