But there would be no more vials. Now he had been taken away, for Lord knew how long. Joseph’s heart shattered, knowing James would never sleep without them. His agitation would rise, and he would withdraw even further into himself. Joseph feared that by the time he returned he would have lost his brother forever.
Not giving himself time to regret his actions, Joseph took a small vial of holy water from the drawer in his bedside table. He emptied the blessed liquid onto the ground. Lowering to the floor, careful not to get blood on him again, he gathered a few drops of Luke’s blood into the vial. He capped the vial, then slipped it into his pocket.
The blood was still warm.
Joseph closed his eyes and whispered a prayer to God. For forgiveness for putting James’s sinful ways above what was right. James was Joseph’s weakness. His only weakness. In every other way, Joseph was the perfect priest-to-be. But not when it came to his brother. Blood of his blood. The vial of Luke’s blood was a veritable fire in his pocket, singeing his flesh with wrongness. Yet Joseph would accept whatever penance would be his punishment. If he ever saw James again, he knew what tranquility the gift would give his brother . . . and Joseph would endure the judgment.
Joseph followed Father Quinn’s instructions and went to a spare room. But even tucked up in a freshly made bed in an unfamiliar room, even staring at the identical crucifix hanging on the wall, sleep didn’t find him. Instead Joseph replayed the look in James’s eyes as his brother held him down, wondering if the evil smothering James’s soul had finally conquered any remaining good. Wondering if the brother he loved more than anyone in the world was lost to him forever.
Holding the blanket to his chin to stave off the chill that had nothing to do with the cold of the room, and the wintery bluster beyond the high window, he stared at the bronze crucifix and whispered, “Please, Jesus, please save him. Redeem him, forgive his sins. Forgive me mine. I just need him to be okay. He is all I have left.”
Chapter Two
As soon as the drops of incense hit the crucible coals, sweet-smelling smoke arose from the thurible. The familiar weight of the thurible’s chains was steady in Joseph’s hands, the quiet clanking of metal filling his heart with purpose. Beyond the wooden doors, the congregation waited for Mass to begin. Muted whispers from the people attending the Sunday service drifted from under the doors.
Joseph glanced at Paul and Matthew to his right and left. The three of them were Father Quinn’s favorite altar boys and those primed for priesthood. Paul smiled when Father Quinn came up behind them. “Ready, boys?” Father Quinn asked.
The altar boys nodded, and the wooden doors opened—Mass was commencing. As thurifer and Father Quinn’s most trusted altar server, Joseph’s job was to swing the thurible from side to side, the sweet incense fleeing the porous metal casing and leaping into Holy Innocents’ nave. The high ceilings of the church, painted so perfectly with saints held in the protective arms of the archangels, looked down upon the fallible humans striving to live honest lives.
The purple-and-white robes the altar boys wore filled them with joy. Gave them a place in the world. Something orphaned children often lacked. Joseph had never felt displaced in the church. It was his home. His solace. The only home he’d ever truly known.
Joseph’s footsteps echoed off the walls as he led the way to the altar. He moved aside as Father Quinn addressed the congregation and began Mass. Joseph attended Father Quinn, holding the consecrated bread for the communion. As Paul passed the red wine to Father Quinn, Joseph’s stomach dropped. In communion the wine was Christ’s blood. But all Joseph saw when he stared at the full carafe was James.
It had been three months. James had been in isolation for three months. Joseph had been without his brother for three months. He hadn’t slept since James had been taken. When Joseph had moved back into their room, he spent each night seeing James stabbing Luke and consuming his blood, ecstasy on his face as he licked the coated blade. Joseph was plagued by thoughts of how James would be coping without him. If he was hurting himself. Father Quinn told him nothing, and after being harshly reprimanded three weeks earlier for finally questioning James’s whereabouts, he had never dared ask again.
A subtle cough broke through Joseph’s heavy thoughts. He shook his head, pulling himself from his worry. Father Quinn was glaring at him in reprimand. The priest indicated the bread in Joseph’s hands. Joseph quickly walked to the altar and held out the plate. Joseph had made a number of mistakes in James’s absence. This was just one of many.