The Vampire's Angel (12 page)

“However, there’s a strange culture among vampires that makes it hard in a different way. The vampires who love the same sex are much fewer than the others. And it’s a very selective community. For some reason that I’ve yet to discern, they’re more protective of their mates and twice as reluctant to make progeny. Vampires rarely make others as it is, but among my kind it’s almost a sin to do so without careful consideration. Then, if you do desire a lifemate, we must wend our way through the human world, full of prejudice, in order to find someone we like. It’s a painful process.”

“And Xavier fits into your scheme somehow?”

“Scheme sounds cold and calculated,” he said, rubbing his palms absently on his thighs.

“But you have plans for him.”

He was silent for a moment, assessing the myriad meanings one could take from her words. “I’m not sure what I’m asking him. Certainly nothing beyond his own will. What do you want me to say? I came to you for help. I want to approach Xavier and be honest with him. Yet I’m not sure how to handle his blend of strict Catholicism, the priesthood, and some pagan, individualistic ideas. I think I know him well, but he won’t release his inner emotions.” He’s locked tight, Thomas thought. And I don’t seem to have the key.

“Thomas, he loves you. And I don’t use the word flippantly. I don’t love Marcel, despite my intended marriage. So when I say that Xavier loves you, I mean that he adores you. He may hide behind the church and allow his guilt to control him, but his actions and words betray him. Take my word for it. I know him better than anyone else, better than he knows himself in some ways, and he longs to be with you.” She paused for a moment. “However, with Xavier you always have to be careful. He’s terribly sensitive. The church confuses him because it offers absolutes that conflict with his instincts to trust the goodness within people. He channels his passion for helping others through Catholicism but recognizes when the church harms people or unfairly damns them, but he can’t turn that intellect on himself. He thinks that he has to abide by every rule and dictate or he can’t help people.”

“He does that all the time,” Thomas agreed, frustrated. “He disregards papal teaching when he thinks that it leaves out the poor. He even called the pope ludicrous. But when it comes to him, he won’t apply the same rigorous analysis.”

“That’s why you need to be cautious. He’s believed that for many years, even before he entered the monastery. Xavier is sincere but completely naïve about himself. I don’t want to be melodramatic, but you bring to him a battle between perceptions of good and evil and want him to apply it to himself, something he’s always resisted. He didn’t become a priest because of his faith. He entered the priesthood to hide from himself.”

“Are you telling me I have no hope?” What felt like ice filled his chest. How could he accept that? How could he go on without Xavier? But how could he go on with him, knowing that Xavier desired him but would never respond?

“No,” she said gently. “Something will eventually make him question his beliefs. I’ve always feared that it might destroy him, but perhaps you might save him. But he can’t find out about you and cope with his sexuality at the same time. I would urge you to focus on your love first. You still need to hide the vampirism. It would crush him to deal with both at once.”

Thomas sighed, hating the dishonesty he felt about that. “I agree. But he may hate me even more if I lead him away from the church and then he can’t accept—” Thomas stopped, too frightened to finish.

“Move slowly. It looks like a big enough task to get him into bed.” She winked at him.

“Catherine!”

“Oh, you sound like Xavier, now. Do you think that just because women hide behind some constructed gentility that such thoughts never enter our minds? I’ve heard men talking. I know how conversations go in smoke-filled rooms.”

“Do I have your permission, then?” he asked.

“It’s not mine to give. You need Xavier’s permission. Just go slowly. I do, however, have one more request.”

“Please.”

“Keep me informed.”

“Of course. I assume, by the way, that this is our little secret?”

“No one needs to know,” she said conspiratorially.

Thomas stood to leave and then hesitated. “Thank you, Catherine. You can’t know what this has meant.”

6 June 1789 After Midnight

DARKNESS HAD ENVELOPED Paris as Thomas hurried along, afraid that his conversation with Catherine had taken too long and kept him from his beloved curé. Although lamps illuminated many of the streets, the fog rolled off the river and reduced the lights to glowing embers. And the narrower passages, between older residential dwellings and rows of salons, often had no light posts. Thomas saw well enough and would sense any approaching person, but the darkness added to Paris’s mystery.

He passed by one street and then halted. He needed to hurry but spied a vagrant hovering in the corner. Feeding was a wonderful prospect. When hungry, he could smell the blood running through a human’s veins from afar. He had not indulged in many days because he had been spending so much time with Xavier. Thomas walked toward the individual to ascertain whether or not he was fair game.

The man, probably in his thirties, lay sound asleep on the sidewalk against a wall. He was filthy and obviously drunk, from his stench. Thomas leaned toward the man, who made no move as he slept. A prime target.

Without more thought, Thomas ripped the man’s shirt off, gripped him by the neck, lifted him an inch off the ground, and sank his teeth into the man’s bicep, happy to find at least one patch of semi-clean skin where the shirt had covered his arm. As the blood flowed down his throat, though, Thomas almost dropped the man. Nothing. No sign of evil. No harm done to anyone.

But Thomas brought death anyway, a mercy killing. He had never contemplated such an act before, but seeing this man’s history in the blood propelled him to do it. He had suffered from extreme poverty, and already had a number of diseases that pained him constantly. He drank to forget. His family had cast him out, society shunned him, and he was always sick. He begged people to kill him. He often ventured into dangerous areas and picked fights with the hope of a swift execution. He harbored thoughts of jumping off of bridges but could never bring himself to a suicide. The man’s physical and emotional agony convinced Thomas to kill him. Such compassion had to fit within the ethic somewhere. The deed done, and with the blood reviving him, Thomas ran the rest of the way to the church. He saw Xavier writing at an upstairs table and watched from afar, reveling in the priest’s beauty, memories of the man he had just killed fading quickly.

Xavier noticed him after he entered the garden, jumped from his chair, and ran downstairs. He went outside and greeted Thomas in the garden.

“I thought perhaps you wouldn’t come this evening.”

“I apologize. I had other pressing matters. I’d have left you to sleep, but I saw Catherine and she indicated that you often stay up late Saturday night.”

“I was afraid that I angered you the other night and chased you away.”

“Stop it. I told you that I won’t just disappear. May I enter?”

“Of course.” Xavier stepped aside and ushered Thomas into the church. “Why did you go to Catherine?”

Thomas paused, searching for a valid answer that would not give too much away. He regretted having gone to Catherine in his desperation for help. What if she told Xavier everything? Too late. He had once again violated the ethic and risked everything in his quest for Xavier. Times such as this reminded him why Anthony emphasized the risk of becoming too intimate with humans and involved in their lives. “I needed advice about matters that she can help me with here in Paris, since I am unfamiliar with many of its customs.”

“Business? She knows more than you would expect. Don’t underestimate her because she’s a woman.”

“I never would,” Thomas said, relieved that he got out of his predicament that easily.

They snuck through the back of the sanctuary and up the stairs to Xavier’s quarters, because when they met this late Xavier took Thomas to his rooms to avoid being seen by unwelcoming eyes. Xavier fell onto his bed and, as usual, waited for Thomas to begin. He looked adorable as he propped his head in his hands and smiled like a damsel in love.

Thomas sat down next to him. “Why are you still awake?”

“It takes me a long time to prepare for Sunday mass. Sometimes, like today, I finish early. I still stay up, though, and reread as many times as possible, especially my sermon.”

“Everything carries such weight with you,” Thomas said softly. “Always trying to save people.” He grinned and grabbed Xavier by the chin, who blushed and rolled away.

“I know you don’t want to hear about my sermon, but I’m preaching on food. It sounds mad. My elders despise it, it’s not didactic enough, but I’m trying to get my parishioners to share their food. Anyway, what brings you at this late hour?”

“I never need a reason. But since you mention it,” he moved closer, “I have something to tell you.”

“What?” Xavier’s hand trembled as he sat upright and tucked his knees beneath his chin. He wore a pair of pants and white shirt, nothing else, and his thin frame and slight but enticing musculature showed through.

“You already know. The other night I tried to kiss you. I respect completely why you couldn’t return the favor. But we never talked about it. We pretended that it never happened. We discuss everything else constantly, but this we ignore. You don’t need to say anything or change your mind, but I have to say this: I love you, abbé. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I love every minute with you and swoon when I look into your eyes. You believe the church’s teaching about sodomy. As you know, I think it’s natural. I’m not forcing anything on you. I just wanted you to know.”

Total silence. Thomas held his breath, wondering if perhaps he had gone too far. And then Xavier spoke.

“Thomas, you know—at least I think you know—oh...” Xavier fumbled with his toes. He whispered, Thomas realized in prayer, and then blurted, “You know I feel the same. I love you, too. But I can’t defy God. I dream about you constantly but it’s sinful. I can’t serve my parish if I can’t abide by the faith that I proclaim to love. Please understand. It’s not you. And, if you don’t mind, if we couldn’t mention it again. I struggle with it too much as it is. I mean—”

“Shh, quiet. I understand. Forget it. Let’s change the subject,” Thomas said. “Your understanding of Catholicism fascinates me. You adhere to all of its laws and precepts to the letter in your life, yet you defy the rules all the time as they pertain to your parish. Why is there a difference?”

“I vowed to obey the Lord, according to strict Catholicism. Priests must understand this on a profound level. The people will sin, and then it’s our job to teach. Don’t misunderstand me, I sin constantly, too. All priests do. But there’s a difference between blatant disregard for God’s law and human nature. Priests know that on a deeper level.”

“But why are the rules different for them?”

“They aren’t. Except that the people get into predicaments without thinking. If I fall too far from a true path, how can I expect to lead them back to it? If I indulge in anything, I risk losing sight of what’s important.”

Amazing innocence, but it hid a sadness. While Xavier accepted anything from anyone else, he never allowed himself even small pleasures.

They drifted through more theological topics, then Xavier told Thomas about his sermon. Thomas basked in yet another night with the man of his dreams. He recognized the battle ahead of him but would risk everything if even a small chance existed for them, and Xavier’s proclamation of love offered hope.

6 June 1789 Afternoon

SUNDAY MORNING ALWAYS found Xavier tired, but today he felt good. He always hoped that his sermons encouraged at least one person to do something good, and he loved his usual Sunday afternoons when Maria came to visit and walk around the neighborhood. Sometimes they chatted with children, sometimes they helped feed people, sometimes they cleaned the church or assisted the elderly. The church also had the responsibility to educate the citizens of France, so they instructed all sorts of people in reading during their Sunday sojourns. However, Maria and he did this service more as an excuse to spend time together.

“You brought your basket again,” Xavier said and smiled at her. “I thought I had convinced you that you needed a bigger one if you want to feed all these people.”

“I’ve had this basket for a long time, and I do not intend to give it up.” Maria’s plump cheeks reddened as she grinned back.

“It’s too small. Remember the day I met you, when you had bread falling all over the ground? I had to help you or the birds would have gotten more than the people.”

“But without this small basket, we may not have met and continued this tradition. We help a lot more people together than separate, and this basket reminds me of that.”

Maria and Xavier continued on their way, enjoying the conversation and gossiping about church politics. Today they stopped talking only long enough to politely but quickly greet someone. Finally, on a deserted street, Maria stopped and focused her clear gaze on him. “Abbé, something’s bothering you.”

He sighed and bowed his head. “I have a problem, but it defies the church each time that I allow myself to even think about it.”

“Why don’t you go to confession? That’s what you suggest to us. We’re always traipsing to some church for confession, or having the priest come to us. It annoys me, but I admit that I feel better after. Doesn’t that work for priests? Or can you confess to yourself and be done with it?”

“No, I’d get tired of running from one side of the confessional to the other.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Seriously, why not go to confession?”

“I’m afraid this can never enter the confessional. You know that we keep things from our colleagues for good reason.”