"What evil is this? What have you become ensnared in?" He turns to Marguerite, who's lifted herself onto the altar, pushing the reliquary and chalices out of the way. She releases the tie on her cloak to reveal a very low bodice, displaying her ample bosom. She smiles, her own lips stained withblood.
"Get off!" Michel says, trying to shove her off the altar. "Don't pollute the altar with yourbaseness."
She laughs. "Silly Michel. It's just a slab of marble." She grabs him with her legs and pulls him into her embrace and she's so strong – monstrously strong – he won't be able to fight her. "There's nothing holy about it, Michel, except in yourmind."
"Let go of me," Michel says, his voice low. He tries to twist out of her grasp but he's trapped. When she grabs his face and kisses him, he jerks his head away. "I'm apriest."
"You're a man," she says and runs her fingers through his hair. "A beautiful hot-blooded man who's wasting all that beauty and passion on a preacher who died over twelve centuries ago, who is now nothing more than a ghost. I want your passion and your blood." She turns to me. "Shall I takeit?"
Michel glances to where I stand but I'm helpless to defendhim.
"You'll do as you wish, Marguerite," I say, for I'm unable to deny heranything.
"Yes, I will, won't I?" She turns back to Michel and runs a finger over his mouth. He tries to pull back from her touch, but he's immobilized by her powers, frozen in place. "I wish..." she says slowly. "I wish to drink your beautiful priest-brother's blood, Julien, until he's almost dead, and then, I think I'll turn him into an immortal. I'll do it right here on the altar. How gloriously blasphemous would thatbe?"
"Very gloriously blasphemous, Marguerite," Ireply.
"And you'll watch, won't you, Julien?" she says, her hands running down Michel's cheeks to hisshoulders.
"I am your servant, Marguerite," I say. "I do yourbidding."
"Please," Michel says, a look of abject horror on his face. "Please don't... Mother of God, I beseechyou..."
"Your holy Mother won't help you now, Michel," she says. I close my eyes against my brother's pain, and at that moment I hate her more thananything.
"Witch," Michel whispers. "Demon."
"No, Michel," she says. "Not a witch or a demon. Now, up you get onto the altar. Lie down, your arms spread. Think of your Lord with his own arms on the cross, dying to save the world from its sins. You'll die, sweet priest, to help me sin evenmore."
"Please, havemercy..."
"I have no mercy," she says. "No god or virgin showed me any. Why should I show it toyou?"
Then I feel her eyes onme.
"Julien, you must watch," she says, and I'm unable to deny her. I turn back and watch as Michel climbs onto the altar, lying there with his arms spread beneath the Basilica's flyingbuttresses.
She climbs on top of him, leans down and turns his neck to theside.
"Sweet, sweet Michel. How good it will be to corrupt you." She bites down on his neck and I know how she feels at that moment – the blood lust, the desire, the warm rush of blood into hermouth...
Michel cries out, his body arching from the pain andhorror.
"You see," she says, her mouth bloody, her teeth sharp. "There was no bolt of lightning to kill us both for this sacrilege. There was no avenging angel come to rescue you. Free your mind, Michel. There is no God but there are gods. Us." Then, she bites her wrist and presses it against his mouth. "Drink."
Michel does, for he's so weak, like me before him, he can't stophimself.
* * *
Later,Michel lies on the bed in our residence, his surplice bloodied. On either side of him are two young women, a redhead and a brunette. He wakes with a gasp, pushing their hands away as they try to undress him, pulling away the woman who has her hands in hisbreeches.
"I'm a priest," he says in horror, but they only giggle athim.
"You're not a priest any longer," the brunette says. "You're dead. But you're not all dead." She turns to Marguerite. "He's quite alive downthere."
"Stop!" he shouts, and pushes her awayforcefully.
Beside me, Margueriteclaps.