The Vampire's Angel

by Damian Serbu

  Thomas reacted to each evening’s search in complete contrast to Catherine. Where she began morose and in despair but gained steam through the night, he became more and more pessimistic and depressed, wondering if perhaps Xavier really was gone forever. When the night ended again with no sign of him, Thomas quietly wept himself to sleep for the millionth time.

  Part IX: Resurrection

  Catherine: The Sighting

  8 June 1793

  CATHERINE WALKED OUT the door with Anthony and Thomas, embarrassed that she had done it again. The vampires arrived at dusk to search Paris, Thomas with exciting news that he had located another of Xavier’s old friends, Denys Girard, by simply passing him in the street. He had easily enlisted Denys in their hunt. But despite Thomas’s enthusiasm, Catherine greeted this pessimistically.

  He ignored her, ushered her out the door, and she regained hope after a couple hours. Thus the embarrassment. She had put her two friends—about the only two she had left in Paris—through these awkward scenes. She especially hated that her moods made her seem to be a swooning, overwrought woman.

  Catherine also came out of her melancholy moods because of Thomas. As she became more vigilant and able to focus on their search, the vampire became angrier. This, too, occurred every night, but of late his mood became darker and he threatened people on the street for minor offenses. Catherine had witnessed Thomas’s anger for the first time this month. It made him volatile, with an air of menace toward even the most innocent passersby. She better understood how he could have lashed out at her brother. Yet she trusted that he had reformed himself when it came to Xavier. Her instincts told her that he had changed in that regard. Or perhaps she trusted Anthony, because this vampire knew even more about Thomas and seemed to control him. Last of all, she had confidence that with Marcel’s help she could dispatch him to protect her brother if needed.

  They plodded along silently, near an open market where people still sold their goods, the hour being dark enough to awaken Thomas and Anthony but bright enough to continue trading.

  A few feet ahead, Thomas turned down a narrow alley. He often walked in front, leading the way and claiming that he watched out for Catherine. Anthony stayed with her, engaging in conversation and soothing her nerves.

  Catherine jumped with alarm when she and Anthony followed Thomas around the corner. She glimpsed it for but a second before Anthony shot in front of her and blocked her view. Thomas had some elderly man by the neck, suspending him three feet in the air. Catherine heard Anthony scold Thomas as the vampire released the man and tossed him toward Catherine.

  She helped him to his feet, his eyes wild with fear and he tripped again trying to flee.

  “The Devil, Madame, in Paris. You should run.” He tried to yank Catherine along but abandoned her when she resisted.

  “Because he thought you foolish for looking for a voodoo priestess and a Catholic clergyman?” Anthony yelled at Thomas as Catherine watched from a safe distance. “What did you expect? You planned to alter your search tonight by asking everyone you passed if they have seen a black woman and an aristocratic abbé hiding in Paris? Have you gone completely mad?”

  “He could have answered without laughing.”

  “Thomas, listen to yourself.”

  “We’re running out of solutions,” Thomas answered.

  Anthony started to shout but caught himself, pulled at his hair, walked in a circle, and returned to Thomas.

  “You knew that this was a possibility, Thomas. The reality is that you may never find him.” These words stung even Catherine, who let out a slight cry. Anthony grabbed Thomas’s hand. “Both of you want Xavier, but you can’t get angry about it. Strangling old men solves nothing. We’ve not found Anne, either, and you agreed that this was a positive sign.”

  Anthony pulled Thomas toward him by the shoulder, then took hold of Catherine with his free arm.

  “It frustrates me,” Thomas whispered. “How can I control my emotions? I wasn’t going to kill him, even in my rage I only wanted to frighten the old man.”

  “That doesn’t make it correct,” Anthony answered.

  “This search is an impossible task,” Catherine said to change the subject. “We can only help each other.”

  “It depresses me.” Thomas lowered his head and looked at the ground. “I fear the worst.”

  “Madame, Madame!” Someone bellowed at Catherine as they turned onto Rue St. Denis. The man was completely red and out of breath when he caught them and bent over. When he looked up, Catherine recognized Denys, with a wild expression in his eyes.

  “Madame, may I speak with you?” he asked.

  “What is it?” Catherine’s heart pounded. Denys did not speak and instead looked over her shoulder at the vampires.

  “Gentlemen, will you excuse us?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Anthony said. But Anthony had to guide Thomas forcibly toward the Saint-Laurent home. Thomas glanced behind them a number of times the entire way, perhaps trying to see Catherine’s reaction. Catherine maintained composure as Denys watched until the two men were out of sight.

  “It’s Xavier,” Denys said grimly.

  “Dear God. Is he dead? What is it?”

  “I think it best that you see for yourself.”

  With that, Denys pulled her toward the river, briskly and in silence.

  Catherine wanted to run but that would call too much attention to them. She chafed at their progress, thinking she also wanted to slap Denys for the mystery.

  Catherine: Lazarus Risen

  8 June 1793

  DENYS SLOWED AS they neared the Seine, almost on the outskirts of Paris. He glanced around constantly with his knife drawn in these unfriendly parts. Catherine hardly cared about her safety, however, for she was too nervous about Xavier.

  The night darkened away from the city, and the path muddied. They picked their way around garbage, passing a few dirty creatures— those who cared nothing for any government. Even the authorities feared to venture here, where anarchy ruled. Thankfully, Denys held the criminals at bay with his large and imposing figure. Then, quite abruptly, as if someone had drawn a warning line in the dirt that no one dared cross, all signs of life ceased near a bridge, underneath which burned a bright fire. Goose bumps spread across Catherine’s arms as she searched the shadows, for what she didn’t know. She squealed and jumped when some man shouted at them.

  “I wouldn’t be going there if I was you,” he said. “That there knife won’t stop her.” Denys scowled and kept going.

  “She’ll get you, and you won’t be the first to suffer her witchcraft. That one comes from the devil,” the man shouted after them. He continued screaming as Denys cautiously moved forward. Closer to the bridge, Catherine noticed two people hovering over the fire and talking, laughing even. Then Denys stopped.

  “I don’t know what to say, whether this is good or bad. You’d best go alone.”

  Catherine, her self-assurance waning, hesitated after a couple of steps and looked back at Denys, who still protected her though he went no farther. She turned back toward the bridge, slowly, fearfully, attempting to rationally convince herself to disregard the warnings from a deranged tramp, but the blackness surrounding her tricked her into trepidation. She heard every crunch of a branch and squish of the mud as she moved along, toward the only source of light: the fire beneath the bridge. She jumped at a crackle from the fire.

  Closer to the bridge, Catherine saw that the two figures were cooking something over the fire. The contented scene relaxed her enough to finally recognize their mannerisms. She involuntarily cried out and lurched into a run. Was it really who she thought?

  “I warned you, I even showed you my powers, and still one of you dares—”

  Anne stopped mid-sentence and stood still. In a split second, Xavier wrapped Catherine in his arms as she wept uncontrollably. Her body convulsed, she could not hold him tightly enough, afraid he might disappear if she let go.

  “Xavier,”
she said, “Xavier...Xavier.”

  He, too, held tightly, then patted her head in comfort. Overwrought, Catherine leaned against him when he finally moved them toward a log to sit.

  Anne and Xavier had apparently lived under this bridge for some time. They had even decorated the walls and created furniture out of rocks and logs. The large fire illuminated the area with safety and warmth. When Catherine at last pulled away from Xavier, he smiled meekly through teary eyes.

  Anne giggled from the other side of the fire. “We’ve been expecting one of you for some time.”

  “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

  “I’m sorry for not coming to you, or at least not sending word. There are a number of reasons, but suffice it to say that I needed to be away for a while. And I needed you to discover me instead of my begging to come back.”

  He sounded like the old Xavier: soothing, self-assured, taking control emotionally and placating her anxiety. He was also sober.

  “You’ve been here all along?” Catherine asked.

  “No,” Xavier answered. “We’ve been throughout Paris, here, there, everywhere, and even into the countryside. The night that I left, I went to find Anne. She was leaving Paris, ready to meander for a time and tired of the laundress façade, so she allowed me to come along. She saved me.”

  Anne laughed again. “My little abbé saved himself. He did all the work. I just prodded him along.”

  “What have you been doing?” Xavier asked.

  Catherine managed a laugh of her own, and started crying again. “Looking for you, you dear, foolish man,” she answered.

  “I’m so sorry—”

  Catherine put her hand up. “No, don’t feel bad. The salon runs only because Jérémie does most of the work from London, and Maria manages daily affairs. I helped when necessary, but otherwise I looked for you.”

  Xavier shook his head wonderingly and their tears stopped gradually, to be replaced by enormous grins on each of their faces.

  “So you fled to Anne. Thomas predicted as much. ”Catherine flinched, realizing what she’d said.

  “It’s all right,” Xavier said. “I should’ve guessed.”

  “Well, we were just talking about how you used to hide in the church, and then we realized that you took your theological quandaries to Anne, and—” Catherine stopped again, afraid.

  Anne, however, chortled. “Such a predictable one, our abbé,” she said.

  Xavier smiled and waved his hand in the air. “You may continue silently cooking.”

  “Yes, master,“ she shot back at him.

  “It’s true,” Xavier said. “I went to her. In a drunken stupor, I told her of my lifelong struggle to find meaning and of my fight with the feelings that I tried to keep locked deep inside. I blamed myself for everything. Anne allowed me to rant and drink for as long as I needed. She hardly said a word, never scolded, but just let me talk. Mind you, I’m speaking about months. Months of my drinking and blabbering went on before I finally stopped. Anne dragged me all over Paris to a million hiding places. She made me help earn money. I had to set up the tables when the aristocracy paid her to contact dead relatives. We went all over, even to the ocean. She took me throughout France and eventually we returned to this bridge and waited for you to find us because I was ready.”

  Catherine’s cheeks hurt from smiling. “What changed?” she asked. “Can you tell me?”

  “I’ll tell you everything.”

  “Before you do, I need to know. Was it my fault?” She choked on her words and started crying again. “I was wrong, after Michel died. I never meant to chase you away or insinuate that I didn’t care.”

  “Catherine.” Xavier hugged her. “It wasn’t you, or anyone. Let me tell you what happened.”

  Xavier’s words comforted her more and more.

  “I was in a drunken daze and hardly believed everything that had happened. The revolution, the destruction of my church, the changes in my life, and then Michel’s death.” He paused, and Catherine assessed his demeanor. At least he did not repeat his accusation against Marcel.

  “When you and Maria came to me that night, I felt like a failure and burden, so I fled to relieve you of the responsibility. No—” Xavier cut Catherine off, “don’t explain. It was me, not you. My world was in turmoil and nothing made sense. So I sought Anne, and she helped me through a very dark period.”

  Anne laughed and winked at Xavier.

  “In May, I finally decided that the wine had failed me. I stopped drinking heavily, almost overnight, and then Anne and I started really talking. I never had any profound revelations. I didn’t change my outlook on life. Anne just helped me focus. She took my previous ideas that relied on Catholicism and showed me how they applied whether or not guided by some grand theological scheme. Does this make sense?”

  Catherine nodded. Then Xavier addressed her one doubt without prompting, though he spoke more softly and held her hand.

  “I know nothing will make you feel better about my disappearance or the fact that I didn’t come to you. I thought I was protecting you, as strange as it sounds. And, I said that I returned to Paris to come back to all of you, yet here I sit under a bridge, away from home. I was afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?” Catherine asked. “You knew that we’d take you back.”

  “No, I didn’t. I was afraid that you’d be angry.”

  “About what?”

  “For leaving and being so selfish.”

  “No, Xavier. I love you. You did what you needed to.” Catherine cupped Xavier’s cheeks. “I don’t understand completely. It makes me sad. But I hope you’ll return, because I do love you.”

  Xavier smiled broadly and jumped up, grabbed two glasses, and then a bottle of wine. He poured each of them a glass and then laughed loudly.

  “Get that frightened look off your face. ‘Tis merely a toast, and I didn’t stop drinking altogether, I only stopped drinking myself into oblivion.”

  Catherine laughed, too, her face had betrayed her, so she lifted her glass to Xavier’s.

  “To you.”

  “No, to us.” He touched his glass to hers.

  They each drank, and Anne smiled in agreement, but Catherine wanted to know more and urged Xavier on.

  He sighed. “I don’t know what else to say. I’m still bitter about Michel. I should have saved him. There are things you can’t know about that day. I’m still angry with the church. More than that, I’m angry with myself for believing that its theology could change the world. I hate that I hid from my true feelings for so long behind some created theology that oppresses people. But, I still hope and love people. I still think that good can come out of anything. You have always disliked the church, which worried me. Yet here we sit, and it’s I that came to see things your way. I still think that religion, even Catholicism, must play a role in this world. It’s important. But I’m not convinced that any one religion has it right or wrong. This new idea, being talked about in Paris, about a Supreme Being or some such thing. Why, it’s as valid as Christianity so long as it aids people.”

  The old Xavier had returned, but Catherine detected a new maturity. His tone rang the familiar song of wanting to do good, yet he sounded more cautious and confident, not looking for outside answers from false authorities. His theology was more sophisticated. Had he at last applied his rhetoric of inclusiveness and acceptance to himself?

  Catherine and Xavier chatted a long while about where he had gone, about his beliefs, and she caught him up on her life. She avoided, however, mentioning the person who had become more important to her than any other, fearful of Xavier’s reaction.

  Thankfully, during a lull, Anne came over and sat between them, laughing as usual.

  “There is my little abbé again. All we talked about, why he told everything but one small detail, Catherine. We snapped him out of his drunkenness, we got him thinking right about that silly Catholic Church, and we even managed to save his faith in humanity. But there’s one other th
ing, isn’t there, abbé?”

  Xavier smiled sheepishly then played with the buttons on his shirt.

  “There’s my shy little one, he accepts it but is worried about what you might think. I told him many a time that you already know.”

  “Anne, please,” Xavier said.

  “Well, go on, you find out which of us is right. Remember the pact we made? You said yourself not to let you get scared, and so I promised you that I’d be telling others if you failed to do it.”

  “Maybe we should wait.”

  “Catherine, part of Xavier’s journey, part of what he needs to do, is accept all the feelings inside. He loved another man and wants to pursue it. I told him you already knew, but he’s afraid you’ll be upset.”

  Anne finally got it into the open. But, just as relief spread through her, Catherine tensed at the thought of the quagmire Thomas’s and Xavier’s love would yet create. Could she trust Thomas again? And how had Xavier dealt with that awful event?

  Catherine: Private Conversation

  8 June 1793

  “ANNE, THIS IS embarrassing,” Xavier said as he continued to squirm on the log. Catherine warmed her hands by the fire and glanced up at the bridge under which they sat, noticing for the first time that it was no longer used.

  After Xavier finally admitted what Anne had said, and after Catherine comforted him and revealed that she had, indeed, always suspected, the conversation drifted away because neither felt comfortable with it—Catherine because this inevitably led to Thomas. How much would she tell Xavier? Could she even admit knowing that Thomas had beaten him, let alone Thomas’s situation? She shuddered to think what that might do to Xavier’s new-found serenity.

  “Xavier, do you think that we might invite our guest to a meager dinner? Not much, mind you, but we spice it up a little with some remedies I learned in New Orleans. Now, go fetch the meat.”