by Lund, S. E.
But I can’t selectively erase the memory of either of them, so I must live in a world where I have one but lack the other. A world where I miss the other every day, the one twin never quite filling the hole where the other might have been.
It is my curse.
Chapter 105
“Courage is like love; it must have hope for nourishment.”
Napoleon
After a few moments, Julien opens the door and sees me sitting there, crying as silently as I can. He bends down to me and takes my face in his shackled hands. His expression is so empathetic.
“Oh, Eve… What did he say to you?”
I shake my head, unable to speak. He slips one hand under my arm and helps me up, trying as best he can to comfort me. I break down as soon as we’re inside the room and the door is closed. I don’t care if Julien sees me crying. I cover my face with my hands and weep. He threads his arms around me.
“Michel’s leaving,” I whisper, barely able to speak. “Soren will kill him.”
“Shh, shh,” he whispers, rocking me softly in his arms. “It’s okay, Eve. Michel knows what he’s doing.”
He holds me while I cry it out.
* * *
Later, I watch as he packs a small knapsack with his few personal possessions.
“Where are you going?”
He fastens the zipper and glances to where I sit by the fire. “There are a few weapons and things stored at Michel’s mansion in Cambridge that I need,” he replies, his tone light, “but I have a few places to hide out from my days undercover. You should come with me.”
“You think you’re just going to walk out of this place?”
“Yes,” he says. “I’ve watched the security and I know their patterns, when they change shift, how many people patrol and where. I take out one, use his weapon, take out any others who come to respond, and then I leave.”
“Sounds like a suicide mission.”
“If they have orders to kill me, Soren would do it eventually himself. Why wait and let them use me as a tool for Soren to gain more power?”
I sigh in frustration; he sounds so determined. “What changed for you?”
He shrugs. “Kael. He changed everything. I had no idea he’d kill so many people. I thought maybe one or two to quench his thirst, but that many? If Soren resurrects the rest of the Twelve, it’ll be hundreds. Maybe thousands.” He shakes his head. “Not doing it.” He jams something small into a pocket on the knapsack. “You should come with me, Eve. Now or never.”
“Soren will kill Michel if I do.”
Julien tilts his head and regards me. “He’ll kill Michel if you stay. If you come with me, at least we’ll die fighting. Put your Adept skills to use. Slay a few vampires on the way out. Doesn’t that sound better than sitting here waiting for Soren to use you and then kill you when he’s got what he wants?”
I know he’s right—even though Soren can read my mind when he wants, I realize that fighting sounds better than compliance. If I die, he’ll have no way to resurrect the Twelve on his own. It will be him and Kael. Maybe Blackstone can fight him. Maybe humans can find a way to destroy him using the nanovirus, if it’s engineered properly. He has to have a weakness.
I get my own bag and gather my few possessions. “If we survive, we have to find a way to destroy Soren. The nanovirus may be the only hope we have.”
Julien comes over and stops me, taking my hands and placing them around his neck. “I know we’re taking a huge risk, but I can’t stand by and let this happen, no matter what Blackstone thinks he can do to stop Soren down the road. I can’t live with this. I won’t.” He bends down and kisses me, his fearlessness giving me strength. “Now, get your sweet little ass in gear and let’s go. Time’s a wasting!”
I pack as fast as I can, then follow Julien out of the room, glancing back to see if I’ve forgotten anything. I see the two wing chairs and remember seeing both Michel and Julien siting there. I wonder if we’ll ever be together again.
We make our way down the hallways to the rear exit of the mansion. We pass through the kitchen to the scullery exit, and Julien stops to grab an apple off a tray, winking at the cook as he passes.
“You don’t mind if we take a few pints of blood, do you?” he says to a cheery-looking woman of wide girth wearing a cook’s white apron and cap, her cheeks rosy. “We’re going to have a moonlight picnic.”
She smiles at him, motioning to the icebox, letting him go and remove three bottles without complaint. I wonder if he’s already been here and charmed her.
Julien adds the bottles of blood to the backpack and fastens it once more. We pause in the doorway. Across from the scullery exit is a path to the fence that circles Soren’s property. There’s not a guard in sight.
“Let’s go,” he says and takes my hand, pulling me behind him.
We make it to the fence. There’s no one on the path, and apparently, no one’s seen us. I climb the chain-link fence and throw a coat over the top coil of barbed wire. I climb over and drop to the ground. Julien follows close behind me, throwing his pack over first, which I catch, and then jumps down, landing on all fours, the chains that shackle his hands making it hard to maneuver.
“That was too easy,” I say, and Julien nods.
“My exact thoughts. Do you suppose he’s letting us escape?”
“Why would he? He wants me to help resurrect the rest of the Twelve.”
Julien grabs his bag and leads me through the small copse of trees that borders the property. We emerge on the other side and there’s nothing between us and the city of Boston except other Brookline properties that provide ample cover.
“The first thing we’re going to do is find some way to get rid of these,” he says and holds up his cuffed hands. The foot-long chain that links them is wide enough that he can use his hands, but it’s definitely hard to do anything requiring dexterity.
We run, threading our way past Leverett Pond, through back alleys, down narrow paths between huge houses, and under a highway overpass. We don’t stop until we’ve run about two miles, pausing to lean against an outbuilding that is part of Hall’s Pond Sanctuary.
“I didn’t see anyone following us,” Julien says, catching his breath. “I can’t believe we weren’t caught on the video the surveillance system.”
“I don’t get it,” I comment, still not willing to tell Julien that Soren can read my mind. “All that security and yet, we were able to escape so easily. It seems like a trap to me.”
“If so, I guess we’ll find out,” he says and stands up. “Let’s go. It’s a good walk to Michel’s place.”
We pass an abandoned service station and Julien finds a set of bolt cutters behind some boxes in the service bay. I use them to cut the chains and then the bolts that secure the manacles to his wrists. He rubs his skin once the manacles are off.
“Free at last,” he says and smiles and once more I’m amazed that he can be so cheerful despite the reality we face.
We walk down the deserted streets of Mission Hill, up Essex Street to Park Drive and the Charles River, which we will cross to get to Cambridge. I’m aware that there may be people watching us from inside the buildings, but no one tries to stop us or contact us. Julien is silent as we walk, but he holds my hand in his, and now and then, he glances over at me and smiles.
I think of Michel and wonder if he’s already dead. A surge of sadness goes through me at the thought. I imagine him bleeding to death, lying on the floor with his vestments on, a smug Soren standing over top of him.
Would Soren really kill Michel? A part of me doesn’t believe it. Although he has reason to, even I can sense that Soren loves Michel. I don’t understand it, other than it must be incredibly lonely as an immortal. Finding someone else who has lived a long time and seen so much, shared so much history, done so much, must be a comfort.
We cross the Charles River using the Boston University Bridge and make our way north and west to Michel’s Brattle Street home.
* * *
The mansion is deserted when we finally arrive. I remember it being surrounded by guards and lit with torches, but now it’s an empty hulk, dark and cavernous looking from the street.
“Why is nobody here?” I ask as we walk behind the building through a narrow alley bordered with tall bushes and a brick and wrought iron fence. “Did Michel abandon it?”
Julien shakes his head and stops at the back driveway. The huge doors of the detached garage are open and the petroleum-fuelled vehicles sit empty and impotent. Wind moans through the trees, the dry leaves that remain on bare branches crackle like paper. A few brown-yellow leaves blow around the yard, dark against the white dusting of snow from an earlier flurry.
“Looks like he closed up shop and left,” Julien says and shrugs. “I thought he’d leave someone here to protect the property from squatters and looters. We should be careful in case someone’s in the house.”
My muscles tense as we approach. The door is locked and all the windows appear unbroken, so perhaps people have left the city in search of food. Julien breaks the window in the kitchen door and opens it from the inside. The room smells of dust and dried coffee. The house is silent other than our footsteps on the hardwood and tile floors.
Julien lights a lantern fueled with vegetable oil and we wander through the house in search of intruders, but it’s empty. Julien even takes the stairs to the basement but finds no one there so it’s just the two of us.
“We should keep our light low during the night in case we attract attention,” he suggests. “Seems that people have left the biggest houses alone, probably thinking there’s better security in place. There’s canned food in the kitchen and lots of staples, so we can take some with us.” He stands and surveys the living room. “Soren will come looking for us eventually. We should get weapons and supplies and leave as soon as possible.”
“I’m going upstairs to find some of my things from the apartment.”
Julien nods. “Do you need a lantern?” He holds it out to me.
I shake my head. I can see almost as well in the dark as I can in the light.
Julien cracks a smile. “I forgot. Human again,” he says and shrugs.
I climb the stairs to the second floor and go to the dark paneled room where Michel kept my things. After sorting through a few boxes, I pull out a few pieces of clothing to bring with me. It’s hard to know what to bring since I’m not sure where we’re going or what we’ll need.
I almost trip over a box of my mother’s files. I open it and there on the top is the manuscript and the file on the prophecy of St. Therese of the Reeds. I scan the page, my eyes coming to rest on a section in italics—a quote from the original document.
And when I turned, I saw a being with wings of grey dressed in a uniform with leather breastplate and helmet, a huge sword in its hand. Behold, an angel of The LORD, an Archangel, come to bring news of the end of days. His skin and hair was as white as snow, and his eyes were like blazing fire. His face was like the sun shining in all its brilliance.
I fell to my knees before him, my eyes burning from the brightness of his countenance. When he touched me, I saw a vision of the future and fear was in my heart for a rain of blood fell from a cloudless sky and all was cold and dark. One would come, the Angel told me, who would take over the holy Church and fight those who would enslave the Children of God across the world. He would wield one weapon that could save those who faced the blood tribulation—a double–edged sword of dark and light. The one who wields the sword must be pure of heart, for the blade is a harsh mistress and he who wields her should regret the day they raised it not in service of The LORD.
I exhale as I read it, for it seems preposterous. No sword is going to save anyone against Dominion. A sword can’t kill Blackstone—only a stake can. A single sword won’t turn back the plague or stop vampires and Soren from ascendance.
The only thing that will stop the plague is some kind of engineered nanovirus that will shut it off. The only thing that will destroy Soren is a more potent nanovirus than we tried last time. We haven’t come close to that yet because our ability to develop a new virus has been harmed by the spreading plague and loss of technology. Everything in a modern lab uses plastics in some part of its construction. All of it runs on electricity and most of that electricity came from coal-fired power plants, which are nothing but empty hulks now.
I put the document down. I’d really like to take the manuscript with me, but it’s heavy and bulky. It would take up too much room in my backpack, so I return it to the box. These items will probably be safe here from looters, who likely will have no interest in old documents filled with prophecies foretelling humanity’s doom.
I return to the main floor and find Julien packing up some canned beans and stew into a large backpack. He turns when I enter.
“Got everything you want?”
I hold up my backpack and nod. “I wanted to bring your manuscript so I could read it, but I figure it’ll probably be safer to leave it here. If we return someday, I can read it then.”
He smiles. “You could have the story right from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. Ask me anything.”
I nod, but I know Michel’s probably compelled him not to reveal anything he doesn’t want me to know. “I’ll take you up on that. Where are we going, anyway?”
“Northwest,” he says and jams another can into the backpack. “We need to get as far away from Soren as possible. There’s a small cell of like-minded people from the old Council hiding out at Fort Devens. We should contact them. The group includes a couple of my old army buddies. We could stay with them for a while, formulate a plan.”
“What about Dylan?”
Julien shrugs. “What about him? He pretty much betrayed you, didn’t he?”
“He has his reasons. I’d do a lot to protect my father.”
Julien finishes packing the backpack and stands. “Let’s go,” he says. “I don’t want to stay here any longer than we have to. Are you okay to travel? Do you need some blood?”
“Maybe a bit.”
“I’d let you bite me, but I need to conserve my strength.” He grins and hands me a bottle of blood. It’s preserved blood, rather than fresh, and I grimace as I drink down a half-bottle, replacing the cork once I do. It tastes off, and instead of the usual euphoria I feel when drinking blood, I feel only the bloodlust fade a bit into manageable background noise.
He puts the bottle back into his pack and refastens it.
“Feel better?”
I nod. “Able to face the rest of the trip at least,” I say and force a smile. “Preserved blood is pretty awful.”
“It is, but it keeps you alive. And me.” He turns back and grins at me.
I can’t resist him and smile back for real. “Julien, you know I’d never hurt you, don’t you?” I say, only half serious. I do feel desire for his blood, but I feel more desire for him.
“I was just kidding,” he says and takes my hand. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 106
“Exiles feed on hope.”
Aeschylus
Julien is laden with several weapons—ancient rifles, old handguns, leather holsters with bullets, and several swords of varying length. I carry a few swords and my backpack. Together, we walk until we reach the stables where Julien’s friend keeps a horse and wagon for his use.
Julien speaks with the man and I see money change hands. Julien also gives the man two of his swords and a few cans of food, because that’s the real currency. The man glances at me, his brows knitted together, and takes a puff on the cigar clamped between his teeth. I listen carefully to hear what they’re saying, because he doesn’t look pleased.
“I hope none of your trouble blows back onto me,” the man says. “I’m not choosing sides here. I’m trying to stay alive.”
“You have to choose sides, Nick,” Julien says as he takes the horse’s reins. “You already have by giving me the carriage and horse. Don’t kid yourself. Soren won�
��t see it any other way. He’s not one who believes in the neutrality of capitalism.”
Nick shrugs and takes out his cigar, using it to point at Julien. “Don’t mention my name to anyone. The fewer people who know who I am, the better.”
Julien says nothing more, but claps Nick on the back. Nick sneers at me and then turns away. Julien leads the horse and a flatbed wagon out and I place my backpack in the rear next to Julien’s. The cache of Julien’s weapons is hidden under a horse blanket. There’s a sack of feed and a bale of hay for the horse, and an old barrel that sloshes as the cart moves—must be water. There are a couple of sleeping bags, too, and a crate of tin pots beside the bale. We’re going to be roughing it for a few days.
It’s practically like the Wild West. The only thing missing are the Stetsons and cowboy boots.
I hop up onto the seat beside Julien and we’re off, taking a narrow road that runs north.
“How far is this place we’re going? How long will this take?”
Julien glances over at me. “It’s about fifty miles. A couple days, give or take, depending on the road, the horse, and how well-maintained the wagon is.”
I nod and shake my head, amazed that in only a few short weeks, we’ve gone from being able to travel that distance in a an hour to taking a few days to make the trip.
We drive northwest, taking Highway Two. The first day we plan to make twenty-four miles to Concord and find an abandoned motel on the outskirts of the city. After a few hours, my ass is sore from sitting on the hard seat, the wagon pounding over the road. I can only imagine how I’ll feel at the end of the day.
While we drive, Julien answers my questions about the manuscript, filling me in on why he wrote it and what parts Michel must have taken out.
“I was taught to read and write by my father’s tutor, who was grooming us for the priesthood. I liked to write, liked to read. You wouldn’t think I’d be the one to write. After all, I was the fighter, the swordsman, the one who took risks. It was Michel who was the studious one. Our tutor, Gerard, used to reinforce how important it was to preserve the gospels for posterity, transcribing old records from Church history so they wouldn’t be lost. It made me want to record what happened to us when we met Marguerite. If there was ever a story that needed to be told, it was me discovering that evil existed and walked the earth in human form. How we became that evil.”
