Vampire Vow Page 5

  "Come to me, Michael," I whispered, in spite of myself. "Don't fear the darkness. What kind of eternity awaits you in the light but one on bended knee? Would you fight your pride beyond the end of time?"

  He moaned, opened his eyes and peered into mine, then slipped into a profound sleep.

  III

  Communications

  Chapter Eleven

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  Rivulets of blood from the thorns stream down his ashen face. He shifts his weight to his feet in order to breathe and, when his strength fails him, hangs from his hands once again, the nails tearing his flesh. I remember taking those hands in mine one day on a fishing boat. Then they were browned by the sun, calloused from what I called his quaint profession as a builder.

  "Victor," he says, his head rolling until his pained gaze falls on me, "God can forgive you." This is the way he always begins our conversations, no matter what scene of our lives together we are revisiting.

  "God be damned! What kind of god lets them do this to you? He delights in your torture." I am standing beneath the cross, alone, under a graphite sky, my cape whipped by the wind.

  "No." He swallows and takes a breath, straining to support himself on his feet. "It's salvation. To give to the end. To give all, even your life."

  "Why do you spew this rubbish at me, Joshu? You heard the rogue there next to you. Save yourself. Ask this god of yours for mercy, if that's what it takes. Don't pant and bleed here in front of me, with excrement running down your legs, telling me to ask for forgiveness from your god. Your god disgusts me. You disgust me."

  "I… I love you, Victor."

  "Yes, so you say. Every time we speak. Every time, damn you. And for the millionth time I answer, 'Come to me then.' I know you have a power. Not the power the mobs see, your flimsy healings and exorcisms. You know what I mean. The power derived from immortality. Power like mine. Why choose the world of light? What is its reward? Look what I have in the night. Eternity, mastery."

  "Loneliness, longing."

  "I satisfy my longings! Every one of them. And as for loneliness…company be damned when it takes the form of sniveling humans or a tyrant god who can't stand to share his power. But you, Joshu," I press my lips against his bloody feet and savor his taste, "you are different. We could spend eternity together in the night, having all we want."

  Joshu gasps for breath and collects his strength to stand once again. "If you want me, you want the God of light. My God, my God." His eyes roll toward the threatening sky, ripped by lightning.

  "No!" I scream. "Not again." I pound the cross with my fist. "Curse your god and live!"

  "This is my body…body…body." The words reverberate through darkness now. The winds cease. I feel myself spinning. I open my eyes and once again find myself in the choir stall. The fool priest is consecrating the wafer. "This is my body, which will be given up for you," he says, with gravity. I want to storm to the altar and rip the host from his hands. I want to tear open his throat. But I restrain myself, forced to take part in the mockery until the host is in my mouth. Then I defile it by swallowing, letting it mix in my stomach with the blood of my victims, and vomiting it up before climbing into my coffin.

  Chapter Twelve

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  My visions of Joshu were nothing new. They'd haunted me for 20 centuries. I hoped, though, as always upon moving into a new monastery, that they would cease. The crucifixion vision, especially, ripped at my heart. Although I had caused countless deaths, lapping up the blood that surfaced on taut flesh like vintage wine streaming from a cask, to see Joshu's death, Joshu's blood, was to relive my loss.

  As much as I wished the visions would cease, I also feared this possibility. After all, the visions were all I had of Joshu. In them I felt that he was present, speaking, and not just a shadow created by my supernatural mind, felt that the risen Joshu communicated through this medium.

  That there had to be such a medium at all exasperated me beyond endurance. It was like speaking through glass: The same cold matter that brought him near to me also, cruelly, formed an impenetrable barrier. The nearness to intimacy wrenched my heart.

  The visions were induced by the chants and scents of Mass, and by feeding on the exceptionally rich blood of those who ate large quantities of meat—in the case of the mountain people, squirrel and porcupine and raccoon.

  The visions also sometimes occurred while I studied volumes from my collection of ancient texts about Joshu: Some people called them the Apocrypha, but I knew from the lips of Joshu himself that much of the lore was true, tales about Joshu as a boy, breathing life into clay doves, striking down neighborhood bullies with a glance, healing wounded pets.

  During our mountain hikes and sailing adventures Joshu would laugh over his youthful impetuosity. Not sure of what to make of his extraordinary powers at the time—whether he invented them or truly possessed them—but disinclined to reflect overly much, I would clap his naked back and say that he should use his powers. If he restrained his true nature, it would come out in one way or another.

  Indeed, his power did come out, in the fire behind his words to temple officials, in his fury over injustices to toothless widows and snotty-nosed children. Compassion was his power, at the very core of his nature. This is what intrigued me about him: His compassion was not the result of pious submission to his god, but, in some inexplicable way, his very nature.

  The visions also overcame me as I studied occult texts, which for many centuries were banned by the Church, though they could always be gotten from devious monks. Now such volumes were readily available in most monastic libraries. Mythology and satanism were now deemed legitimate fields of research by the new, sophisticated, incorruptible brand of monk.

  I can't say how the authors of these volumes learned of the world of darkness, whether they were inspired by court members like Tiresia, whether they themselves were vampires like me. But I was convinced of their accuracy. From them, I pieced together the components of my world, my history, my fate.

  Certain fallen angels, followers of Lucifer, had escaped hell and fled to a kingdom near the moon where they thrived on their lust for power. A hierarchy was established, the angel Principia becoming queen, Copulus and Demitria her consorts, and the others her court.

  These beings were driven to extend their kingdom beyond themselves to the mortal world, created in time. Principia, assuming the form of a buxom wench, charmed an Aryan chieftain. As he lay on her, sucking at her breast, he was transformed as I was transformed by Tiresia.

  The chieftain lived, solitary and hungry for blood, as I lived, foraging by night among robust villagers for his food, creeping by day into a burial chamber.

  All the while the court above watched him from their dark realm, waiting for him to pass his gifts to another and enter their ranks, only to have the new creature of darkness join them in his turn—if he so chose. For there was a choice.

  I knew this not only because of Joshu's words to me, but from the ancient writers' stories about weak vampires who caved into the demands of the possessive god of light. They had their tempting visions too, it seemed, long before Joshu. Which agents of the world of light appeared to them, I ever sought to discover in the books, though so far unsuccessfully. But I had learned much of the dark realm and delighted in discovering even more.

  One fact in particular came to dominate my thoughts over the centuries. Bonds between members of the dark court were forged by mutual desire. When a vampire decided once and for all in favor of darkness, and created another soul of the night, he entered a world where he would no longer be alone. Long before I reached St. Thomas, I'd become determined to create my successor and move on to the dark realm, to be joined later, for eternity, by the vampire I'd created.

  I had no delusions that Joshu could take that role. Once a spirit passed to the Kingdom of Light or the Kingdom of Darkness, the movement was final. So I lived for my communications with Joshu, as maddening as they were, until I could find one to replace h
im. Over the ages, as I toyed with pathetic young monks the way a cat cuffs and claws rodents, and as I defiled everything sacred with my lust and killings, I searched for a replica of Joshu—the one who obsessed me. Again and again my candidates disappointed me, as soon as they submitted to me. That ruined them, like a fissure ruins the blade of a sword.

  Still, my obsession persisted.

  Chapter Thirteen

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  One spring evening after compline, I willed young Luke to my cell. His blond shaggy locks had tumbled endearingly over his brow as he'd chanted the psalm. His pale face and hands had seemed almost translucent under the lights. The effort it took to summon him was nothing, barely the amount of concentration required for lacing a shoe. Fifteen minutes after the Grand Silence began, he tapped on my door.

  "Enter." Having pulled off my robe, I lay stretched out on the bed.

  The lamplight threw his lean shadow on the wall as he closed the door behind him. With an impatient wave I bid him come to me. He timidly approached the bed.

  "What took you so long, boy?"

  "I came as fast as I could, Victor. Brother Matthew was walking up and down the dormitory hallway. I had to wait."

  "Why are you lying?" I pulled him to the bed by his cowl and brought his face inches from mine.

  "I'm not."

  "Get out." I released his robe.

  "No, please, Victor." He touched my cheek. "Don't make me go again. We ain't done nothing for weeks."

  "Why is that, Luke?" I eyed the cowering boy with disgust. "Well?"

  "My confession," he admitted. He lowered his eyes and then turned them imploringly on me. "But I told you, it's the guilt. When you sin against celibacy, it's like you're unfaithful to the Lord. I can't help confessing. The guilt just eats away at me. Old Brother Joseph ain't gonna tell anyone anyway. He'd never break the confessional seal. Besides, he's heard it all before."

  "From your friends Peter and Gerard, no doubt." I'd written off the effete pair of monks as not worth raping the moment I set eyes on them.

  "It's just common here, that's all."

  "You've whored ever since you set foot in this place, haven't you, boy?"

  "It was different. It was never like this."

  "Like what?"

  Luke's eyes gleamed and he smiled like a child dying to share a secret. He sat on the edge of the bed. I leaned back, my hands behind my head.

  "I always knew I was different, Victor. When I was little, there was this farmhand of ours. He'd work in the field and come back all sweaty. He'd take his shirt off and wash himself down at the pump outside. I'd stand inside the screen door and look at him, my heart pumping away like an engine. I didn't know anything about what I was feeling except it was good. He'd bring me a stick of gum or some licorice. Sometimes he'd skip rocks with me across the creek on our place. My grandaddy was too old to do much with me and all my brothers was raised and married." Luke lifted my legs and, scooting back against the wall, laid them in his lap.

  "So anyway. I took a shining to Bud—that was his name. Used to dream he was holding me in his big ol' hairy arms, kissing me. I knew that wasn't right. But I woke up feeling good all the same. Then he got work down at Chattanooga. Left us after harvest.

  "I tell you, Victor, I liked to have died. Was sick to my stomach. Couldn't eat. My grandaddy sent me into town to see the doctor. He said there wasn't nothing wrong with me. Granddaddy about beat me senseless for pretending. Course I couldn't say nothing to nobody.

  "I got over Bud in time, but the whole thing started me seeing things different. Here I was, 14 years old and never had no interest in girls. I noticed how good the other field hands started looking. Played around with one in the barn. Knew it couldn't be right so I went to confession."

  "Your first mistake." The story was starting to bore me, but since he was working up to his paean to me, I humored him.

  Luke sighed and shook his head. He rested it against the wall and stared at the ceiling. "Man, that priest gave it to me bad. Told me sleepin' with another man was worse than murder. Said if you died with that on your soul, you'd go to the deepest part of hell. Gave me a penance that would have worn out a saint."

  "And you took it to heart, of course."

  "Yes, sir, I took it to heart. Started praying that I'd shake off these feelings for men. Started going to morning Mass in town—had to walk two miles to get there, sometimes in snow and ice. Started talking to the priest about living a holy life. Before you knew it, I was in the novitiate here at St. Thomas—right out of high school. Then…" He hesitated and lowered his eyes as though saddened by what came next.

  "Then you saw that the feelings got even stronger here. You were surrounded by beautiful men and thought you were in heaven." I had heard this confession many times.

  "I got desperate. I ended up going to bed with a couple monks. But I fasted, prayed. Mike helped me."

  "Brother Michael?" The boy had my attention now.

  Luke nodded his head. "When I told him about the temptations, he said he had 'em too. Said we could help each other out."

  "Yes, I'll bet."

  "No, Victor. It wasn't like that. I thought he was good-looking, but we never fooled around. He was too strong. We'd pray together. We'd talk while we worked on the grounds and in the greenhouse. I dunno, it was like I could keep the feelings down then. Like they were channeled into a new path."

  "Touching," I said.

  "It was all going OK until you showed up. I wanted you bad. You was so confident and good-looking. You didn't seem to give a damn about rules. I never thought of things the way you did. Questioning, I mean. I never rebelled against the Church. It's like, when I'm with you, it don't seem like my feelings are bad. It's like God sent you for me."

  I chuckled at this. "So that's why you run off to confession regularly."

  Luke's face grew serious. "I ain't saying I've got it all under control. I ain't completely changed. It's mostly when we're apart, afterwards. Then I start worrying that maybe I have sinned."

  "Maybe you have."

  "What do you mean?"

  I smiled at the panic in Luke's voice. "Maybe it is a sin. Maybe you'll wind up in hell."

  "You don't really believe that, Victor. I know you don't."

  "Think what you like. It's getting late. You better go." I wanted to feed and it was nearly midnight.

  "Not yet." Luke grinned, got up on his hands and knees and buried his face in my crotch.

  My cock hardened. Although I stopped ejaculating after my night existence began, sex gave me great pleasure, mostly the pleasure of having power over the human kneeling to lick my balls or take me in his ass. My whole body still shuddered with orgasms, but now it was my mind that exploded—in a dizzying euphoria of colors and sounds.

  I stripped Luke of his clothes. I inspected his slight body, hairless and soft, his long slender cock protruding from a mass of blond fur. Throwing him face down on the rug, I mounted him. But I had barely entered him when I suddenly lost interest in the white body splayed before me. It was too easy. He wanted me too much. I felt no resistance in his will.

  "Go to bed," I said, getting up and throwing on my robe.

  "What's the matter, Victor?" He rolled over, still erect and badly wanting me.

  "Another time, not tonight."

  "Did I say something wrong? Do you want something else?" He clutched my arm like a beggar.

  "Leave me."

  Crestfallen, he dressed. I let him kiss my lips before he left the cell.

  By now I was weak with hunger. In the heavy rain, I squished through the muddy grounds of the monastery toward the trees, invisible in the darkness to mortals, but to me a line of grayish branches, still leafless. Just inside the woods, I froze in place. I sensed a human within a stone's throw from me. My fangs instantly grew. My breathing became as excited and loud as that of a bull ready to charge. Someone lurked among the trees. I could stalk him, but as famished as I was it could only be to feed, and if the
spy was a monk, I would endanger my position at St. Thomas. While I still had some power of discernment, I sped through the forest, as fast as my thoughts could carry me. My legs moved not at all now, but with the velocity of a jet I was carried bodily through the woods, my body dodging trees and brambles as though it carried its own radar system.

  My senses guided me to a shack, like those of all my other victims in the mountains. The windows were dark, but the chimney smoked. The rotting door gave with a slight tug. Inside, the uneven floor moaned beneath my weight. The light from the fire painted the sticks of furniture orange. The room smelled of cat urine and damp upholstery.

  "Who's out there?" an old woman demanded from the bedroom. "I got a gun in here, and I ain't afraid to use it."

  Her delicious scent overwhelmed me. My nostrils dilated to catch her flavor. When I entered her door, she was standing near the bed, aiming a shotgun at me.

  "Hello, Granny." I advanced, and she started trembling.

  "Get out of my house else I'll blow you out."

  "Now, that wouldn't do."

  Before I could take another step, she fired. The bullet passed through my stomach and out my back, stunning me only momentarily. In an instant the pain dissipated, the wound closing as though my flesh were liquid and the projectile had only briefly parted the waters.

  "Please!" She dropped the gun and sank to her knees. "Oh, please leave me be."

  I approached her, lifting her chin to look into her rheumy eyes. "Good night, Granny." With a quick twist, I snapped her neck, a merciful gesture as I saw it, and picked her up to sink my fangs into her throat. It is only a myth that vampires cannot drink from corpses; they can, as long as the blood stays warm. Her loose skin tore easily and I fed on her rich old blood for nearly a quarter of an hour, I was so hungry.

  After disposing of her body beneath a pair of fallen trees, I trekked up the mountainside to a clearing for a view of the valley. Below, the monastery rested in darkness, except for a few faint lights. Who was up at this time of night? Who had been watching me in the woods? Perhaps only Luke, who couldn't bear to leave me. But the presence I felt there was a stronger one than his, one I did not sense again as I crossed the monastery grounds but one I would attune myself to in the future.