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

  That memory deterred my idea of stowing away until morning.

  I instead sought refuge in an alley next to the tower of Saint-Germain-des-Pres. The stone walls towered in the sky to the extent that I felt dizzy looking up at them. I found a door and tried it. It was unlocked, allowing me to enter into the tranquility of God's house.

  It was years since I had stepped foot on holy ground, even longer since I had done so willingly. The death of my mother had relieved some of the pressure to attend.

  Sins were like teeth; everyone hid theirs behind tight lips. Only the unlucky few got to see what was hidden behind mouths which uttered such indecency and contempt.

  I ran a cold hand along the wall as I silently moved through the long corridor, towards the communal area of the cathedral. I could smell the burning wax of candles around the corner as the large room opened before me. Near the altar, I stepped lightly onto the wooden stage where the priests, elevated above their flock, were forced to look heavenward to seek God's grace on bended knee.

  Each step echoed lightly from the heel of my boots upon it. It reverberated more in my mind than against the high, stone walls. I placed my cold, wet hands upon the altar and looked out over the empty pews. More empty than my own heart. Though it ached with regret and self-hatred, I knew that I could find hope in the sanctity of God, if only He would have me.

  I turned to look at the cross. The emaciated resemblance of Christ looked down on me with a mix of anguish and love. I wondered which was more relevant to me, the sinner. I fell to my knees and lifted my blood-stained hands in surrender. I wanted to give to God what I would refuse to give to the police.

  I wanted to surrender.

  With my eyes tightly closed, I began to pray. I prayed for salvation, for my brother, Jean-Philippe, and for a reprieve from the hardships of this life, far from the protection of Eden. I could feel the tears run from my eyes as I dared to glance up at my savior. Before they lifted fully, I saw something else that would do much to relieve the burden of life, alone in such a big city.

  The offering plates were filled with the tithes of the people. The loose coins that rose in small mounds of metal beckoned for my pockets. I looked up at the image of Christ and could swear that His expression had changed. It was welcoming, accepting. My eyes moved back to the money. There was enough to make my way out of Paris and onto a ship bound for a new world, a new start.

  I pulled the offering plates closer to me and began emptying them into the worn pockets of my jacket and pants. The weight was less burdensome than my deed. I looked back into the sad, wooden eyes of the dying Jesus and almost felt the tears fall from His eyes. I closed mine and continued the selfish act of stealing, until I felt that the plates were empty. I turned away from God and fled His house. I was the thief in the night that Jesus had spoken of in the Gospels.

  I ran outside the sanctuary of forgiveness, away from those eyes, and fell to my knees before the Seine. I buried my regrets long enough to watch the sun begin to rise. I knew then that it was only a matter of time until I could leave it all behind forever.

  Chapter 4

  Present Day

  The engine roared in my 1983 Corvette. The car was a gift from Tabitha and it was one that I enjoyed immensely. I turned the wheel hard to the right and the squeal of the tires against the pavement made me feel like I was in one of the "Fast and Furious" movies. I looked up at a recently constructed apartment building towering over the St Paul skyline. This was where I would find my future child, I thought to myself as I parked in front of the large structure.

  It was twilight. The sun had taken its final bow for the day, leaving me to roam with its light far away from harm. I entered the building and noticed the luxurious apartment lobby. This was truly the kind of home for those whose jobs compensated generously. I stepped into the waiting, empty elevator and looked at the twenty-three buttons representing each floor of the building. I wanted to choose randomly, but I was compelled to press the button with my "lucky" number etched into the hard plastic.

  Seven.

  The elevator immediately rose, carrying me gently to the seventh floor, where a small ding heralded my arrival. The doors opened and I stepped out onto the plush, dark carpet to a hallway filled with entrances. My obsessive compulsive behavior led me to count down to the seventh door on the left. I squared myself in front of it and took a deep breath. I could feel the anticipation build. I savored every second that ticked by on my old timepiece, hearing each grind of the gears inside with my supernatural hearing. Once the anticipation finally peaked, I knocked lightly on the door.

  I could hear the movement of bare feet lightly approaching the door. The light in the peep hole faded for a moment. I adjusted my tie, impersonating a salesman making his rounds, door to door. The deadbolt unlatched and I was met by a woman whose beauty rivaled Tabitha's. I knew I had made the right decision by following my instincts.

  "Good evening, Madame! My name is Michel Le Corbeau. May I have a moment of your time to discuss life insurance?" I asked, needing to be invited past the threshold of her home, in order to do what was needed. Even with the hypnotic powers of my vampirism, the magical protection of a threshold created a barrier by which I was powerless.

  She looked at me and brushed a tuft of brown hair behind her ears. I could tell that she was distracted, before her child made playful sounds from the other room. "I don't know," she answered.

  I smiled. "I understand. I do hope you realize that life insurance is one of those things that most people neglect to see how important it is until it is too late. Often times the cost of burial are so high that it plunges a family into substantial debt. It is indeed quite a valuable asset. I don't mean to overstep, but with a small child you may need the comfort of knowing that everything will be taken care of financially if something horrible was to happen."

  She shifted her weight in front of me. I could see behind that she was weighing my pitch. In her mind, she was unsure if her family's policy was up-to-date. "What about my child?" She asked herself without moving her lips. She grew more uncomfortable about the prospect leaving her child behind, unprotected. Her eyes widened, she understood the gravity of the situation. "All right," she said as she stepped aside and permitted me entrance into her home.

  I crossed the threshold and stood with my back to her, until I heard the door shut. Inside me, the craving of the darkness caused my fangs to descend and I was upon her in a breath. My fangs penetrated her flesh on the left side of her neck. I took in her blood and willed her to remain quiet. The urgency and moaning of her dire situation eased as I drained her blood through two small holes in her neck. I could feel the waning heartbeat and hollow breathing as she submitted to my will. The burning sensation on my lips and smoke were merely an afterthought as my eyes caught the glint of silver upon her neck.

  It was a hellish deed, but one from which I could not stop myself. I had no intention of killing her. I just wanted to create, like any other artist or creative mind. This was how vampires populated the dark world in which they lived, by creating companions of the night. This was the blood covenant.

  I felt her consciousness fade and I lowered her body to the floor. She was at peace, but close to death. I would show her a new way to live.

  I lanced my wrist with my fangs and blood began to seep from the wound. I lowered my hand to caress her cheek as my blood trickled down onto her lips. It seeped into her open mouth. I became excited to know that the blood transfer had been done, and it was only a matter of time before my blood took root into her body and made her something more than human. It would make her my child of the night.

  She stirred, no longer in the hands of death. She gripped my arm, pulling it closer to her mouth to drink from me. My blood sedated her into a euphoria that no man-made drug could ever duplicate. I watched as my newborn suckled the blood from me. I soon pulled it away when I knew that she had enough.

  The birthing process of a vampire was violent in its beauty, and I did no
t have the heart to sit idly by to witness it. We had a blood bond now. I knew that I could keep track of her from afar. There was no need to remain and watch the process. As far as I was concerned, it was complete. She would come to me in due time.

  I stepped slowly away from her and watched her labor to breathe. I moved to the child's room and watched as the small toddler drifted quietly to sleep. The rise and fall of her chest showed that she was content, unconcerned with the happenings of the other room. I could hear her heart beating and knew that it would soon attract her hungry mother.

  I could not think about that now. Instead, I said a small prayer for the child and walked by her mother before the change began. I closed the door behind me, and left, moving silently through the building and listening with my mind, while changes in my new child began.

  I knew her now, more than anyone else had ever known her. Her name was Natalie. She was married to a man named Alexander. Their daughter's name was Angelica. Natalie had suffered depression since the birth of her child, her husband working too many hours to be concerned for his wife. There was a distance between them that would have ended in divorce. Natalie believed in the supernatural; things like psychic readings and tarot cards for predicting the future.

  I wondered if she had seen this coming in the cards.

  I pressed the button for the lobby and the doors closed in front of me. I touched my lips to calm the burning sensation. My fingers tracing the shape of a cross, branded into my flesh. I remembered the silver rosary that she wore around her neck. The burns were from that piece of jewelry. I smiled. The Lord had been by my side all along!

  I thought back to my time in Paris. God was there for my change, as well. He looked down at me from the cross, eyes wide in horror at what I would become: a degenerate made godlike.

  Chapter 5

  Paris 1732

  A cascading veil of blue combed the sky above and inched its way towards me. This was the most beautiful time of day. The rebirth of day, as I stared into the welcoming light of the sun I was caught off guard. It was an amateur mistake, but one that no amount of diligence could have prevented.

  Two vise-like hands grabbed me from behind. I gasped, only to have my scream muffled by a cold palm. I felt the digging of sharp teeth into my throat and the warmth of blood flowing from my veins. I was pulled into the shadows of the cathedral, unable to fight back. The predator, cloaked in dark garbs, had the look of a cleric.

  "Father?" I moaned.

  This elicited a response as he pulled away from the fount that was my neck. His dark hair was combed back and his brown eyes glowed amber. A shameful countenance enveloped his face. I could swear to seeing a quiver of his lip, as if he struggled bitterly against his will.

  The need to fight back faded as did my vision for a moment. I knew that I was in the cathedral. I knew what I had done and the bitterness of regret put a foul taste in my mouth. I lifted my bleary eyes to see the priest kneeling beside me.

  "Father, forgive me, for I have sinned," I said. I sensed that I was close to death and needed my sins washed away by the blood of Christ. Not every man finds a deathbed conversion. Perhaps I would be lucky enough to die in peace. "It has been seven years since my last confession."

  Seven, everything in my life revolved around that number. I was seven when Jean-Philippe was born. Seven years later I watched my father sleep, after brutally killing our mother. For seven years, I cared for my brother as we fled from our father and lived in the streets of France. Seven years after our mother died, both of her sons would follow.

  It seemed fitting.

  "I am not here to admonish your sins, Mon ami." His voice was deep and dark. There was anguish to it. He shifted my weight in his strong arms, drawing me closer to his mouth.

  "I am a thief, Father. But worse, I am a murderer! Please don't let me die without forgiveness," I whispered, barely able to speak, despite a part of me wanting to cry out. My vision was fading, both from blood loss and from the euphoria that I felt.

  "Silence!" he demanded.

  "I am like Cain! I murdered my brother! I am condemned to hell! Please!"

  I felt weak and helpless in his arms and then he released me. The fall felt like it was for miles. I stared up at the sky as blue met black and the light of the sun fell upon me.

  A hiss came from above. I opened my eyes to reveal the cleric laboring in the light as he dragged me back to the shadows. I did not understand why he would do this, or why smoke billowed from his bare flesh, but I was thankful to not be dying alone.

  "Do you truly seek penance for your sins?" he asked me once we were again in the confines of darkness.

  "Yes," I answered, believing my own words as deeply as I believed those in the Bible. After a short life imprisoned by my flesh, I craved paradise. The thorn of living dug deeper into my body with each passing day.

  "First, tell me why you would kill your own brother."

  "He conspired against me, to reveal my wickedness to the world," I answered.

  "What wickedness is that?" he asked.

  "That I am just like him."

  "Who is that?"

  "Our father, the one devoured by a raven in the desert. I am as blemished as he," I whispered as I felt myself list closer into unconsciousness.

  The man cradled my head in his hands as the cold stone floor of the cathedral drew the warmth from my body. I felt the warm liquid rushing into my mouth, long before I opened my eyes to see what was happening. The coppery taste of it made me thirst for more. I did not fully understand what was happening, but I understood that he was saving me. "It is God's will whether you live or die now," he said in a tender voice.

  "Who are you?" I asked, once his bleeding wrist pulled away from my open mouth. I felt stronger and weaker at the same time, the blood not yet taking full effect in my body.

  He looked in the eyes. "I am Andre de la Croix. I am giving you a second chance that I otherwise would not have given you. Go, and sin no more, my son." He made the symbol of a cross over me and kissed the wooden rosary draped around his neck. He was beautiful in the candlelight.

  He rose above me as I lay on the cold floor. I felt his presence over me, even after he was gone. He eased my pain as the darkness flooded into my being and lashed my body relentlessly against the stones of the cathedral. I felt him still, when my eyes finally opened to reveal a leather-bound Bible with "Saintes ycritures" emblazoned on the cover. It was the word of God, a gift to humanity from a loving Father, a gift to a newborn child from a loving creator.

  I sat up in the dark quiet of the cathedral and listened with hearing no longer human. The heartbeats outside were tribal drums of war, the pumping blood as welcoming as a pool of fresh water in the desert. I was now a child of the night, more so than ever before.

  I rose to my feet and felt lighter than air. I patted my body and found that my pockets were now empty. The coins from the offering plates had been removed, much like my sins, by a man of the cloth.

  I had been redeemed. Like Lazarus, I was now alive when I should be very much dead. It was the power of the blood that restored me, but not in the manner I expected.

  I walked into the atrium and approached the cross. Christ looked down upon me. True power coursed in my veins, and as I stared at the wooden replica of the crucifixion, I knew that I now walked with God. I could see it in the chiseled eyes of His Son. They winked at me. I could have sworn they did, anyway.

  Chapter 6

  Present Day

  The Realms welcomed me home as they always did, in darkness. I stepped past the barrier and was met by the gatekeeper, Remy.

  "Good evening, Master," he said meekly. I placed my hand on his shoulder as a father would to his son. The reassuring grip brought a hint of a smile to his lips. Fear prevented the toothy grin from emerging fully, but the sentiment was there, nonetheless.

  "Good evening it is." I moved behind him, keeping a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I want you to spread the word for me, Remy. Do you think yo
u can do that for me?"

  He swallowed hard. "Of course, Master. What is it you would like me to say?"

  I drummed my fingertips down his arm and gently tugged his hand, turning him around to face me. Remy stood a mere two inches shorter than me, but it seemed as though he stared from far below me when I spoke. "I no longer wish to be called 'Master'. Henceforth, I want to be known across The Realms as 'The Raven'. Please disperse that information publicly."

  Remy nodded his head. "Yes, sir, may I ask a question?"

  "Yes, you may."

  "Why, 'The Raven'?" he asked.

  I placed both hands on his cheeks and pulled his face to mine, "all in due time, my dear boy, all in due time."

  I dropped my hands from his face and stepped off into the darkness. I moved like the wind in The Realms. It was similar to how a spirit moves in the real world, only my body affected the physical world more easily than a spirit did.

  My destination was my mansion. It sat atop a hill overlooking the busy township in The Realms. Some nights it was alive with magic, others it was as dead as my still heart. Tonight it felt more alive than it had since I had taken power, governing the supernatural abode that held me above all others.

  Soon I was home and retreating into my chamber, only to find Tabitha and Julian waiting for me. "Where have you been?" Tabitha asked with her hands on her hips, as if she were one to chastise me for a late evening out.

  I did not answer her directly. Instead, I let the fresh blood in my body speak for me as I grabbed her throat tightly. If she were still in need of oxygen, then I would have deprived her of such. Rather, it was a display of power, of authority. "Do not dare question me, woman! Do you understand?"

  "Yes, Master," she choked as my grip strained her vocal chords. Her feet dangled helplessly off the floor. Julian looked on in horror. My eyes flashed towards him and he retreated a few steps back, attempting to put some distance between us. It was a futile effort that made me smile.