The Vampire's Angel (35 page)

“Do you mind if we leave you for a while?”

“Please, I don’t need to see any more of this.”

“You’ll be fine?”

“I’ll wait in my flat.”

Anthony smiled and spun away. Thomas, fully intending to behave, went directly to his flat without so much as a thought of seeing Xavier. He walked up the stairs and opened a window because the winter air felt good on his face. He tidied a few things before going to his desk but a servant’s knock interrupted him.

“Sir, I apologize, but there’s a lady who insists upon seeing you.”

Only someone with extreme persuasion and inside knowledge could breach Thomas’s first line of defense so easily—his servants knew never to interrupt unless Thomas alerted them beforehand that he expected company. In every city, Thomas chose a few wayward youths, only the cutest of the lot, and paid them far too much to do his bidding and therefore had their complete loyalty. He had learned this from Anthony, who thought them pleasant to look at, loyal to a fault, and game for sexual encounters. Thomas smiled and pinched this one on the face.

“Don’t worry so much.”

He walked to the window to look down on the carriage.

“What shall I do?” the young man asked.

“Bring her up.”

Thomas had glanced out and seen the Saint-Laurent carriage, though he had guessed it was Catherine from the first. Only she could persuade the servant to let her through. Only she was so bold.

The boy ushered Catherine into the room, and Thomas smiled.

“Catherine.” Thomas kissed her hand. “What a pleasure to see you.”

“Stop the flattery. You’ve avoided me for months. I sent the first note in September, and one each week since, and the vampire I thought was my friend never answered. So I came to him instead. Your little servant does a good job of protecting you, but he was no match for me.”

Thomas laughed. Catherine, with her sly grin, was always too much.

“Have a seat. I haven’t avoided you because I’m angry with you—”

“I know. You had some spat with my brother.”

“Then you know—”

“Spare me, Thomas. It’s not my business. I do appreciate that you continue to help in protecting Xavier. Since that mob attacked him, I worry constantly.”

Thomas’s stomach clenched. She thought it was a mob that attacked Xavier. And he obviously hadn’t dissuaded her. “It’s the least I can do. But why are you here?”

Catherine fumbled around nervously, her usual confidence faded.

“I desperately need your help. I know that you pay Denys and his men. I know that you still watch after Xavier. It means that you still love him.” She looked into his eyes as she said these words, always too perceptive. “Whatever happened, forget it. I need you to go to him.”

“Impossible.”

“It’s worse than you can imagine. He won’t talk about you, or anything besides his work. But he walks around the house in a perpetual stupor and drinks constantly. We can’t do anything. Maria, Anne, myself, nothing stops him. We take the wine from him, but he finds more. I finally just gave it to him when he snuck out of the house alone to steal it.”

His heart ached. “Catherine, please. I don’t want to hear any more. Nothing can heal the wounds between us. I love you, too. But this is too much for me.”

Catherine stood abruptly and strutted toward the door, where she turned and smiled meekly.

“I expected as much. I only thought—” she halted. “Never mind.” Catherine offered a sad, resigned smile and took her leave.

It broke Thomas’s heart. He watched as she climbed into her carriage and ordered the driver to move along. As the carriage passed, he saw Anne Hébert sitting next to her. But what followed behind?

A black horse trod a few yards behind the carriage. Thomas recognized Marcel’s evil designs instantly, and he had no patience for that fool and his schemes in his current state. Moody from Catherine’s visit and now angry, Thomas jumped out the window and landed on the ground in front of the man, who pulled back on the reins in fright.

“Why so startled?”

“What do you want?” He tried to sound forceful, but his voice quivered.

“Do you always follow carriages?”

“Get out of my way.” He spurred the horse but Thomas grabbed the reins and held tightly. With ease he yanked the man from his mount.

“I’ll do anything,” he moaned. “Please.”

Thomas loved it when evil men begged, these fiends who reveled in scaring and killing others. When a regiment marched down the road, Thomas jerked the idiot into the entryway of his building. The chandelier shook when Thomas slammed the door.

“Tell me what you were doing and who sent you.”

Thomas’s bicep bulged as he latched onto the man’s throat.

“I’m following the woman.”

“Which one?”

“The nigger.”

“Why? For whom?”

“I can’t reveal—”

Thomas tightened his fingers and glared a warning.

“I don’t know his name. He sent me to chase her out of Paris.”

“Were you supposed to kill her?”

“Only as a last resort because he said that she had magical powers.”

Thomas clutched harder until the man’s spine snapped. With speed, he flung the fool over his shoulder, shot through Paris, and deposited him in a pile of garbage.

So Marcel watched from afar despite his cowardice. Thomas needed to calm himself, and only one thing did the trick: Xavier.

He went to the Saint-Laurent home, walked inside, and wandered through the rooms until he heard Xavier, talking to Maria. Thomas sat near the door, out of view but close enough to hear them over the crowd.

Xavier slurred his words, sounding bitter, yet Thomas’s heart leapt at his voice.

“Maria, stop, I didn’t have much wine. There was just a bit left from communion and the good Lord won’t have me wasting it. It’s the blood, for heaven’s sake! If I’m drunk, I’m drunk on Jesus!” Xavier snorted at his joke, a harsh, mocking laugh.

“Blasphemy!” Maria scolded. “And lower your voice. People watch you.”

“Fuck them.”

“That’s it, come on.”

They scuffled as Maria removed Xavier, some of the salon visitors looking at the commotion, and, without warning, she dragged Xavier through the doorway. He stumbled, his eyes bloodshot, and laughed.

“Watch out for the nun brigade!” He fell to his face laughing but carefully tilted his glass so that no wine spilled. “Almost lost the good Lord on that one.”

When he got up, he toppled backward and landed in Thomas’s lap. Thomas froze, his heart pounding.

Xavier gulped the rest of his wine while seated, then casually explained to this “stranger” that he had had to stop and drink on his lap to avoid spilling anything. He could barely push off Thomas. He patted the vampire on the head and thanked him for the cushion, too drunk to recognize him. Thomas smiled and winked. Even drunk that beautiful face enchanted.

Maria, recognizing Thomas, hurried over and yanked Xavier away. She shoved Xavier along, and he giggled when she kicked him in the butt and moved toward the door.

“You know where to go,” she told Xavier. “And you—“ she addressed Thomas. “Get the hell out. You’ve done enough.” She scowled before following Xavier who had lurched down the hall.

Despite what Thomas had seen and how it pained him, he kept his wits about him. He did not yell back at Maria or despair about Xavier’s condition and instead walked out of the building. Of course he blamed himself, but he had to concentrate on what to do next instead of getting angry. Perhaps love blinded him, but somehow, it gave him the peace of mind to calmly step aside.

25 March 1792

CATHERINE WAS IN no mood for more gossip about the revolution as she walked through the house. Her former excitement had dulled since the revolution plodded along. She only needed an occasional update, yet the guard insisted that he had news for her.

“Stop,” she finally said. “If it’s urgent, I’ll listen. But only after I find my brother. I promised Maria that I’d take charge of him every morning to give her a respite. And I need to see him, so follow me and you can tell both of us.”

“I doubt your brother cares about this anymore,” the guard said with an edge of sarcasm that Catherine didn’t miss. She chose not to address it and headed silently down the hall. Xavier’s constant drunkenness, bitter anger, and childish humor had alienated many people. Catherine marveled that he sobered enough every afternoon to perform church rituals. Hoping foolishly that he might snap out of it suddenly, Catherine bided her time by nurturing him, care that he graciously accepted despite his antics.

“If you don’t want to tell both of us, you may go,” she finally said. Catherine bustled down the hall and ignored the guard, too busy for chit-chat. She knocked lightly on Xavier’s door.

“Who is it?” Xavier sang out.

“Xavier, open the damned door.” Catherine heard stumbling, something heavy fell to the ground, and then her brother dramatically pulled the door open and bowed before her, as if expecting King Louis.

“What are you doing?” Catherine laughed despite herself, hating to encourage his antics.

“Offering you the respect that you deserve. Come, have some wine.”

“I thought you agreed not to bring beverages into your room.” Catherine brushed past him and grabbed the bottle.

“See, I knew you wanted some.” Xavier shook his finger at her.

Staring at him, she casually opened the window and poured the rest of the wine onto the roof.

“Catherine! Why do you waste it when so many go thirsty?”

“Spare me your concern for the poor. Now get serious. I want to talk to you.”

“Wrong. Maria already told me that you were coming to babysit. There’s a difference between chatting and standing guard. Besides, the wine spirits uplift me.”

“They descend you into a pit of idiocy. And call it what you want, you and I are stuck together and I won’t watch you drink the whole time.”

Xavier pouted.

“Would you like a pacifier?”

Xavier burst into laughter, stumbled backward, and fell onto the bed. He spoke into the pillows. “What else is there to do but drink?”

As he asked, Catherine remembered the guard. “Just a moment.”

Xavier turned his head but made no other move.

“What did you want to tell us?” she asked the guard.

He glanced at her then at Xavier. “Did you hear about the Girondins?”

“What about them? I tire of their ridiculous demands. Their revolution is no more radical than anyone else’s. Who cares if they’re in charge? Nothing will change. Is that all you wanted to say?”

“Did you know that they’re allowing everyone to vote? Can you believe it? I can vote!”

“Not everyone.
Men
may vote. There’s a difference.” Catherine patted him on the shoulder and grinned. He smiled, too. “Thank you, kind sir, for your news. I need to see Xavier alone now. If you would, stay outside the door.”

He nodded once and retreated into the hallway.

When she closed the door, Xavier grinned.

“What?” she asked.

“You were a little harsh on him, weren’t you?”

“Oh, he’s nice but not the smartest one that I’ve ever met. Now get up, you look like a fool.”

“I am a fool.” This sent Xavier into guffaws, though he did sit up and lean against the bed.

“Did you steal more communion wine?” Catherine asked.

He laughed even more, which sent her into laughter as well. “I know. How ill I am, that I steal the communion wine for myself. But I don’t spill any. Besides, hardly anyone comes for communion and we don’t want to waste the wine, now, do we?”

“It will keep.”

“Not forever. No use making it vinegar,” Xavier said. “Vinegar is awful.”

Catherine sat on the edge of a fainting couch as Xavier moved about the bed in a thousand positions every second with jerky movements, as drunk as she had ever seen. She had stopped talking about this problem with him because it had no effect. Only Thomas could help and he refused to come.

Xavier started singing some made-up, silly song about Catherine and the revolution as he danced on the bed in his pajamas. Catherine racked her brain for a way to calm him.

“If you don’t calm down I’ll sell you to Thomas as a slave.” She instantly regretted it as Xavier fell into melancholy.

“Don’t spoil my mood. I was having fun.”

“Did you hear that the new government is allowing the parishes to banish priests if they defy its new laws governing the church? They can arrest them. They’re really going after the church. What if your parish becomes disgusted with your drinking? It only takes one of them to make up a story about you and away you’ll go.”

Xavier snapped back into his jovial mood and laughed loudly. “Whoosh! They’ll banish me to Rome where I’ll have to clean the Pope’s chamber pot.”

“Xavier—”

“No one cares what I’m doing. I’m no threat.”

“I care,” Catherine said.

“One of hundreds. I don’t know what to do. Should I be a priest or not? Do I still like the church?”

Catherine had had this conversation with him already. One minute he wanted to continue his clandestine engagements forever, then he wanted to abandon the church completely. At other times he wanted to be Catherine’s secretary, or Michel’s attendant, or simply float around the salon.

“Xavier, how are you really?” Catherine asked.

He smiled, trying too hard. “What do you think of this church activity?”

“You’re avoiding my question. How are you?”

“I don’t have a clue.”

Catherine walked to the bed and sat beside him. He held his legs to his chest, a sign since he was young that something troubled him.

“So you’re confused about the church, but this doesn’t allegedly bother you. I can accept that. You drink constantly. Why?” She asked though she knew the problem: Thomas. The failure of their love catapulted Xavier into this misery. Whatever the cause, they had had a falling out and Xavier could not cope with it.

“I can’t think of anything that would make me do this. You sound like Maria. She always wants me to talk about Thomas. Thomas, Thomas, Thomas. She hates him. Can you imagine? She always scolded me for meeting with him. She chastised me that he was no good, and now that he’s gone, now that I no longer see him, she wants to talk about him.”