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"For God's sake, won't you dosomething?"
"Do what?" Michel's arms are folded as if he's watching an amusing performance rather than the death of someone he's fucked a thousand times, but his face is tense, his jawclenched.
"Ease her suffering – kill herquickly!"
"She deserves tosuffer."
Michel seems immune to her pain, and so I find a long pole with a sharpened end stacked against the wall next to the blacksmith's shed and run to the pyre. I kick some burning embers aside and step onto the pyre, ignoring the flames licking at my breeches, and thrust the wooden point into Marguerite's heart so that she dies quickly, instead of slowly fromfire.
I fall back off the pyre and roll on the dirt to extinguish the flames on my clothing. I go to where Michel stands mesmerized by the fire, his shoulders shaking. Is helaughing?
I turn his face to me. There are tears in hiseyes.
"You have to understand," he says, his voice breaking. "She destroyed me." He shakes his head. "I'll never be thesame."
Then he covers his eyes with his hands and I take him into myarms.
* * *
In a few hours,there's nothing left of Marguerite except a charred corpse and a gold chain with an ornate cross that she enjoyed wearing out of some sense of irony. I gather up her ashes, placing them and the remnants of her bones into a pail, picking the crucifix out from among the bones and teeth mixed with cinders and ash, wiping off the blackened soot. Besides her charred bones, the only thing left of her is a tiny crucifix – a symbol she loved tohate.
I take her remains and go to where Michel sits in the dirt, his head in hishands.
"I'll place her ashes in our family crypt. She deserves that much." Then I hand him the crucifix. "Here." I say, holding it out. "It was hers. Take some solace that once she wore it with true belief. Before she was killed and turned against her will by her ownSire. "
Michel looks up. His tear-streaked face is stained with soot from the fire. He accepts the thin gold chain andcross.
"When I find him," he says and places the chain around his neck, kissing the crucifix. "I'll kill him aswell."
* * *
Iputthe manuscript down and go back to bed, but sleep eludes me for a longtime.
When I wake later in the afternoon, I check my email and there's one from Agent O'Neil, inviting me back to the SCU for the interview we had to cancel yesterday. There's also one from Michel, which I open and read, eager to see what he'swritten.
Eve,
Please excuse my indiscretion lastnight.
I realize you are unused to being in the company of vampires – indeed, there's no reason for you to feel anything but hatred for my kind. You must understand that I mean you no harm, either physically or emotionally. Had I been able to erase your memories of me and of the manuscript, none of this would have happened and you would be living your life as you've always lived it but ignorant of ourworld.
But I'm weak. I'm also unable to change what happened between us and therefore, we must move forward. When I realized you were an Adept that night in the office, and that I couldn't just wipe your memory of me, I knew that we'd have to use you no matter what I feel. Your kind is far too valuable to let waste away in some hallowed hall of academe and if I didn't claim you, someone else less moral would. This battle is too important and personal sacrifices must bemade.
As for my behavior, all I can say is that I am used to exerting total control over mortals. I couldn't with you, and more important, I've failed in the simple task of controlling my own emotions. I assure you that it won't happen again and that from this day forward, our relationship will be conducted with the utmost respect andprofessionalism.
Yours,
M.
What? Professionalism?Respect?
I don't want professionalism. I don't want him to respect me if it means nothing more will happen betweenus.
And then, once again, reality rears its ugly head and I'm filled with guilt. Vampires killed my mother. They're my enemy. I should be thinking of ways to eradicate them, not how I can become Michel'slover.
So it feels as if Michel thought better of 'us' and is trying to bow out gracefully from whatever 'us' might mean. The thought that I won't ever actually get to experience him makes me sad, disappointment flooding throughme.
I was looking forward to going back to the SCU so I could see where this goes, but now, I feel like crawling back into bed and hiding from the world. Instead, I shower and get ready, fix something left-over in my freezer for a breakfast of supper, and have to drop by the university once more to finish up some paperwork for my nextsemester.
