“Sad, isn’t it?”
A woman’s voice startled Xavier from behind. Thomas would have scolded him for his lack of alertness.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she said. “I’m just sad that they burned the church.”
A beautiful woman stood before him, dressed in common clothes and holding a toddler’s hand.
“Who cares anymore that another church is gone?”
The woman stared hard at the ground as a tear trickled down her cheek.
“I’m sorry Mademoiselle. But no one cares about this place anymore.”
Then she looked him in the eye, took a deep breath, and spoke softly but with conviction.
“I still care about this place and what it meant for me. Some of us still care, abbé.”
No one but Thomas had called him that in months.
“Abbé?” he repeated.
“Don’t you remember me? It’s Melisent. And this is my son, Pierre,” she said and instructed him to say hello, which he did shyly.
Xavier finally recognized her, especially the dancing, innocent eyes. She had grown into a woman since Maria and he had helped her flee Paris, still with a stunning beauty but now accompanied by a mother’s quiet dignity. Xavier recalled telling Thomas her story, about her rape by the man for whom she worked, her pregnancy, and getting her out of Paris to safety with the story that she was a widow of the revolution. After the shock wore off, Xavier smiled and hugged her.
“Melisent, it’s good to see you. I’m sorry about what I said, it’s just—”
“I understand. I returned to Paris to introduce my son to my parents, but I also came to thank you for saving me. You’re the most unselfish man I know. I’ll always cherish you and the Church, no matter what the revolution brings. In my heart I know that you did God’s work.”
“It was just my duty,” Xavier said. “How did you return? What did you tell your family? Are you married?”
“I told them the truth.”
“You told them?”
“Yes, and I told my husband.” Melisent patted Xavier’s arm and smiled. “It sounds mad, I know. But you gave me such strength and belief in myself. I vowed that I couldn’t live a lie with the man I married. So, after he’d courted me for some time, I took a great risk and the possibility of public humiliation and told him the truth. I trusted him and knew that he really loved me. I mean, how many young men in a village would court a widow with a child? No one else there gave me even a thought. They were all very kind and gentle. I was accepted but had no hope of marriage. Until André.”
“So he accepted your story? Just like that?”
“I know it sounds fanciful, but he did. And that night he asked me to marry him. We can’t tell the other villagers, of course. We made this trip to Paris at my request and I told my parents everything.”
“And their reaction?” Xavier asked.
“They were stunned to see me, even more so with a child and husband. But they accepted both Pierre and André.” Melisent played with her son’s hair before returning her gaze to Xavier. “We leave soon. André thinks Paris is too dangerous. He grew up in the country and has lived there his whole life. But I said that I had to find you first for I owed you everything. I wasn’t surprised to find the church gone, just sad, but God acted again in bringing you here tonight.”
Xavier stood lost when a strapping man with blond hair and a farmer’s hands ran around the corner.
“Melisent, there you are—I’ve been worried.”
“André,” she said, “I’d like you to meet Abbé Saint-Laurent.” Melisent beamed with pride.
“Abbé, I’ve heard wonderful things about you. It’s a pleasure,” the young man said and wrapped his arm around his wife. “I’d like to talk more, but we really must go.”
“Please, don’t let me keep you,” Xavier said.
André picked up the boy and started away, but Melisent waited. Her eyes welled with tears but a smile spread across her face.
“I’ll probably never see you again, abbé. May I kiss you?”
Xavier stifled his tears and nodded. With that, Melisent pecked him on the cheek before returning to her husband who took her hand and led them away. Alone in the blackened rubble, his tears burst from within.
God still cared. Xavier had forsaken religion, given up on humanity, and indulged in himself without thought to the world and with little concern for vocation. And in the midst of this God sent Melisent as a voice of reason so that Xavier would find a compromise. Xavier prayed for the first time in months. He crawled to the altar’s remnants and bowed his head.
“God, wherever you are, whoever you are, I don’t pretend to understand. Are you the Catholic God? A Huguenot God? Something else? Or are you the God of all people and all religions? Or are you several gods? Your mystery confounds me. Yet you guide us. Even in my death you watch over me. I won’t forget again. I’ll live a good life and protect people. You gave me what I always sought, a wonderful partner and this eternal life. I won’t waste it again. You’ve called me back to your service, and I’m ready.”
Xavier finished and wept in a huddled mass.
“Xavier, what happened?” Thomas sounded panicked.
“I’m fine.” Xavier wiped away the tears.
“What’s wrong? I knew it was a bad idea for you to go alone.”
Xavier grabbed Thomas’s arm and pulled him down, where the remaining brick walls and piles of charred wood concealed them.
“Thomas, calm down.”
“Why are you crying?”
Xavier reminded Thomas of Melisent’s story, explained that she came to thank him, and told him about her. Then he told Thomas how this reminded him of his calling. As he talked, Thomas noticeably relaxed by sitting back and playing with Xavier’s fingers.
“And that’s why I’m crying. Are you angry? Disappointed? Can a vampire live with these ideals?”
Thomas seized Xavier’s face in his hands. “When will you accept that I love you? I’m not in love with an image of you or some mystical being. I love you. Be yourself.” Thomas stared into his eyes. “Be yourself. I’m happy for you.” Thomas kissed Xavier gently.
They sat for a moment before Xavier felt Thomas giggling.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’ve enough cynicism for a legion of vampires. We need you to balance us.”
“Amen.”
6 November 1793
ONE OF THOMAS’S servants told him upon waking that the government had executed Phillippe Egalité, the Duc D’Orleans. Thomas merely scoffed. The revolution bored him except that it upset Xavier, who worried that it more and more endangered Catherine. A wealthy, single woman in that gigantic house might become a target. But when Xavier broached the subject, Catherine sneered and was unafraid. Worse, she argued that it hardly mattered because she set sail soon to meet Marcel in America.
Thomas worked on some business while Xavier read quietly in the other room until he heard a servant announce a visitor. He went to the study, where Xavier stood greeting Anne.
“Anne, welcome.” Thomas shot Xavier a look because his lover had clenched his jaw. “What’s wrong?” Thomas asked.
“Catherine,” answered Anne. “I came about Catherine.”
“Is there something new?” Thomas motioned for everyone to sit down. “Has she left already?”
“No. But it’s time,” Xavier said.
“Time for what?” Thomas looked at Xavier, then to Anne. “What’s going on?”
Anne held up a bulging black velvet bag that she had carried in with her. “I got something that might do it.”
“Now, after all these years, you decided to help?”
Xavier put his hand on Thomas’s knee, as he often did to calm him. “Relax, Thomas. Let her explain. She promised to help when I went away with her, but it took some time to get the last —what would you call it? Ingredient. I told you about this.”
“Listen, don’t think I came lightly upon this action.” Anne set the bag down. “I told you both a million times I don’t do black magic. Messing with these forces ain’t for the faint of heart. I tried simpler things, but it don’t work. Catherine’s too strong, and Marcel’s potion even stronger. Believe me, I wanted to avoid this, and it scares me even now. But we must do it. I have to do it for Xavier.”
“Do what?” Thomas asked.
“I got this from America.” She pointed at the bag. “Sent for it when you all found Xavier again and I realized that spell was still on Catherine. Even stronger. It took this long to get it. That should tell you how hard it is to come by. My friends there don’t do black magic any more than I do. I convinced them of the urgency. They know if Anne wants this, there’s a serious problem in France.”
“What’s in that bag?” Thomas asked.
“You don’t want to know. I told Xavier what must be done. I best be getting to my bridge. Hurry and bring her.”
Terrified, Xavier begged Thomas for help. Could they do anything without those unknown elders swooping in? Thomas decided that he had to assuage Xavier and help Catherine, regardless of the ethic.
“How are you?” Thomas asked Xavier, who walked with silent determination toward the Saint-Laurent home.
“I’m afraid.”
“Don’t shut me out.”
“I’m sorry,” Xavier whispered. “I’m fine. Just nervous. You know how she’ll react.”
The rest of the way Xavier only said that he would get to the point quickly before his courage left him once they arrived. And that he did, for they had hardly walked through the door and into the parlor when Xavier spoke to Catherine.
“I wish this were a social visit, but Thomas and I came for a specific reason.” Catherine fidgeted with a wine glass. “You’ve heard this a million times, but I haven’t been the best brother because I treaded lightly for fear of angering you. Forgive me, I love you. And please don’t dismiss my comments as an attempt to control you. But you need to stop taking this potion and get away from Marcel. He’s dangerous.”
Catherine stared icily back, like a trapped animal. Defiantly, she poured wine into the glass, opened a canister, and spooned in a heap of grayish-blue powder. Then she gulped it down.
“Don’t make me do this, Catherine.”
“Leave it alone, Xavier. You’ve no idea what he means to me. I just take a headache medicine.”
“How much? Have you increased it?”
“Yes, I need more.”
Catherine backed away silently. Then, without a word, Xavier moved into action. In seconds Xavier swept across the room, captured his sister, and escaped into the Paris night. Catherine screamed in protest as they raced through the streets too fast for anyone to see. Thomas followed until they came to the bridge under which they had found Xavier. There sat Anne next to a roaring fire with Jérémie. It hardly surprised Thomas that he had involved himself, too. This quiet lover had more determination to help Catherine than all the rest of them put together.
Xavier forced Catherine to sit near the fire and covered her with his coat. He brushed some hair out of her eyes as the cackling Anne approached.
“This is simply too much for me to handle. Jérémie’s sure to find out now, because no human can come swooping in like the gods carrying a woman on their back. My how far you have fallen, abbé. Right into the darkness of the night.” Anne roared with laughter. “Now I have two of you demons running around bothering me.”
“Anne, Catherine needs you,” Xavier said.
With that Catherine jumped off her log and moved toward them.
“No, she doesn’t. I can manage things myself.”
“Girl, you’re looking mighty mean this evening. Are you still taking the medicine I gave you?”
“No,” she said defiantly. “I stopped again. The headaches were unbearable. You two—” Catherine pointed toward Anne and Jérémie, “almost had me convinced that Marcel was dangerous. And I see that you poisoned my brother’s mind.”
“That’s unfair. We all came to our own conclusions,” Jérémie stated. “You need help. This isn’t about anyone trying to control you. We’re trying to save you.”
Catherine laughed bitterly, almost maniacally.
“She’s taken too much,” Anne said. “It’s the demon side of things controlling her. No way we can combat this without forcing her. It won’t let her go now. Poor thing, she fought it a long time but you can’t win against these things if you don’t admit they’re there.”
“Tell us what to do,” Thomas demanded.
Anne instructed them without further pause, perhaps because of Thomas’s tone and perhaps because Catherine had begun screaming incoherently. She had them hold Catherine to the ground, which took all three men as Catherine thrashed about and tried to bite them. While they struggled with Catherine, Anne hurried to the far end of the bridge and opened a couple of crates, preparing something. Then she grabbed the black velvet bag from earlier in the night and yanked out a skull.
“What is that? Is it human?” Xavier exclaimed, losing his grip on Catherine. Thomas held her more tightly until Xavier regained his control.
“What’s it look like?” Anne wiped the top of it off. “Yes, it’s human. Nobody was killed. It’s the skull of a powerful witch. We need her spirit. Only she can save Catherine now.”
Once they had Catherine pinned to the ground despite her squirming, Anne rushed over and smeared a pasty white substance over Catherine’s face. It smelled horrible. Catherine lashed about more violently and in the lowest of tones, Anne mumbled words in a language that even Thomas, in all of his travels, did not recognize. Anne swayed back and forth, closed her eyes, and continued a mantra that mesmerized him with its steady rhythm. Then Anne burst into angry denunciations, this time in French, before finally taking out charms and a small leather pouch of silver dust and sprinkling it over Catherine.
As Catherine calmed, Anne reached over and picked up the skull. She talked to it in the same language from before that Thomas had never heard. Then the most frightening thing that Thomas had ever seen happened before his eyes. The skull talked back. It chanted and sang, and Anne joined its mantra. Forces swirled about Catherine, changing colors and moving more and more rapidly until they flew through the air and right into the skull’s mouth. When the last spirit had entered it, the skull exploded into a thousand pieces and sent Anne flying backward into the stones of the bridge.