Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Levette
I sank to my knees in the pew, clasping my hands before me in prayer. Anyone else may have bowed their head, pretending to be devout in their whispers to their creator, but I was not anyone else. No, I kept my eyes locked on Warren so he could see the intention behind my every word.
“I confess that I am a vampire: a creature born of darkness and death. I have killed before, countless times, and I have enjoyed it, too. I confess that meeting you changed me, but before you, I was cold, lonely, and found joy only in killing.”
I could see the inner struggle my Warren was having, the turmoil boiling beneath him as he warred with his heart, his mind, and his soul.
It was a struggle I was familiar with, but he didn’t know that yet.
I had kept so much from him in fear that he would see me as nothing more than what I had been turned into, but that had resulted in only pushing him away.
Now, I had to tell him the truth and hope—pray, even—that he would understand me like I knew he could.
“I confess that the only thing I find sweeter than the taste of blood on my fangs is the taste of your lips on mine.” I heard the way his heartbeat quickened, the rhythmic thump, thump, thump increasing as my devoted confession. But worse was to come, and I sensed that he knew that.
I took a breath, righting myself and hoping that I did not betray the way my hands had the slightest tremble to them. I had never told anyone any of this; nobody else was worthy but Warren.
“Damnation is awaiting me for all the bad I have done. I know that with certainty. My first act of eternal life was steeped in death and tragedy, and it has been that way ever since. I confess to you, Warren, that I have never allowed myself to be close to another soul like I have with you. I have lain with both men and women alike, but my heart has only ever belonged to one.” I raised my brow, a tiny smile tugging at my lips.
“That is you, mon amour, just in case you didn’t piece it together. ”
Warren huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and leveling me with an unamused gaze.
Unfortunately for him, however, I could hear his heart and sense how he really felt—he was blushing.
I tucked away my urge to act smug and comment, seeing as how he looked like he wanted to run away.
It wouldn’t do to make him uncomfortable. He had to hear everything.
“It is hardly the time to be making jokes, Levette.”
I sighed, dropping the nonchalant facade I was so accustomed to adorning. “You are correct, mon cher. But if you want all of my truth, perhaps it is best that I start at the beginning.”
“The beginning of what?” Warren asked.
“My life. I want you to know me in entirety, Warren. No secrets to divide us.”
Warren nodded, his voice quiet when he spoke. “When were you born?”
I smiled slightly, happy that he had asked a question for the first time. I took it as a sign that he was interested in what I had to say—that could only be a good thing. I hoped.
“I was born in August of 1795.” Warren’s eyes widened. “Yes, it was quite a long time ago. I don’t remember which day…Celebrating birthdays for eternity on my own did not seem like something I would enjoy.”
“Wow.”
“My family was loving and kind. My parents were childhood sweethearts, and I had two brothers, one older and one younger, that I loved dearly. You’ll be surprised by this fact, I’m sure, but we were also Catholics and I had a deep faith.
So much so that since early in my childhood, I wanted to become a priest.”
Warren gasped, shaking his head. “That is…Really?”
“Oui, mon cher. I was devout, just like my family. I attended church and studied the Bible every evening, went to the classes they had every Sunday. When I was seventeen, I began my training. I had heard the call, as they said. Belonging to God meant everything to me.”
“What happened to you?” Warren asked quietly, leaning forward slightly. He looked sad, as though my loss of faith pained him.
I twitched my fingers, returning them to their clasped position.
“The Catholic church let me down. History has a way of repeating itself, and the falsehood of this very church reminds me of the one I attended in my youth. For months, I devoted myself to the Word, scouring passages and committing them to memory. Even still, I can recall some of them like it was yesterday. But it was a long time ago, I know.”
I sighed, feeling the weight of my years on my shoulders.
While time had passed by and I had changed, I still remembered the devastation my younger self felt.
“I witnessed an atrocity just a few weeks before I was supposed to start assisting the preachers in evening masses.
I had stayed late, hidden away in one of the closets to study as I often did, when I heard shouting coming from the entrance of the church.
I followed the voices and it changed the entire trajectory of my life.
“There was a young man, the same age as I was or perhaps a year younger—it’s hard to remember now.
Two of the parish priests held him by the arms while three others and two of the young students I was acquaintances with stood around him.
He struggled against their hold, but they held tight, keeping him in place.
My mentor, Father Alef, beckoned me over.
A witch, he said with a sneer. An abomination against Our Father.
I looked at the young man and saw the pleading in his eyes.
You cannot be sure, I said. Perhaps it was just a rumor.
Or heresy, Father Alef spat. All of the bayou people, scum and sorcerers.
They should be hanged for their crimes. The Devil owns their souls. ”
It took me by surprise how much of it came flooding back to me as I recounted it to Warren, who looked like he was on the verge of tears. My kind, sweet-souled love; he knew what was coming, even if I hadn’t said it aloud yet.
I took a breath, feeling myself less controlled than usual.
“They started to beat him, like he was not another living thing that God had created. I begged them to stop, tried to grab at their arms and pull them away as they kicked at the boy. This is the will of our Heavenly Father, Levette. We were put here to rid the world of the witches and sinners. You must do your part. I knew what they were saying: they wanted me to participate otherwise I would not become a priest.”
“That’s abhorrent!” Warren said, a few tears breaking free. I longed to reach out, swiping them away, but he wasn’t ready for my touch yet.
“I refused. One of the students grabbed me—he was taller and stronger, so he held me back with ease. I was made to watch as they beat the boy senseless. When they were done, he was barely breathing, his blood soaking into the red carpet. Father Alef turned to me and snarled, You are not the right fit for this parish, Levette Fortier. You wish to allow sinners and deviants to corrupt our streets. You go against the Word. God will not have you. Those words broke me apart in a way that I cannot express, though I know you have felt the same, mon cher.”
“Oh, Levette,” Warren whispered, reaching a hand out to cover mine.
His touch brought me comfort, enough that I could continue on. Reliving my early life was not something I ever thought I would have to do, but it appeared I would do anything to keep Warren.
“They left with the unspoken command for me to leave and not come back, but I couldn’t leave that poor boy.
I pictured his mother sobbing, waiting for him to come home, and imagined how heartbroken my own mother would be.
I ran to him, kneeling beside him in his own blood, whispering to him to keep consciousness. What is your name, I asked.”
Understanding dawned in Warren’s eyes and his hand slowly slipped from mine.
“The boy, barely breathing, managed to whisper, Leroy.”
November, 1822 (New Orleans)
Ten years had passed since that night at the church, but it didn’t matter, my heart still sank every time I walked anywhere near it.
Leroy elbowed me. “Stop thinking about it. The past is the past.”
“You almost died,” I countered.
“You didn’t even know me,” Leroy replied, rolling his eyes. “Besides, it brought us together, didn’t it?”
I couldn’t argue with him. He was right. I lost so much that night—my faith, a piece of my heart, my comfort in the good of the world—but I gained a best friend.
That dreadful night after he told me his name, I helped him to his feet and we struggled all the way out to the bayou. His mother opened the door and began screaming, a high pitch shriek I’d never heard before.
“Ma baby boy!” She came running out of the hut-looking house by the water, an entourage behind her.
Two men took Leroy from my arms, taking him into the house, everyone else following behind them.
Everyone but his mother. “Did you do this? I swear, if you hurt my boy, I will curse everyone you’ve ever loved to know nothing but torment and heartache. ”
I shook my head, holding up my hands in a silent surrender. It was no wonder she thought I had hurt him; I was covered head to toe in his blood.
“Non, madame! Please, listen. Some people at the church attacked him. I tried to stop them, but they held me back. The second they let me go, I grabbed him and brought him home.”
She studied me over, whispering under her breath. It wasn’t until months later that Leroy told me it was a truth spell. It still gave me chills to think about it.
“Your mother still hates me,” I commented as we made our way into the woods.
Leroy laughed, the sound echoing around the empty forest, the birds chirping in response. “My mama hates everyone. You’re the white boy who brought her favorite son home, bloodied and barely alive. You really thought she’d be your biggest fan?”
I grinned, shrugging. “Point conceded.”