The Vampire's Angel (16 page)

“Have you been waiting long?”

“Not at all.”

Xavier’s excitement every night was so genuine. He always smiled so broadly, cast his eyes down, and began talking about nothing. These times reminded Thomas why he fought to stay patient, did not rip Xavier’s clothes off, or back the poor man into a corner and demand a decision.

“I hurried back,” Xavier said. “I was afraid you’d leave.”

“My little abbé, you’re always fretting about something. I’d wait an eternity for you.”

Xavier blushed. He never balked when Thomas referred to him as “my abbé,” as if Thomas possessed him, which of course Thomas wanted to do.

Xavier began his usual discussion, going from topic to topic with no direction or purpose. He liked to tell Thomas about every little thought that entered his head and, for his part, Thomas loved to listen without saying a word. He cherished the sound of Xavier’s voice, liked to watch his enthusiasm, and always remembered their first meetings when the priest hesitated to say a thing.

In these moments, Thomas reveled in his total love. And he had lost all appetite for random sexual contact. Before, he craved physical pleasure and sought it almost nightly, whether he fed or not. He delighted in finding some beautiful yet corrupt individual to indulge his passion and then relieve his blood craving. Sadistic, yes, but satisfying. But since Xavier these liaisons had become meaningless and left him cold.

Xavier still gabbed about his day, but Thomas only half-listened and concentrated more on the cadence of his voice and watched Xavier play with the cross at his neck.

The world, however, angered him. He never understood its laws and morality, especially when it regulated people’s love. Was anyone hurt because two men went to bed? Why did the Catholic Church think it had so much authority to interpret every little aspect of someone’s life? Thomas never believed in faith, that some divine presence revealed truth to only certain men so they could proclaim it to humanity. This was a power game negotiated through religion, yet it was a stalwart force. These arbitrary forces kept Xavier from coming to him, and Thomas decided he would do anything to combat them.

A change in Xavier’s voice told Thomas that Xavier wanted to tell him something more. After he explained that the priests joined the Third Estate and the National Assembly became increasingly bold, Xavier became oddly repetitive.

“Abbé, what is it?”

Xavier looked at the ground. “Never mind,” he said, “I’m not ready.”

“Did anything else happen at the palace today?”

“Not really. It was peaceful.”

“I’m surprised that the guards didn’t try to arrest or intimidate anyone,” Thomas mused aloud.

Xavier shot a glance at Thomas, exasperated. “I forgot about this. A poor woman, not even part of the protesting, almost died this afternoon. The king’s guards came racing from Paris and blundered right through the crowd without slowing. I barely had time to race in front of them and push her out of the way. That’s the attitude that’s turned so many people against the king. And the guards didn’t even glance back to see about her safety.”

“You pushed her out of the way?”

“Yes.”

“Were you at risk?”

“I suppose. I mean...not really. I had time to jump out of the way but she wouldn’t have been able to do so.”

Thomas grabbed Xavier and kissed him on the head. “Be careful,” he said softly, worried.

Xavier blushed. Thomas felt the heat emanating from his face. “I am careful,” he finally said, but Thomas recognized he wanted to say something more.

“What is it?”

“Before I tell you, let me show you this.” Xavier revealed a letter with the bishop of Paris’s official seal. Thomas read it, which provoked anew his anger at the church and, by extension, the world. How could anyone write such things about Xavier? The bishop warned Xavier to obey the church and stop administering the sacraments to those outside his parish. He threatened reprisal or possible defrocking.

“What does this mean? How does he know anything?” Thomas handed the letter back before he tore it to shreds.

“There are a million possibilities. Anyone could tell him. Maybe he saw something. I’ve no idea. I commune anyone who requests it, wherever they want, which is strictly forbidden. They want everything done in the sanctuary under controlled circumstances. But if people need these things, why should I keep it from them if they have to work on Sunday or if their husband forbids their going to church? But enough about the bishop, I never adhere to these edicts anyway.”

“This isn’t the first?”

“I get them regularly.”

“Don’t they come after you?” Thomas was aghast. Xavier could be in danger, and here he was, shrugging it off.

“It’s embarrassing, but this is the one time I rely on my name. The Saint-Laurent legacy protects me and the bishop knows it, so he sends the letters hoping that I’ll comply but knowing he can’t act on them. The bishop despises me because I challenge his authority and he’s helpless to do anything about it.”

“I don’t understand. Why is he against you?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe wealth. He disliked me from the moment that they assigned me to this parish. The order came from above him. Then, another priest informed on me when I made the mistake of asking if he did secret ceremonies for his people. He accused me of heresy, which intensified the bishop’s spying, and since then I get warnings from him.”

This news only heightened Thomas’s disdain for the Catholic Church. If only he could get Xavier away from it completely, it would allow him to acknowledge their love and give in to pleasure, but how could Thomas persuade him?

Yet in his own way Xavier made their relationship more intimate and allowed it to flourish. Thomas thought his constant chatter a positive sign, as well as what he chose to say. Topics became more personal, he shared deep feelings without prodding, and he wanted to know Thomas’s sentiments. Although the slow process maddened Thomas, he realized the awesome implications of these seemingly small steps. In fact, Thomas sensed that Xavier wanted to make such a step today. He kept smiling sheepishly, glancing to the ground, and then he would refuse to say anything.

“What, Xavier? What is it?”

“I apologize for being coy. I know it irritates you. But I’ve never told anyone about this, except Catherine. This is a secret.”

“What is it?” Thomas leaned forward, interest and hope piqued.

“You swear that you won’t utter a word?”

“Xavier, you already know the answer.”

“I have—well, I want you to—” Xavier struggled for words. “There’s someone that I’d like you to meet.”

19 June 1789 Night

“YOU WANT ME to meet someone?” Thomas stared at Xavier, clearly puzzled.

Xavier had decided a few days ago to tell Thomas how much he cared about him, and introducing Thomas to his clandestine liaison— his private friend—might show Xavier’s true feelings. No one else except Catherine knew about this friendship. Xavier had intended to begin the evening with it but became nervous and instead talked about going to Versailles and then the trouble with his bishop. But the entire time he thought about discussing his friend, and somehow Thomas had perceived it and finally got Xavier to tell it as they sat near one another, Thomas moving close enough that their legs touched.

“Yes. I want to introduce you to a secret friend.”

“Why are you shaking?” Thomas asked.

Xavier suddenly regretted mentioning it. “Never mind. I made too much of it.”

“Stop it. Stop it right now. This is important to you and it means much to me, that you want to share it. Don’t discount your feelings. If it means this much to you, then it’s important to me.”

Xavier jumped from the bench, grabbed Thomas’s hand, and pulled him toward the street. He paused for a second, surprised at how comfortable it felt to touch Thomas. It excited him, too, the strong, rough, hand in his. He let go quickly and raced ahead, though Thomas kept up.

The masses slept safely in their beds and most had deserted the silent streets as the two men headed into even quieter neighborhoods.

The houses here were more dilapidated, the air stronger with wretched smells, the mud deeper, and little light guided their way. The poorest of Parisians lived here. This parish lay beyond Xavier’s and no priest wanted to serve in this district because of the crime and poverty. Nonetheless, Xavier had come into these parts at the behest of people he knew or to help the destitute. On one of these journeys he had met someone who had become a friend, someone he came to see once or twice a month. And he had never told anyone.

His meeting with her broke several taboos. She was female, a poor laundress, black, and practiced pagan religions from the New World. Certainly not someone a respectable Catholic priest should spend time with. But he loved her because she grounded his soul.

The street was dark except for the glow emanating from her window, where she always burned a fire and stayed up late.

“Are you ready?” Xavier asked, nervous.

“After you.”

Xavier knocked.

“Come in, abbé!” She always knew it was him without looking.

She was laughing heartily when they entered. “And you brought a friend this time, I see.” Her dialect, a combination of broken French with a slave cadence, always put Xavier at ease. There was no pretense here. However, when she saw Thomas, her smile dissipated and she backed away, looking at him through squinted eyes. Xavier suspected some hidden communication between them as she relaxed soon thereafter. It unnerved him and then made him jealous before he forced himself to go on with the conversation.

“It’s good to see you,” Xavier said to Anne.

“What brings you to these awful parts, abbé? You’re always coming down into the muck and grime to see me. People will talk.” She laughed again before turning to Thomas. “And who have we here?”

“Thomas Lord,” Thomas said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle. Any friend of Xavier’s is safe in my presence.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear that,” she said in a tone of voice that indicated she knew something that Xavier did not.

“What are you two talking about?” Xavier asked.

She chortled even harder. “You mean he doesn’t know?”

Thomas stared at here, expression hardening on his face, but she paid it no mind.

“Oh, my precious priest, was there ever born a more innocent soul?”

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind, Xavier,” Thomas said tightly. “It’s nothing.”

“I feel strange even introducing you now,” Xavier said, confused. “This is Anne Hébert.”

“Yes, that’s the name. And if you ever call me mademoiselle again bad things will come to you. I like my name. It’s Anne, and expect you to use it from now on.” She smiled broadly, sweating from the heat of the fire. Her skin was light brown, her mixed blood giving her a lighter complexion. In an ignorant crowd, she passed for white. But she was fiercely proud of her heritage. She was short, well-built, not petite nor hefty, and carried herself in a very masculine manner.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for bringing Thomas. Last time I told you that I had a new friend. I wanted you to meet him.”

Anne chuckled. “How could I forget?” Then she turned to Thomas. “He walks in, all sulky, and tells me about a problem. I’m thinking the church burned down or he had a visit from Jesus, he’s so serious. But what is it? He tells me he made a friend and struggles with it. Did I get a chuckle outta that one. Still makes me laugh. I said to him, ‘What am I?’ and he giggles and admits that we’re friends. So, we calmed him down and I told him it was just fine to have a friend and I heard all about you. So long as you assure me you don’t mean any funny business you can stay with me because I trust Xavier’s judgment. But I have my eye on you.” She plunged into a chair, motioning for them to follow.

“You have nothing to worry about, mademoiselle.”

“It’s Anne, please. Don’t make me feel like one of them silly ladies all dressed up in the frills, running around Paris with nothing to do but yell at servants.” Then she looked at Xavier. “At least he isn’t someone from the church.” And she winked.

“Of course not.“ Xavier glanced at Thomas. “Anne and I talk a lot about religion, most of it pure blasphemy and heresy.”

“Only to you,” Anne said. “I can think what I damn please.”

“You two agree on theology?” Thomas raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, never.” they answered together.

This time Xavier burst into laughter. The ease of conversation almost made him forget that first awkward interaction between the man he loved and his dear friend. “We disagree constantly,” he said.

They talked about how Xavier and Anne met on one of Xavier’s wanderings and began debating instantly. Xavier still remembered their first conversation was the most engaging theological discussion ever. She was articulate, intelligent, and knew more about faith than all of the monks and priests combined. She supported him in his defiance of traditional Catholicism and he listened to her concerns about being a pagan in a very Catholic world.

“So you’re from America, too?” Thomas asked her.

“Yes, but not in the same way as you. Born in Haiti, a slave. Then I had to flee the violence with my master and his family to New Orleans. They took me along again when they returned to France, because they wanted a domestic servant.”

“Did you escape from them?” Thomas moved a pile of her laundry and sat closer to her.

“No, heavens no. I’m not that bold. They got tired of me and started losing money here. So they just left me on my way.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes, just like that. So I came to Paris and started doing the rich folks’ laundry out of my own place as a free woman.”

Xavier still marveled at Anne’s good nature despite all that she had experienced. It was another of her qualities that drew him to her.

“Well, Thomas, I am glad Xavier brought you here tonight.” Anne, as was her custom, abruptly ended the evening. “He’s said a lot about you and it’s nice to have a face with the name. But if you two gentlemen will excuse me, I need my beauty rest or I won’t be able to seduce all of those gentlemen customers into allowing me to wash their undergarments.”