by S. E. Lund
He shakes his head. "It's obvious this is the work of the same killer."
"But it's my job…"
Michel squeezes my hand to stop me. "Eve," he says, his voice choked. "This is not your fight."
I frown. Michel lets go of my hand and stands next to the table. I glance from one brother to the other. Identical except for Julien's hair and scar.
"He was older by four minutes," Michel says, his voice choking. "The first to do everything – to walk, to speak, to kiss a girl..."
The first to die… I think, completing his thought.
I wonder about the legendary bond that exists between identical twins. It's impossible to explain in purely scientific terms so one has to resort to paranormal phenomena to account for it, but I'm a scientist. I cling to the belief that everything has a material basis – even telepathy.
Michel covers his mouth and leans down, pressing his forehead against his brother's. He grabs Julien's jacket and squeezes, and I fear he's going to lose control.
After a moment, Ed clears his throat, and Michel straightens and wipes his eyes. I feel a surge of sympathy for him when I see his tears, and mine bite at the corner of my eyes in response. Finally, the attendant recovers the body. I take Michel's arm and lead him out of the room and his hand slips down my arm, threading his fingers through mine.
"Our witness told us what happened, but he's not really reliable."
"A witness?"
"Some old vagrant sleeping in the street outside the cathedral," Ed says. "Probably senile. Always pestering the parishioners for spare change."
"You don't think he staked Julien?"
"No," Ed says. "He was too old and weak. Probably another vampire or an Adept."
Michel's face is grim as we wait for the elevator to the third floor offices. I get in beside Michel, and am almost overwhelmed at the intensity of his grief. He holds it in such control, his body stiff, his face blank, only his hand gripping mine so tightly shows any emotion.
We enter Ed's office and Ed sits behind his desk and Michel sits on the chair across from him. He sinks into it and wipes his eyes. I remain standing at the side of the office.
"I have your brother's personal effects," Ed says, and thrusts an envelope and a sheet of paper towards Michel. "You'll have to sign this release form."
Michel opens the envelope and retrieves a watch, rosary and a ring. He puts them in his pocket but keeps the ring in his hand, turning it over and over in his palm.
"His clothing," Ed says while Michel signs the release form, "his overcoat is being kept as evidence. It's quite damaged."
Michel nods. He examines Julien's ring, and then slips it on the index finger on his right hand.
"I know this is painful," Ed says, speaking in a soft voice, "but do you have any idea who might have done this to him? Any enemies? People with a grudge? Was he trying to take over anyone's territory?"
"No," Michel says, his blue eyes red from tears. "We've made many enemies over the centuries."
"It was Soren," I say to them both, but they ignore me, as if they can't even hear what I'm saying. Ed flips a few pages in his file. A knock at the door draws my attention away from Michel. One of the clerical workers hands Ed a file. He returns to his desk and flips through the contents.
"You should see this," he says, motioning for Michel to join him. Michel goes to his side and leans down to examine the file, which contains several pages of email messages. I peer over Michel's shoulder, careful not to get too close. There I see a research paper on the Cathars. Michel picks it up and reads through the first page.
Ed glances up. "What about any groups your brother might have been involved in?"
"Groups?"
"Yes, you know. Special study groups. Religious sects. That sort of thing."
"We were both of the Order of Preachers, the Dominicans, if that's what you mean, but it's hardly a sect. Julien used to go rock climbing with some of the monks. He volunteered at a local library archives, cataloguing old documents. That's all I know. No groups."
I pick up one of the emails. It's addressed to "In Doubt" and was from someone with the handle "Brother Novae". The body of the email mentions a meeting to discuss "The Pure".
Ed rustles through the printed pages in the file.
"Forensics found some interesting information in your brother's email," he says. Ed holds up an email and reads it. "He had a trip planned for the summer to France to follow the path of the Albigensian crusade. And there were a few email addresses to a group known as 'The Pure'. Do you know anything about that?"
Michel shakes his head. "Trip down memory lane? Julien fought to defend the Cathars back in the day. I sided with the Church against them," Michel says. "It's old news." Michel rises. "If we're done here, the sun will rise very shortly."
"Fine," Ed says. "Take some time to arrange things. But please, keep your phone on."
Michel nods, and now I'm so curious about why he was out of contact for the past twenty-four hours.
"Do you need anything?" I say, touching his arm. "Let me know how I can help."
Michel takes my hand, squeezing it. "I'm fine," he says.
I know he's anything but.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
"A wounded deer leaps the highest."
Emily Dickenson
The next evening after sunset, I take a cab to the cathedral, hoping to find Antonio and ask him some questions about what happened. Once I arrive on monastery grounds, I go on foot. The noise from the distant highway has faded, and now all I hear is the sound of my thumping heart. A walk will help me relax. The events of the previous night and morning have drained me and I need the exercise.
The streets are still wet from the rain. To the north, the fog distorts the view of the cathedral buildings, deep within a small wooded area. A long wall of stone surrounds the grounds, and there, about half way up the street, sits a figure in a tangle of cardboard and plastic, a hat and muffler obscuring his face. Ed indicated that a few homeless people lived in the area so this might not be Antonio, but I forge on in hope that he is.
I draw closer and slow my pace, my gut knotting when I see Michel turning onto the sidewalk in front of me. He's facing the other direction and doesn't see me, so I hang back, wondering what he'll do.
When Michel approaches the seated figure, the man looks up and I recognize Antonio from the curve of his nose. He shakes his hand as if demanding a coin. Michel reaches deep into his pocket and retrieves a few coins, then drops them into the outstretched palm. I join him rather than hang back and remain out of sight. I'm worried what Michel might do. It's impossible to predict the behavior of those who grieve.
"Deo grazia." Antonio says as I join them. Michel looks at me and frowns.
"Are you following me?"
"No," I say, embarrassed and insulted at the same time. "I wanted to check out the crime scene. I saw you and came over."
"You shouldn't be out alone, especially not at night. My security team has failed I see."
He turns back to Antonio. The old man counts the coins and then closes his hand around them, placing his hand against his chest.
"Accept my condolences for your loss," he says.
"You were here when he was murdered?" Michel clears his throat as if he finds it difficult to speak. "You saw my brother die? Did you see who killed him?"
"Julien always gave something." The old man shakes his head. "He had a generous heart."
"Who are you?"
"Me?" he says and shrugs. "I'm no one. But my name is Antonio."
"Did you see who killed my brother?" Michel says once again.
The old man closes his eyes and makes the sign of the cross.
"The Dragon has returned and even now walks among us. Someone strong must destroy his minions and send Him back to the pit where He belongs."
Michel shakes his head and turns to me, disappointment clear in his eyes.
I sigh. "We told you he wasn't … reliable."
Michel turns away, but befo
re we can leave, Antonio reaches out and grabs Michel's pant leg.
"Your brother wanted to fight," he says, looking up at Michel. "He would have killed the Dragon if he could have, but he was not strong enough. It happened too fast and we were not prepared. And I . . ." The old man shakes his head and rubs his eyes. "I was weak. I couldn't save him."
"What are you talking about?" Michel jerks his leg out of Antonio's grasp and strides down the street towards the cathedral.
"Don't be so quick to dismiss what I say," Antonio calls out when Michel's a few paces away. His voice has lost its age and is now strong and firm. "This guise is useful, for it protects me from those who would try to stop me and others like me."
Michel turns back, and I'm also compelled to stay and listen. A thrill goes through me at the sound of lucidity in Antonio's voice.
"What do you mean, others like you?" Michel says.
"Others who are pure. One day, you'll understand – if you survive the trials."
"I'm not pure," he says and shakes his head, his voice catching.
"You have no idea who you are, either of you," he says and points at us. "Still, the Dragon has returned. He must be defeated. We must all watch and be vigilant and those of us who can, must try to destroy Him."
Michel turns away as if he can't bear to listen any more.
"The Dragon and St. Michael have been fighting for thousands of years," Antonio says. "You think you've read church history but you have not read it all, not even close. But don't believe me. After all, I am just an old man, am I not? Go," Antonio says and waves his hand. He picks up a piece of cardboard and places it over his head to protect himself from the rain, which has just started once more. "Be with God."
Michel turns to me. "I have an appointment with the Bishop about Julien. Do you have a ride? It's not safe for you out here alone."
"I'll call a cab," I say and hold up my cell. "Don't worry about me."
"Let me get my driver to take you home." He takes my head in his hands and pulls me closer, kissing my forehead. "I can't have anything happen to you."
"It's OK. I'm just going to look at the crime scene again and then I'll call a cab."
"Just let my driver know when you're ready, and he'll take you. I won't let you go home alone, Eve. You shouldn't even be here."
Michel opens his cell and speaks into it, and his limo drives up.
"Take it when you're ready."
I nod and watch Michel enter the long winding path to the cathedral, knowing there's nothing I can say to comfort him. I want so much to be with him, but he hasn't asked and I know this must be a lonely journey for him.
The rain starts again and so I open my umbrella and walk along the sidewalk towards the crime scene. I stand alone in the deserted garden. The police and forensic units have long gone. Only a lone ribbon of yellow tape flapping in the wind marks the spot as a crime scene.
I enter the enclosure and stand in the center of the darkened garden, trying to imagine what Julien was doing here so late the night before. From where I stand, the lights from the street cast a baleful yellow glow over the area, but it does little to illuminate the enclosure. Tall firs and oaks line the wall and block out most of the light so that it's almost completely dark. The street noises are muted and only the sound of the rain pattering on my umbrella fills the silence. The previous night, the rain wasn't as heavy, but it had been constant. Why had Julien come here at midnight, to meet his killer alone? Was this part of some cult to which he belonged?
I glance up, feeling the odd sensation of being watched. A figure stands in the entry, no umbrella in hand. After a moment, he walks over to me. Michel. He says nothing as the rain falls and drenches him so that his eyelashes cling to each other and rain drips off his cheeks.
"I thought you had a meeting with the Bishop."
"I can't relax until I know you're safe. Have you found anything?"
"No," I say. "Come under the umbrella. The rain's cold." I hold it up, but he declines with a shake of his head.
"Then come over here under the trees for shelter. You're soaked."
"I'm dead," he says, his voice bitter. "What does it matter?"
I take his arm and pull him to the shelter of one of the tall firs. Underneath, only a few errant drops of rain fall through the canopy of needles. I close my umbrella and stand still in the ensuing silence.
I squeeze his arm in comfort.
Michel shakes his head. His hair is soaked and his thick lashes clumped from the rain – or tears.
"He was so good to me," he says, his voice breaking. For a moment, he says nothing, and I can see him struggling with his composure. "Despite everything, he treated me so well."
"He loved you very much, despite how he teased you," I say. "How hard will it be to get an Ancient's blood to restore him?"
Michel sighs. "I'll get Soren to do the rite tomorrow, but the price will be very high." Then he touches my cheek lightly, saying nothing, reaching up to cup my face and I lean into his hand. I realize he's using his powers to take away my sadness, and in that moment, I feel a surge of something for him that surprises me. Whether it was his doing, or just a flash of insight, I don't know. All I know is that he was never a monster, no matter what he's done.
In the darkness, he reaches out and folds me in an embrace, his arms tightening around me. Our skin doesn't touch and so we're just two people embracing, providing each other comfort. I rest my head against his shoulder. He's silent for a long moment and it feels so comforting to be in his arms.
"Soren arranged all this," he says, his voice filled with emotion. "All of it like one big chess game. He wants one of us. He'll want Julien's servitude in return for reviving him."
I can think of nothing to say in response. Then, movement catches my eye and I turn, my heart racing, only to find Antonio standing on the pathway a few steps away from us. Like Michel, he's drenched from the rain.
"This is where they stood," Antonio calls out. The old man points to a spot off the pathway. "I held up my crucifix and tried to stop it, to make it leave Julien alone, but I was not strong enough. Julien was already under its spell."
Michel doesn't move. I'm transfixed as well, imagining it in my mind's eye.
"The demon tried to stop me, but I fought it," Antonio says, his voice gaining strength and emotion. "Then it killed Julien, staking him. It threw him across the clearing as if he were no more than a rag doll. He fell onto the ground here." Antonio points to a tall fir beside the walkway.
Michel moves closer and examines the spot but there's nothing to see. Whatever blood there was has been washed away in the rain.
"You must take up the fight, Michel," Antonio says. "You must follow in his footsteps. Give in to God's plan. But there are sides. Choose carefully."
Michel pushes past the old man and leaves the garden. I follow him to the park's exit and he stops and waits for me.
I touch his arm. "He's a crazy old man. Ignore him."
"Not as crazy as you might think."
"Tell me, then."
"Eve," he says and rubs his forehead. "I'm taking some time off while I make arrangements to revive Julien." He looks at me. "You're not safe. I'm going to have to teach you to look after yourself. I want you to meet me tomorrow night at the dojo. If I'm leaving you unprotected, I'm doing things my way. I have to go to my appointment, but you need to go home now. Promise me you'll use my driver and go home right away."
"Of course I will."
"Wait up for me," he says and touches my cheek. "I'll be over later. Have a nice bath. Wear that pretty little nightgown. Be ready for me. I need you."
That makes my heart swell with emotion and my body respond. He leaves my side and walks down the lane to the monastery without looking back. When I glance back to the garden, the old man stands in the center where Julien died, still unprotected from the rain that now falls in torrents.
CHAPTER TWENTY
"They sicken of the calm who knew the storm."
&nb
sp; Dorothy Parker
The driver takes me home and drops me off, watching until I get safely into the building. I feel almost dizzy waiting for Michel to come by, remembering his words. Heat rises to my cheeks, my body responding at the thought he needs me. Since I arrived home, every time I have a moment, I can't help but think of Michel and what he'll do when he arrives.
The time passes slowly. As he directed, I have a bath and lie submerged in the warm water, running my soapy hands over myself. I'm tempted to just quickly do myself for my arousal is so great at the thought of what will happen but I don't.
I dress in my nightgown as he said and sit in the living room watching television and waiting, but he doesn't show and soon, it's nearing three o'clock in the morning and I'm exhausted. Perhaps something came up to delay him, or perhaps he isn't coming after all and this was all just a lesson for me to learn patience.
If so, it hurts quite a bit.
I say goodnight to the cats and then slip under the covers. I look at the clock – it says 3:28 – he won't be coming tonight and I almost decide to masturbate and get it over with but hold back. Tears sting at the corners of my eyes but I dig my nails into my palms and refuse to cry.
Then, I hear a key in the door and turn over to watch the hallway. The lights flick on, and my body, still swollen and aching, responds immediately and I laugh at myself – Pavlov's dog has nothing on me.
Michel enters the apartment and comes immediately to the bedroom, striding over to the bed, his gaze fixed on me. I sit up and when he gets to the side of the bed, he throws back the covers and leans over me, forcing me back onto the bed beneath him.
"This is how it's going to be, Eve," he said, his face inches from mine, his voice low. I smell his cologne and feel his bulk against me. He still had his leather gloves on, and on top, his black cassock coat. He pulls off my nightgown so that I'm completely naked beneath him, then he grabs my hands and holds them over my head. "You aren't going to say a word. You're just going to comply. No preliminaries. I'm just going to fuck you. Now."
He drags me to the edge of the bed, positioning me so that I'm level with his hips and he unbuckles his pants, unzips and without undressing at all, pulls out his erection, which is thick and dripping. He leans over me, pressing against me so that his length slides between the lips of my sex and he holds my hands in his gloved one. His mouth is almost touching mine, but not quite.
