"Only because I had to. For her own safety. You see, I am a hunted man. There are those who wish to do me great harm, and they have finally found me. I cannot escape. They will end my life tonight and I must embrace it. My death must be on public record so my secrets shall die with me."
"The papers."
"Yes, the papers must also be destroyed. There is no other choice."
"Why can't you simply leave?"
He walked off to the side and gazed out at the dark, empty street outside the tavern.
"Have you ever heard of the Diable Rouge … the Red Devil, Thierry?"
"Yes." The Red Devil was a vampire rumored to save other vampires from the threat of hunters. His identity was not known, but his deeds were legendary.
Marcellus turned to him. "The Red Devil dies tonight. The hunters believe that they know his true identity and they want to end him."
Thierry frowned deeply. "I don't understand."
Marcellus smiled. "It is best that Veronique never learn the truth. I want her to believe that
I left her years back for selfish reasons. She must never know how deeply I loved her, how much I still love her and have missed her for all of these many years. I felt great jealousy when I first met you, Thierry, for you have what I cannot: Veronique.'"
"You are the Red Devil?"
"It is a silly name, but yes. I am. Until tonight."
Thierry shook his head. "Then it's too important for you to continue. You must escape."
He smiled, but it was a sad smile. "Do you know what it feels like to be betrayed by those you consider your friends? All is lost. The papers have names, locations, details that in wrong hands would do too much damage… if the Red Devil is gone, then that information must follow."
"How can you accept something like this? So easily? After all that you've done to help others?"
"I am almost five hundred years old and am weary with life. To be a vampire is to live forever, but it is finally time for me to rest. Seeing Veronique again has given me a last happiness."
The other man stepped back outside. "Marcellus, they approach."
Marcellus nodded to him and then handed Thierry the key. "Take this."
Thierry took it and looked down at it with a frown. "But, Marcellus… you cannot—"
"I must."
"What about Veronique? She is still downstairs."
"I will ensure her safety if it is the last thing I do. I swear it." Marcellus smiled, and
Thierry could see the strain of such a long life in his expression. "Now go… hide yourself.
They must not find that key." He paused and grasped Thierry's shoulder. "Take care of
Veronique for me. Farewell, mon ami."
Thierry watched his wife's sire and ex-lover descend the stairs to the secret tavern and knew there was nothing he could do or say to stop what was to come.
His mind buzzed with the information he'd received.
The Red Devil. Marcellus was the Red Devil and he was about to die. Thierry's throat felt thick at the thought.
Then he clenched the key in his fist and turned away from the tavern to disappear into the shadows.
That night, Thierry traveled to Marcellus's home near the city wall. He found the papers.
Lists of the names of vampires pretending to be human. Lists of names of humans who now hunted vampirekind. Lists of the names of informants, both vampire and human, and how much money these informants expected to be paid for their information. There was a bank of weapons hidden in the home. And money. A great deal of gold and other coinage spilled forth at his touch.
He also found Marcellus's detailed journals of the Diable Rouge. What he had done.
Where. When. Why. Thierry sat in Marcellus's home and read the many journals twice through, amazed at what he discovered. The Red Devil's identity was a closely guarded secret and had been for nearly five hundred years. Through Thierry's investigation, he could not find one living person who knew what Marcellus had done during the dark hours of night. Even Marcellus's assistant the other night, the man who warned of the approaching hunters, might not have known the whole truth.
The truth was that Marcellus was saving his kind from slaughter at the hands of the hunters.
The thought that it was now over, that the Red Devil was dead, disturbed Thierry greatly.
Even though his past relationship with Veronique soured him in Thierry's eyes, Marcellus had done such good with his long life, had saved so many people, that it couldn't be over.
There was a letter tucked into the journal at the last entry made. It had not yet been opened. It was from an informant and told of a planned massacre later that week.
A closely knit clan of vampires with loose ties to French royalty had been targeted to be an example to others. Three men and four women. And now that the Red Devil was dead, there was no one to save them from certain death.
Thierry's knuckles were white from clutching the journal so tightly. He had watched his family die and had been able to do nothing to prevent it. The Black Death had not been selective. It had eaten through the surrounding lands with an insatiable hunger, destroying those left behind with grief, despair, and poverty. But a disease couldn't be stopped.
However, a few hunters with sharp weapons could be stopped.
Thierry thought of his sister, the one who had not died from the plague, but instead at the hands of crazed villagers who, so afraid of death, killed anything they saw as a potential threat. He'd been too late to save her. It was his fault she was dead. The guilt ate at him even after so many years.
There was a wooden box, ornately carved with the symbol of a sun, on a side table near him. He opened it expecting to see more jewels or money, but it contained only two things, which he removed: a miniature painting of Veronique and a red mask. He gazed down at the portrait of his wife, at her perfect beauty, flawless complexion, and haughty expression. There was no denying that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
He placed the painting back into the box and closed the lid. He held the mask up to his face. It felt right against his skin.
The decision was made in that instant. He would continue Marcellus's secret work. He would take on the Red Devil's persona. In the memory of his family, he would help those who couldn't help themselves.
He took the mask, some weapons, the journal, and as much gold as he could carry. And he left the small house the following day to return to his wife in Paris.
Her expression was beautiful but annoyed when he found her.
"Where have you been?" she asked.
He had already decided to tell her nothing. It would be safer that way for her. Marcellus had wanted his secret to die with him. It would.