Trinity: The Complete Trilogy (The Twin Cities Series) Read online

  THE TWIN CITIES SERIES

  TRINITY

  VOLUME 1

  by Drew Avera

  Published by Drew Avera 2014

 

  THE TWIN CITIES SERIES

  THE RAVEN

  Chapter 1

  Present Day

  "Michel!" the call preceded her arrival through the doorway into my chamber. Tabitha was clad in a black dress that looked like something from the 1920's. For all that I knew; it could have been of such vintage quality. She was immaculately dressed, using the natural curves of womanhood to draw in the crowd of men who swooned at her feet. She liked the attention, and the nourishment that resulted from it later. "Michel, I have been searching for you," she said with a flush to her cheeks from running. She was not tired, but the blood in her body was warmed from her movements.

  "What is it?" I asked as I placed another delicate stroke to the canvas, precisely where it needed to be. My painting was coming to life. I could feel it in the same way that Dr. Frankenstein surely felt the monster come to life before his very eyes, the stark lines of a bird taking flight.

  "Someone has taken a relic from the safe room," she answered as she took a few steps back from me. She knew my anger was never far from my side, and there was only one relic that held any sentimental value to me. It was from the church, a memento from the one who made me what I am today.

  I swallowed my anger deep into the pit of my stomach. I knew that there was nothing that I could do about the "breach in security" just yet, but I had people who could handle that for me. "Summon Julian for me, please." I did not need to ask politely, but it was in my nature to do so. A custom from ages ago that was found on the tip of my tongue with more frequency than blood did.

  "As you wish," she answered as she departed my chamber to retrieve my most reliable assistant. He was younger than the rest, hungry to please me unlike those whom had been in my stead for over a century. There was a work ethic about him that I hoped would not die when his blood ceased to course through his veins.

  I knew it would take time for her to retrieve him so I continued with my painting. Brush stroke after brush stroke, I moistened the canvas and added more texture to the life forming inside of it. What once was white was now stained with the oil-based colors, much like my soul. I thought back to the church in France, of myself kneeling before the crucified image of Christ as He looked down from the wall. I had every intention of giving up my life of sin. I ached to follow the Lord and beckon Him to preserve my spirit.

  It was not to be. A priest had left the offering plates at the feet of Christ and my distraction was rewarded with pockets full of gold. The burden of my riches leaving the church behind outweighed the burden of my trespasses before I had entered.

  At least I believed it to be true.

  My brush fell upon the canvas for the final touch. The layers of paint welcomed me into the world of darkness that it provided. The wingspan of the bird nearly touched both sides of the canvas and almost obscured the sky backdrop behind it.

  "You called for me, sir?" Julian asked as he entered with a gentle knock upon the wood framed doorway.

  "Yes, Julian. Tabitha discovered that someone has taken something very precious from me and I would like for you to investigate the theft."

  He continued to walk towards me as the candlelight danced between us. "Could you tell me what was stolen?"

  "Only my most cherished possession, Julian. It was my Bible, a French translation, from my rebirth," I said, knowing that he would understand how grievous an act stealing my Bible was.

  "I will investigate immediately and report my findings to you as soon as possible, Monsieur Le Corbeau."

  "I know you will, Julian. That is why I hired you," I said as I dipped my fine-tipped brush into the white paint and ran it along my pallet to remove any unnecessary paint from its tip. This was truly the final step in any painter's masterpiece.

  "Of course, sir," he stood by, watching my movements. Like any masterful creator, I loved an audience. Especially the ones who were silent, unmoving, but completely encapsulated by what I was doing. Money could not buy that kind of worship.

  I bit my lip slightly as I eased the brush closer to the canvas, not wanting to shift my balance for fear that I would ruin the piece with a sloppy stroke. Delicately, I applied the paint, but it was not my normal signature. I realized when I pulled away and beheld my most unique painting to date that it did not say, "Michel Le Corbeau". Instead it said something else, something that resonated much deeper than my own name. I had written the one that carried me for centuries.

  "The Raven?" Julian asked as he took in my work.

  "Yes. It is the English translation of my surname."

  Julian shook his head approvingly and dismissed himself without saying another word. I stared at my painting as he left the room and felt the power behind each brush stroke. I had poured my heart into this one. It resonated so much more than just a beautiful image it showed the singularity of my power. I was not part of the outside world, nor restricted by its laws. Like a raven I was not burdened by gravity. I was more than the lesser beings of both Earth and The Realms. I was the epitome of the Raven.

  I looked at the image of the black bird sprawled across a violet sky. The moon shone in one corner on a sky darkened to reveal the pale light of distant stars. The beauty was in the details. I had accurately depicted the constellation of Orion in one corner, with Aries in another.

  My entire existence revolved around details, and I mastered all of them.

  I set the pallet of paint and my brushes down on the table next to me and moved to the leather armchair near my overburdened book shelves. I loved the tomes of the past; the earliest works were not marveled as much in their day as they were now. Leather bound books were my favorite. I loved the musty smell of the cowhide and the old, yellowed pages.

  I sat in the chair and placed my hand into the wooden chest alongside it. The old hinges groaned as I lifted the lid and removed its contents. I placed the item in my lap and un-wrapped the silk cloth covering it. I pulled the silk away and read its fragile cover. It was adorned with "Saintes ycritures" in faded gold lettering. A smile stretched across my lips as I turned the pages to read my favorite passage. Genesis chapter four, verse eight. "Now Cain said to his brother Abel, 'Let's go out to the field.' While they were in the field, Cain attacked his brother Abel and killed him."

  To know that there was such things as family quarrels at the dawn of time made me feel closer to God. I placed the Bible in my lap and closed my eyes. Tonight would be a night for feeding, the second most cherished thing in my life.

  Chapter 2

  Present Day

  Prayers unanswered, that was what an eternity left to dwell on the shortcomings of life really boiled down to. I sat alone in my chambers and stared at the old Bible. My entire human life had been a contradiction to its words. "Thou shall not kill. Thou shall not steal." I had gone against God's commandments. Thus I thought that hell would have been a suitable punishment at first.

  Then the priest offered me another path to follow. He told me to cast aside the shackles of my sin and to walk in the light of the Lord with him.

  There was no light, however. Instead, there was only death, but it ushered in something so much sweeter, once the betrayal faded from my eyes. He told me that the blood would set me free, and in some sick, twisted way, he was right.

  I still remember my birth into this dark world. It was so much sweeter than life, yet it stilled my heart permanently. I was something new. Every experience felt like the first time. Sight, sou
nd, and touch were newly minted in the cold flesh of my body. Taste and smell were most delightful.

  What sweet rapture, the blood of your first victim trickling down your throat! I was beside myself, with the sensation boiling inside me like the contents of a kettle. I was alone, abandoned by my maker, but I did not care. I had feasted and the euphoria of it remained until the sun rose the next day, condemning me back into the darkness.

  That was the first day.

  On the second night, I fed and I lounged by the water, under the starry sky. I listened with my new ears at the lapping waves, and smelled the salt permeating the atmosphere around me. I dwelt in the sanctity of my communion with God. I knew in my darkened heart that all was forgiven, though I wasn't sure that I needed that forgiveness any longer. The sun began to peak over the horizon, casting halos around the low hanging clouds in the distance. I retreated yet again, and threw myself to the darkness to swaddle me in the comforts of eternal night.

  That was the second day.

  I experienced life outside of time. My movements were no longer limited by the laws of physics as I had once known them. Sir Newton never knew one such as me, or he would have defined the fourth law of motion. The vampire's laws of motion, speed that defied the limitations of the human body. Inertia no longer held my body hostage. Though my soul still anguished with the spark of regret; the sun rose and I found myself once again in the shame of lament as I avoided the piercing light.

  That was the third day.

  Christ had awakened Lazarus after three days of death. He rose himself after conquering death by crucifixion. Surely He found favor in those whom loved him. I waited for my Lord to beckon me, atop a grassy hill overlooking the city. The wind kissed my flesh. My hair was pulled back in gentle swaths of black that cascaded behind me. I watched the moon move from one side of the dark, looming sky to the other. I listened for the heralding of trumpets that marked His coming. I closed my eyes as the first rays of morning welcomed the new day. I endured the burning of my flesh as I prayed fervently for redemption. My soul needed the serenity that only forgiveness would bring. I needed to forget.

  The fires of hell fell upon my flesh, blinding me with the white heat of purity. I fled from the rising sun, smoking like a hound from hell, with smoke billowing from its nostrils. No maker or creator appeared to balm my wounds. I knew then the most important method for survival. Wickedness flees the light and lives to serve another night.

  I did not remember my journey back to the darkness, but it was the only salvation that I would know for the last several centuries. Even to this day, nothing has ever welcomed me as warmly as the night. I belonged to it and it to me. We were one. It was a part of me that I would never want to lose.

  Tears welled in my eyes as I brought the Bible to my lips and kissed it. The words were now dead inside of me. I had lost my faith in God when He chose not to rescue me. I did not resent Him, but I no longer felt at one with Him. We were no longer joined as we were once meant to be.

  We had become separate deities, light and darkness. Enemies who needed each other more than either was willing to admit. I could feel in my black soul that I represented evil in the same way Lucifer did before me. I was a dark angel reborn to the night.

  I placed the Bible back on my lap as Tabitha entered the room. Her perfume heralded her arrival before I lifted my eyes to acknowledge her.

  "Julian has returned to no avail," Tabitha said as she approached. Her high heels echoed in my chamber with each step. She noticed the book and looked puzzled. "I thought that was stolen. Where did you find it?"

  I let my fingers drum upon the cover. I did not answer, because as my subordinate, she did not warrant a dignified response from me. Instead, I stared into space, my jaw tightly shut.

  "It was a fool's errand, wasn't it?" she charged. Her words touched the right nerve to garner a response, which I eagerly provided.

  "You dare call my ways foolish, Madame? Who are you to judge me as you sit here in elegance and leisure? You suffer not the temptations of the flesh as I do! Your suffering is not my equal; your condemnation is not in league with mine! The wicked must be tested, tried by fire! Only then will I know whom I can trust!" I seethed with anger. I was not used to a woman speaking her mind so candidly, so fearlessly. It was not the way things were done in my father's house, and it was not the way I intended them to be done in mine. The sands of centuries past do not bury the dead so easily when they are immortal.

  "I apologize, Master," she said meekly. I was still angered by her protest, but I recognized her intentions. The democratic policies that served America had trickled into The Realms. The United States was the bastard child of a weak monarchy caste system, whose leaders bend to the will of the people. I was true royalty amongst them, and they would recognize me as such. Or else the swarm of death will engulf them for eternity if I choose to allow it.

  "I forgive you, child." I crossed my heart, as I was taught to do in church as a youth. Forgiveness was divine, and I sought to embody that divinity as much as possible.

  She moved nervously to the canvas painting and folded her hands in front of her. Even in the candlelight, her radiance shone with more light than the flames. I knew it was only my imagination, but I marveled, nonetheless. She was the last to receive my blessing, almost sixty years ago. Our blood bond was fading with time, but still I knew that I could trust her. Trust was always commanded by fear.

  "I see you have painted another bird," she said, looking at the image with awe.

  "A raven," I corrected. It was not merely a bird.

  "A raven," she repeated reverently. "What is its significance?"

  I moved next to her with the inhuman fleetness gifted to my kind. I took her hand and placed the other on her lower back, as though we were dancing. I led the first step without the accompaniment of music. I let my words sing for the both of us. "The raven is significant in that it is a symbol of my name. It represents power in our family, and as a member of my family, I expect you to honor it."

  She smiled understandingly. "Yes, Master."

  I stopped our dance and placed my hands on her shoulders. I could feel her smooth, ivory flesh under my cold fingertips. Her blond hair nestled against my skin and her eyes stared into mine. "Please, call me The Raven from now on. I want to embrace my destiny, and the time begins now! See to it that the rest of the members of the court address my similarly."

  "Of course, Mas... I mean, Raven," she said.

  With a light twirl of my hand she danced away from me. I pulled her in, ending our waltz in a dip. Bringing her face closer to mine, I kissed her perfect, red lips. Her aroma remained sweet, but her taste had faded over time. My desire waned. I yearned for a new child. I needed to procreate from the blood of humanity and create another to join my side. It made me closer to God, so it would be fitting for me to do so.

  "Thank you, Tabitha. There is something that I must do, please excuse me," I said. She backed away, leaving me to my thoughts.

  I wondered if she knew that she soon would be replaced. As I moved to my seat to contemplate what was next, I sat and stared at the flickering flame of the candle standing next to my easel. It moved to a rhythm all its own, much as I did. I rose with my purpose in mind, ascension.

  Now was the time to unfurl my black wings and fly.

  I extinguished the flame with the tips of my fingers. The smoke plumed with a hiss as I escaped into the night.

  Chapter 3

  Paris 1732

  Expectations were always my Achilles' heel.

  I ran through the darkened streets of Paris, the wind blistering my face as the frigid temperatures raged against the drops of rain that accumulated upon my flesh. I was lost in the anxious tumult of my thoughts, captured at the cusp of losing my mind.

  I looked down at my hands, red with blood. I was a murderer.

  Thievery was a noble business in the rough parts of town. A man had to eat. But murder? Only the most desperate men would solve quarrels wit
h murder.

  "What have I done?" I asked myself as I slid to a stop on the wet bridge. I looked out over it and could barely make out the silhouette of my reflection. Even with the torrential downpour, the water seemed more at peace than my mind at the moment. It kept pace with the heart threatening to leap out of my chest.

  I heard footsteps and ducked down to hide from my pursuers. I was too young for prison, for the ball and chain that preceded execution by hanging. I tried to wipe the blood from my hands onto the cobblestone road. The puddles of rainwater took care of most of it, but tinges of red still showed under my fingernails.

  "Jean-Philippe, I'm sorry," I said over and over again as I tried to wipe his remains from my flesh, and from my mind. It was useless. I needed soap and a cloth to scrub myself clean. I was tainted. Oh God, would I ever be clean again?

  Regret mustered to the forefront of my mind, but it wasn't because of this murder. It was due to the murder that I could not prevent; that of my mother at the hands of my father. His gambling debts and alcoholic rages tore my family from upper middle class standing into impoverishment. The Bible says that man cannot live by bread alone, but we sure tried after what my father had done.

  I could still see her face as clearly as my own reflection in the bloodstained puddle. I had her eyes, her cold stoic eyes. She was beautiful, until my father damaged her. He damaged all of us.

  "You there!" called a man walking past in a dark suit. I had no time to identify him. Instead, I sprung to my feet and ran against the beating rain and the unmercifully cold wind. I could see the ships in the water of the Seine, their sails tied for stability while tethered to the pier. Perhaps I could hide on one of them?

  My thoughts drifted to a sailor that I had met as a young boy. He had bought my father drinks only a few hours before my father punished, upon discovering she was pregnant again. The abuse caused her to lose the child.

  The sailor said that a man should never step on a ship without permission to come aboard. Anyone who dared to trespass would be killed.