Inevitably Yves (Immortal Assassins

Book 6) Mia Monroe

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INEVITABLY YVES
Immortal Assassins
Book 6

MIA MONROE
Copyright © 2024 by Mia Monroe
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written
permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's
imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by: Wicked By Design
Photography by: Xram Ragde
Editing by: Kate Wood
Proofread by: Charity VanHuss

This book and all elements are 100% human created.

 Content Warnings

This book features a team of vampire assassins who take out really bad people. There is on page violence including vampires
being vampires and bad guys doing bad things.

SA/Trafficking discussions but nothing happens on page or is graphically discussed.

Decadent use of blood
Vampire violence- more than usual

The relationship between MCs is low angst and the book has an HEA.
 Contents

Prologue
1. Yves (Cillian)
2. Yves
3. Damiano
4. Yves
5. Damiano
6. Yves
7. Damiano
8. Yves
9. Damiano
10. Yves
11. Damiano
12. Yves
13. Damiano
14. Damiano
15. Yves
16. Damiano
17. Yves
18. Damiano
19. Yves
20. Damiano
21. Yves
22. Damiano
23. Yves
24. Yves
25. Damiano
26. Yves
27. Damiano
28. Yves
29. Damiano
Epilogue
A Note From Mia
About the Author
Also by Mia Monroe
 Prologue

Ireland, 1350

Rain pours down on the villagers filing into the church, each muttering greetings to me as they pass. I enjoy standing out front to
welcome my flock, but today is particularly dreary. It is meant to be a somber day anyway. Maundy Thursday, the holy day in
reverence of the last supper. It has been a long Lenten season, but here we are, on the brink of celebration. Resurrection is upon
us.
After the last person enters the church, I enter too, waiting as the altar boys close the church doors behind me. We start the
procession to the front, Mass begins, and as the morning hymns and readings take place, my gaze falls on a new face in the
crowd.
A man, one I am quite certain I have never seen before, gazes back at me as though we are the only two in the room. His
piercing blue-green eyes seem to glow, as if they were made of gemstones and fire. His face is perfection, every detail in
perfect harmony to create features the angels themselves would envy. Jet-black hair and a sharp Roman nose round out his face.
His hungry gaze stirs a dormant part of me. A part I’ve gone to great lengths to bury, including by joining the clergy. Ah,
how fitting to be faced with temptation on this holy day. My faith will get me through it. God be with me.
As I stand to deliver the homily, I find it difficult to ignore him. It’s as if there’s an ocean current beneath me, drawing me
ever closer to the silent stranger.
Based on his clothing, he must be a traveler. Fine silks and luxurious fabrics lead me to believe he is important. Perhaps he
is from Rome, come to check in on the lower class in Ireland.
“Father Cillian?”
The whisper draws my attention to the red-faced altar boy holding the tray of wine and bread for me. Apparently my
thoughts had drifted.
I smile and nod, remaining calm as I continue the Mass, but it is not long before my thoughts return to the man watching my
every move from the third row.
Lifting the bread from the tray, I hold it above my head and deliver the blessing. “Take and eat. This is My Body, which is
broken for you for the remission of sins.” I lift the goblet of wine next. “Drink of it, all of you. This is My Blood of the New
Testament, which is shed for you and for many, for the remission of sins.”
As the congregation files from their pews and lines up for the Eucharist, my attention remains on the handsome stranger. He
joins the line, and when he is before me, my breath hitches. He opens his mouth, extending his tongue, his eyes searching mine.
I place the piece of bread on his tongue, saying, “Corpus Domini Nostri Iesu Christi custodiat animam tuam in vitam
aeternam.”
The man chews the small piece of bread. “Amen,” he says. His accented voice, definitely Roman, vibrates through me like
lightning.
I lift the wine goblet, holding it to his full lips. “Sanguis Cristi.”
The man quirks an eyebrow at me before sipping the wine. He drags his tongue along his bottom lip, as if savoring the
taste, before nodding and moving back to his seat. After clearing my throat, I continue with Mass, slightly off balance.
 Temptation is strong, but I am stronger.
My heart lifts as Mass comes to an end. My desire for the enigmatic man to leave is strong. Once he is gone, I will pray for
continued fortitude should he happen to return.
“Do not forget, children, I will be available to hear your confessions through this evening. Go forth in peace.”
The church empties out, but my work is far from done. Standing out front, I mingle with the congregation, smiling under the
sun that has pushed its way through the clouds. After an hour, I return to my humble rectory, peeling out of my robe and
replacing it with a cassock.
I busy myself cleaning up the church for a few hours before heading out into the village. Almost everyone attends Mass in
our small community, but some are too sick or frail, so it is a pleasure for me to visit and deliver the sacrament to them at their
bedside.
Several hours later, it is time to return to the church for the reconciliation sacrament—the most draining part of my duty. In
the confessional, I listen intently to the sins of my flock, both small and large, delivering grace in the form of Our Fathers and
Hail Marys.
The confessional door opens, and the air tangibly shifts. The latticed screen that separates me from my parishioner slides
and my eyelids flutter in some strange response.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I will sin again before the sun rises.”
It is him. A shiver of lust mixed with foreboding runs down my spine. My heart speeds up, my mouth goes dry.
“Are you not going to ask me what I have done, Father? What I plan to do still?”
“I-I am listening, my child.”
“I will lead a faithful sheep to the slaughter,” he says. “I will defile one of god’s own.”
“What?”
“Let me see your face,” he whispers. “It will make it so much easier to speak my transgressions.”
I sit forward slightly, turning to peer at him through the screen. Even in the dim candlelight, his face is as clear as day.
“There you are, Father,” the man says. “I heard about you on my travels. In the village of Ballygawley there is a priest, they
said. A most kind man.”
“Thank you.”
“So I came to see you for myself. You see, I am in need of a flock myself.”
“You…” I shake my head at his confusing words. “You are a priest?”
The man chuckles. “Far from it.”
“I am afraid I do not understand. Do you have a confession to make?”
“I do, Father. I have lain with men. I have fornicated in the flesh, and I will do it again. I love it.”
His words unravel the tightness in the pit of my stomach, but I must keep my defenses up.
“Why does your god so despise pleasure?” he asks. “Why should I ask for forgiveness for indulging in his creations? Can
you help me understand, Father?”
I open my mouth to speak, but the words will not come. The man smiles at me, his head tilted innocently, but this is no
normal man. He is temptation in the flesh. Something evil lurks just beneath his surface.
“Perhaps you understand my plight, Father? Certainly a man of the cloth must know all about temptation. How do you deny
yourself?”
“Prayer,” I manage to answer. “My faith guides me, as it can for you.”
“Ah, but you did not answer the primary concern. Why does your god deny us pleasure?”
“My God? Do you not believe?”
“I believe in a lot of things, Father. A man in the sky delivering earthly and spiritual punishment is not one of them.”
“But…you partook of communion. That is a sacrament. You are here to confess. I do not understand.”
The man chuckles and then he is gone in a flash. I peer through the screen to find the other side empty, but when I lean back
he is behind me. I startle.
“Sir, you cannot be in here.”
He hovers over me, nearly pressed against me in the smaller space. I stand and back as far away as possible, but there is
nowhere to run.
“Father Cillian,” the man says, reaching out to touch my cheek. “You are indeed all that they said. Kind, welcoming, and so
very handsome. Yet, you give your life to service for a non-existent deity. I could give you so much more.”
“Please, sir. It is fine if you do not believe, but I must ask you to step back.”
He holds my gaze as his hand slides from my cheek to my neck. He tugs on my collar and my breath hitches. “What a pretty
neck you have. How old are you, Father?”
“Twenty-six.”
“Twenty-six. Just a baby.” His hand moves to my chest over my heart. “What if I told you that I know what you keep in
here?” He taps my chest with his finger. “I know all of it, even the things you do not dare whisper to your god.”
 “Who are you?”
“I am your savior, Cillian. I can give you everything you seek.”
“I seek nothing. My life is the Church and I am fulfilled.”
He chuckles, moving backward out of the confessional. I take a moment to breathe and compose myself, all too aware of
my body’s carnal reaction to his presence. I will not let this seductive stranger lead me to my destruction.
I exit the confessional, searching the church with my gaze for the man. He is gone. Thank God.
Approaching the altar, I try to push the images out of my mind. The allure of a male body, especially one as intriguing as
his, threatens to disrupt my composure. I fall to my knees to pray for strength.
With my forehead pressed to the stone, I whisper a prayer for release of my scandalous thoughts, but a hand on my shoulder
startles me.
“You did not think I would leave without my prize, did you?”
“Sir, please. I am not a plaything.”
I do not see him move, but suddenly he appears in front of me. “Oh, Father. Father, Father. I do admire your conviction. I
imagine this is how you keep your flock so steady.” He drags his fingers under my chin. “You are stunning, Cillian. The most
beautiful man I have ever seen. You should know, I came here for you. I came to liberate you from a world that cannot see your
gifts the way I can.”
His words make no sense. “I do not need liberation. I am happy here.”
He chuckles darkly, pushing my knees apart to settle between them. It is entirely scandalous but I can’t find it in me to resist
his touch.
“I want you, and I will not accept anything else.” His hand moves under my cassock, resting between my legs.
The action shakes me out of my stupor, and I push away from him, scrambling across the stone floor. He stalks me easily,
pursuing me until my back is pressed against the base of the cross.
“Ah, Cillian. I should have known you would make me chase, but that is fine. I love a good hunt.” He drops to his knees in
front of me. “Hear me out, Father. Listen to what you could have with me.”
“This is blasphemy. I will not go with you.”
He appears unfazed by my objection, crawling to meet me where I am. There is no exit unless I can somehow get away
from him.
“Your sweet, mortal, faithful mind cannot comprehend what I am and what I offer, but before the sun rises, you will.”
“You should leave, sir.”
“Sir. So formal. We are going to be such good friends. Call me by my name. Hadrian. Say it, Father.”
“Ha-Hadrian.”
The man’s breath hitches as he smiles. “Yes, that is lovely in your soft, reverent voice. Tell me, Father, does your passion
for sharing the good news with your flock extend to your bed?”
“Please…”
Hadrian cups my chin. “Or do you not even know? Have you locked your carnal passion away?”
I twist my face away, but he holds me in place. “This is not appropriate.”
“You will find that I am not interested in that. I make my own rules. Would you not like that, Cillian? To exist with nothing
but your own desires guiding you? Would you not like to know what my kiss tastes like?”
I close my eyes. “No,” I lie with as much conviction as possible. “You have come to tempt my faith. A demon from hell to
lead me away from the light. I will not let you.”
I push off his chest, somehow managing to get away and run for the door, but he is in front of me, that devious but oh-so-
enticing smile on his lips.
“You will leave when I say you can leave, Cillian.”
“No!” I duck around him, but before I can get to the door, Hadrian is there again, blocking my exit. “Are you going to harm
me?” I ask, backing away.
“Harm? No, darling. I would never harm you. Have you not been listening? I want to make you my companion.”
I scoff at that. “I cannot go with you. I am a priest. I have duties.”
“And I am here to release you from this…” He waves his hands around at the church, “This pious prison you have put
yourself in. You think I do not know why you joined the priesthood? You think your secrets hide from me?”
How…? I dart around him and hurry back to the altar, but Hadrian is right on my heels, knocking heavy wooden pews out
of his way as if they weigh nothing. Fear spurs me on, but he catches me around the waist. He turns me, pressing our chests
together.
“Hadrian, I beg you to let me go.”
“That is not what you really want. You want me to release you. I know you do.”
“No.” I shake my head, struggling to pull away, but his hold on me is powerful. “I am in service to my congregation. To
God.”
 “Why though, Cillian? Tell me the truth in your heart. Make me believe that you do not want what I can give you and I will
leave you.”
“Why is this happening? What have I done to deserve such torment?”
“You are not seeing it clearly yet. I did not come to torment you, beautiful man.” Hadrian leans in, pressing his nose to my
neck. “Oh, your scent is intoxicating. I felt its power over me as soon as I entered the village.”
I freeze as his free hand travels down my chest, settling between my legs, massaging my cock. “Tell me again, Father, how
you do not want me? Your words say one thing, but your body does not lie.”
“How do you know?”
“I know everything about you, Cillian. I know your desires, and I…” He licks my cheek. “I alone can give them to you. I
can give you the eternal life you devote yourself to. I can free your soul, absolve you of your perceived sins, and cleanse you in
the blood.”
As his lips part, sharp white fangs appear. His eyes glow like candles. “Demon,” I whisper.
“No, Father. I am no demon. I am something far greater. Beyond your wildest imagination.”
“Let me go.”
“Tell me you do not want me. Tell me with conviction.”
I open my mouth to deny him, but I cannot. I do want him, desperately, but I am sure he has somehow poisoned my mind. He
is a sorcerer.
“Tell me, Cillian.” Hadrian unbuttons my cassock, and I let him, unable, or perhaps unwilling, to fight him off. Beneath it is
my linen robe, and beneath that, nothing. He finally steps back enough to gaze at me, licking his lips.
I should run, but I seem to be frozen in place. I like his hungry gaze on me, seeing me in ways no other man has before.
“Take your robe off, Cillian. Let me see all that you are.”
With trembling hands, I pull my robe over my head, clutching it as my body is revealed to the mysterious man with the
powerful hold over me.
“Perhaps your god does exist,” Hadrian says. “For certainly, yours is no ordinary beauty.” He circles me, his breath fanning
across my bare flesh. “Only a deity could create such perfection.”
I shiver, but I know it is desire, not fear. “This is so wrong.”
“No, Cillian. We are so right.”
I step back, and he follows me until I am once again at the altar under the cross.
“Tonight, I will take of the flesh and you will drink of the blood, and by morning, you will have all the desires you have
locked away in your heart.”
I watch in stunned silence as Hadrian removes his clothing. It is not lost on me how deeply wrong this is, standing at the
altar of a holy space on the verge of sinning, but what he said of me is true.
I desire him.
Enough to break my vows.
Hadrian hooks his hand behind my neck, pulling me closer until our lips touch. It is not a kiss, more a promise of one, as he
whispers, “Beautiful Cillian. I covet your devotion. Give your life to me and I will renew you. Just say yes.”
I pull my head back enough to search his eyes. I cannot explain what is happening right now, whether Hadrian is an angel or
the devil himself, but as my body thrums against his, my cock throbbing heavily with need, I lick my lips and nod, giving myself
over to this mysterious man.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Yes?” Hadrian repeats. “You will be my companion? You accept my gift?”
Trembling now, I nod. “I accept.”
His lips part, revealing those unworldly fangs. I do not know what I have accepted, not truly, but I am not afraid.
Hadrian sinks his teeth into my neck, and I gasp, falling limp in his arms. He guides us to the floor, feasting on my blood as
his body wraps around mine. My gaze lands on the cross on the wall above us, and I laugh at the irony.
I am the blood.
I am the sacrifice.
Hadrian is eternal life.
I watch him with hazy eyes as he slices his own wrist open with his thumbnail, offering me the thick red liquid seeping
from his wound. I accept his sacrament, feeling the blood spread through me, renewing me, liberating me. Just as he promised.
Hadrian watches me, a smile on his lips stained with my blood. “When you wake, we will make love right here on these
holy steps. I am your religion now, Cillian. You have made me so happy.”
Pain seizes my chest, but I do not cry out. I fix my gaze on Hadrian, knowing in the deepest part of me, somehow, that he is
everything he says he is.
“Beautiful Cillian. What a life we are going to have. Rest well, my sweet prince. I will be here when you wake, and we
will start our adventure.”
I have no idea what awaits me, and I do not care. Hadrian may be my ruin, but I accept it wholly.
May God have mercy on my dark soul.
 ONE

Yves (Cillian)

Present Day

Memories.
I’ve been haunted by them for weeks now. Why, after centuries, do they plague me?
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I rest my elbows on my knees, racking my brain for clues. I can’t stop seeing his face. There
are times I’d swear before Hades I caught his scent, but it’s impossible. He’s long dead. I would know if he lived.
Scrubbing my hands over my face, I finally push off the bed to prepare for the day. I have to face the council today with no
idea why the impromptu meeting is happening. The fact that it’s here in New Onyx concerns me. It must affect my domain.
An hour later, dressed and ready for the day, I exit my bedroom to head to my study. Viper is already at her desk, typing
away. She looks up, pausing with a pretty smile on her face.
“Well, well. Don’t you look extra handsome today. New suit?”
“Very old suit. I wear it to all council meetings. Call it superstition.”
“It’s working for you. You look hot. If I liked men and you liked mortals I’d be all over you.”
I laugh at her harmless flirting. “A compliment indeed.”
“I warmed a mug for you. It’s on your desk. We have two new client requests. I’m entering them into the database now.”
My chest warms with affection. “How did I get so lucky? First Vivienne and now you.”
“Uh, you totally deserve us.”
Bowing my head slightly, I retreat to my office. Sure enough, a mug of warmed blood sits on my desk. Vivienne got me
some kind of mug warmer that keeps it warm until I’m ready for it. So thoughtful.
Taking a seat at my desk, I sip my morning meal, but my thoughts are still consumed by memories of the past.
Images of my maker’s face whoosh by like leaves on a breeze. Hadrian. The man who promised love but delivered only
torment. Gods, I haven’t even thought that name in decades, much less recalled his face. But that’s not the worst of it. Not the
most painful memory.
Lorenzo.
Simply allowing the name to play in my thoughts causes pain. I thought I had killed his memory completely, but lately…it’s
been resurrected. Why? Only the gods know.
I feel Syn’s presence before I hear his knock on my door. “Enter.”
He does. Alone. I’m so used to seeing his mate by his side that the sight of him alone is almost startling.
“I want to come with you,” he says.
“It isn’t necessary.”
“Just the same.” He approaches me, coming to my side of the desk. “It’s unusual. You may need support.”
I nod, gazing up at the man I once loved. Or tried to love, at least. I press my hand to his torso, and his gaze softens.
“Something is happening to me, Syn.”
He kneels before me. “Something? What do you mean?”
“For weeks now the past has haunted me. Relentlessly. I don’t understand why.”
“The past?”
“At first, I wrote it off as memories compressing, but it’s more than that.” I focus on Syn’s face. “I can see my maker every
time I close my eyes.”
Syn’s brow creases. “Your maker? Hadrian?”
Nodding, I swallow hard. I haven’t heard his name spoken by another since I first told Syn about him. Whenever I repeated
the story after that, I left out his name.
“And…” I close my eyes briefly as more memories flood back. “The man I once loved.”
Syn’s expression hardens. “Marcello?”
He practically spits the name.
“No, thankfully. Long before him. I didn’t tell you about him. It was too painful.”
He rubs my thigh. “Do you want to tell me now?”
Gripping his hand in mine, I consider whether I’m ready to put words to my painful past. I’m not.
“No, but only because I don’t think I can yet. All I can say is that I lost him long ago.”
Syn nods, studying my face. “I’m going with you.”
“You should stay with your mate. I’ll be fine.”
“Bowie is fine. You need support. I won’t accept no as an answer.”
“Yeah, I’m coming too.” We both look to the door as Thorn enters. “No way are you going alone.”
Instead of fighting my brothers, I submit to their concern and affection for me. “If I’ve done anything right in this long life of
mine, finding all of you has been my biggest achievement. Your loyalty is my highest honor.”
Thorn, smacking his gum and leaning on the doorframe, just grins. “My dude, you’re everything to us. I stopped the others
from coming along. You’re welcome.”
I finally crack a smile. “I am a lucky man. We should get going. The meeting is downtown at the Mercurial Hotel.”
Syn whistles. “Posh digs.”
“Discreet digs as well,” I reply before draining the last of my breakfast. As I set the mug down, I glance at my brothers.
“Thank you for coming.”

Thirty minutes later, Thorn turns into the parking lot of the hotel, choosing the valet. The Mercurial is a Gothic delight, fitting
for an old-school vampire’s indulgent side. Its stone exterior, replete with spires and ornate entries, fits right in with the city’s
old-world vibe. On the rare occasion the council visits our city, they stay here.
My normally dormant pulse actually ticks up as we exit the SUV and walk together towards the door. I button my suit jacket
and smooth it down, bracing myself for whatever this is about. Though I’m their equal, I have always taken a passive role,
allowing my more power-hungry peers to run things. As a result, I sometimes feel as though I’m being taken to task. Perhaps I
should have led it when I had the opportunity, but my tiny slice of the world in New Onyx satisfies me.
“The vibe feels good,” Thorn notes as we pass through the lobby. “Anybody picking up on anything?”
“Just a bunch of vampires nearby,” Syn says. “Yves?”
“Nothing unusual.” No sooner are the words out of my mouth that I stumble, stopping in my tracks as I catch a vague scent.
“What is it?” Syn asks with his hand on my arm. “Danger?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m fine. Let’s continue.”
Syn nods, but both his and Thorn’s energy is heightened now as we enter the elevator. We exit on the eleventh floor where
the boardrooms are. Immediately, the air is thick. I feel their reverence for me as I enter the room. I am older than them, after
all.
The five vampires in the room stand to greet me, and I walk to each one to hug and kiss them, as is customary. Together we
make six sanctions, covering the United States’ vampire population. I take my seat in the empty chair, nodding to Syn and Thorn
as they exit the room and close the doors behind them.
“You brought an entourage, Yves?” Horus, the California governance vampire quips. “Don’t you trust us?”
“Entirely,” I answer. “They insisted on joining me and I deny my brothers nothing.” I fold my hands on the desk. “I am
curious though. What brings us together today?”
The tension my question causes unnerves me. All eyes move to Paolo, the de facto leader of our group. He governs most of
the East Coast, excluding New Onyx and a few smaller territories, and part of the southern states.
“We have some concerns of activity building near here,” Paolo says.
For years he pursued me and a spot in my bed. His looks finally wore me down, but we were woefully incompatible. Still,
I’d be a blind man not to recognize his Mediterranean beauty. Short jet-black hair, equally black eyes, and the sexiest mouth.
“What sort of activity?” I ask. “I’ve detected nothing.”
“We believe you’re being blocked,” Paolo continues. “Intentionally.”
I pull my head back and scoff. “Blocked? That’s impossible. The only person capable of hiding their existence from me is
my maker, and he’s dead.”
I notice the uncomfortable glances that pass around the room.
“What?” I ask. “Tell me.”
“We think there’s someone you should speak to,” Paolo says. “Someone who came to us first. He’s waiting in an adjoining
room.”
“Who?”
“His name is Damiano Honore. He’s been living in Europe.”
“I don’t know anyone named Damiano.”
Paolo nods. “Yes, well, he knows something about your maker.”
I back away from the table as foreboding fills me. “There’s nothing to know. The man has been dead for centuries. I saw
it.”
“Yves,” Paolo says, leaning toward me. “Speak to Damiano. It will make more sense then.”
“Fine. Where is he?” I’m out of my seat and looking around. “Take me to him.”
“Across the hall,” Paolo says, his voice tense. “He is not dangerous, but his message might be.”
I stomp toward the door, swinging it open to find my brothers alert. They obviously feel my emotions, but I lift my hand to
stop them as I stare at the closed door in front of me. After a brief knock, I twist the doorknob and enter, completely unprepared
for what’s in front of me.
The man before me turns away from the windows and when our eyes meet, I rush forward.
It’s not possible. It can’t be.
With a gasp, he falls to his knees, gazing up at me with wide lavender eyes. Eyes I’ve gazed into a million times. How is
this happening?
“Cillian,” he whispers.
“Lorenzo?” My chest seizes as I touch his cheek. “By the gods, it’s you.”
“You’re…you’re not dead.”
“You’re not dead.” I drop to my knees as well. “Lorenzo.”
The two of us can only stare at each other in shock and amazement. He exhales, and as he does, my eyelids flutter as his
scent swirls around me. I must be dreaming.
“Then I must be dreaming too,” Lorenzo says, showing that our connection is still very much intact. “There is so much to
say. So much to tell you, but first, the reason I’m here.” He rises effortlessly, holding my hand to help me to my feet.
His touch immediately heals a wound inside me. I can’t believe he’s really here. As we sit on the small couch in the room,
a thousand thoughts and memories cloud my mind. The scent, the memories, I wasn’t imagining any of it. Lorenzo was near.
He is still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Still smells like paradise. Nothing about him has changed at all—
understandably—but his impact on me is as fresh as the first time I laid eyes on him when our maker brought him to our home. I
was the first vampire our maker kept. Lorenzo was the second.
“Yves Orpheus,” Lorenzo says. “I would never have connected that name to you.”
“Damiano Honore. Beautiful.”
“I chose the French spelling of my last name as a memorial of sorts.”
“The same reason I chose Yves. To remember our time in France.”
“And Orpheus?”
“I saw it on an opera house passing through Europe.”
“You always loved opera.”
“Yes.” I squeeze his hands in mine. “I can’t believe you’re real. I’ve been plagued for months by your beautiful face,
wondering why fate would torture me so, but here you are. In my very backyard.”
His eyes soften. “You felt me? Still?”
“Yes. You couldn’t feel me?”
“I thought…” He smiles. “Honestly, I thought I was going mad, or that it was because of…” He sighs deeply. “Because of
Hadrian.”
“How could that madman affect us now?”
“He lives, Cillian. As sure as you and I live, so does he.”
 TWO

Yves

“Lives? That’s ludicrous. I would know if that were true.”

“He blocked us. I only know because of an interaction between him and a member of a friendly coven near where I live in
Spain. He told me all about it and that Hadrian is very much alive.”
“I saw him burn, Lorenzo.”
“He didn’t die. There’s rumor he sometimes goes by Adrian Spencer now. I don’t know where he’s been, but I know where
he’s going. That’s why I’m here. Why I found the council. I never imagined I would find you too.”
I want to kiss him. I desperately want to taste him again, but… “Gods, Hadrian lives?”
“And he is hell-bent on world domination. He has an army already.”
“What?”
“Nothing has changed for him. He still thinks he should control every vampire ever made. Only now, centuries later, there
are thousands of us. It’s like he’s been asleep for centuries and just woke up.”
“Perhaps he has.” This new knowledge sits heavy on my chest. “Why New Onyx?”
“No idea yet,” Lorenzo answers. “I only know because of a very helpful intuitive I see. He gave me the answers I needed. I
came to warn the council and they said I had to see you.” He scoffs a laugh. “They must have sensed our connection. Perhaps
your blood still lingers in my veins.”
“Lorenzo…there is so much to tell you.”
He stands abruptly, putting unwanted space between us. “Start by explaining why you denied me. I thought our love was
unbreakable.”
I open my mouth to defend myself but the doors to the room swing open and Thorn, Syn, and the council members pour in.
“Forgive the interruption. We have news,” Paolo says, guiding a twink of a man forward. I recognize him as the man who
delivered the invite to me at Lair two nights ago.
“In London,” the man begins. “A nest of vampires meet, led by one Adrian Spencer. My source tells me they will descend
on New Onyx in three days’ time. They are still unaware that we know about them.”
“How?” Lorenzo asks.
“My source is mortal,” the twink vampire answers. “A donor. Common in parts of Europe. An interesting case too. Their
compulsion doesn’t work on him.”
“One problem at a time,” Paolo states.
“Does anyone know why Hadrian is targeting New Onyx?” I ask.
The twink nods, focusing on me. “He’s coming for you, Yves Orpheus.”
“What the fuck,” I whisper.
“I will stay here with you, Yves,” Paolo says.
“I will stay too,” Lorenzo says. “Nothing could make me leave again. Not even Hadrian.”
Syn’s face screws up while Thorn looks confused. For once, I am at a loss for words. There is so much to explain. I’ve
never told my brothers about Lorenzo. I suppose I’ll start with the simplest of introductions.
“Gentleman, brothers, I’d like to introduce you to Damiano Honore, but I knew him as Lorenzo of the House of Hadrian. He
is number two.”
Paolo gasps. “Number two? You are a Legacy? An original?”
Lorenzo nods. “Hadrian is my maker.” He smiles as his eyes settle on me. “And Cillian, Yves as you know him, was—is,
perhaps—the love of my life.”
 THREE

Damiano

Cillian. In the flesh.

Now the flashbacks and familiar scents make sense. The closer I got to New Onyx, the stronger they were. I thought I might
be faced with Hadrian, but no. My love is here. I only need to know what went so wrong all those years ago.
Two men hover protectively beside him, eyeing me like I’m the villain. How wonderful to know he is so loved.
Yves. I play the name in my head over and over again. It fits him. An elegant name for an equally elegant man. He holds my
gaze as if no one else exists, the way he always did. There’s a million miles between us, but somehow none at all.
“Damiano,” Yves says, smiling. “These are two of my brothers, Syn and Thorn. I am their maker.”
I nod at both in greeting, picking up on their distrust of me.
“What’s next?” Paolo asks.
“We can’t just sit here and wait to be attacked. Not knowing Yves is his target,” Syn says.
“Yeah, no one touches him. Not on my watch,” Thorn adds, cracking his knuckles and eyeing me suspiciously.
“That is precisely what we have to do,” Yves says. “Hadrian is an immensely clever man. I’ll assume that hasn’t changed.
He grows stronger with each new vampire made. By now, he’s virtually indestructible.”
“We’re likely the only two people who can kill him,” I state. “And even then, we may not be successful.”
“Must he be killed?” Horus asks. “Is he not reasonable?”
Yves rubs his hands together, clearly in turmoil over something, but he’s blocked me from his thoughts. His brothers notice
as well, closing in around him, but Yves waves them off. He paces in front of the windows for a moment, his head bowed,
before he turns to face us.
“He is not reasonable. He is ruthless and will kill anyone in his way. Hadrian knows our weaknesses, and if he knows I
live, then he knows Damiano does too. We must block him from our thoughts but maintain awareness of his presence.”
“But you’re blocked from him,” Horus points out. “Is there a way around it?”
“Vivienne will know. She’s our house witch and very powerful.”
“Yves,” Syn says. “This sounds dangerous. We must prepare in some way.”
“It is dangerous, brother. There is nothing in existence more deadly and powerful than Hadrian. I tried to destroy him once
before and clearly it didn’t work.”
The ripple of pain that moves through Yves is as sharp as if it were my own. I want to hold him, comfort him, but now is
not the time.
“Yves is right,” I say. “Outside of gathering allies, there is nothing preemptive we can do to protect ourselves.”
“Bullshit,” Thorn spits. “Everyone can die.”
“We exist because he does,” Clyde, another vampire from the Midwest says. “His blood is inside of every one of us. We
are his puppets.”
“I am no man’s puppet,” Thorn says. “I will die defending Yves.”
“You may have to,” Horus spits.
“Perhaps your maker can help you understand what we’re up against,” Paolo says. “He knows him firsthand.”
Yves fixes his hazel eyes on my face, his expression a mixture of fear and determination. “I need your help.”
“You have it without doubt. I came before I even knew it was you. Now that I know that, nothing could drag me away.”
But we need to talk. Alone.
I send the thought, testing our connection. When Yves’s eyelids flutter and he nods, a lost part of me is found again.
“Where are you staying?” he asks.
“Here.”
“You should come to my home. Paolo too. We have room and it makes sense to stay together.”
 “And what of us? What should we do?” Clyde asks. “Wait?”
“Organize,” Yves answers. “Gather everyone you know who is loyal to you. I hate to say this, but if I know Hadrian, and I
do, we’re on the verge of war. If he wins…” Yves’s words fade away as he searches my eyes. “We die.”
“No!” Syn exclaims. “No,” he repeats, softer.
“Why would he want you to die?” Thorn asks.
Yves’s brow creases and I doubt that he’s ever told the story before. “I betrayed him. I had to.”
“The rumors are true then?” Paolo asks.
Yves nods, tearing his gaze away from me. “I remember as if it were yesterday. He…lost his way.”
“Mindless killing,” I continue. “Arrogance. He drew too much attention to us. He destroyed an entire village. Women,
children…”
“No one could stop him,” Yves says. “I tried…” He shakes his head to avoid the words, so I brace myself for a truth I may
not know. “I did everything I could. I devoted myself to his happiness. I gave him everything at the expense of others. He loved
me the most.”
“And it wasn’t enough?” Clyde asks.
“‘Enough’ doesn’t exist to him,” I reply. “He was mad with power. Frustrated with hiding. He wanted us to be out,
dominant, not only part of society, but in charge of it.”
“At a time when the Church was still burning women for perceived witchcraft,” Yves says. “Ahead of his time, perhaps,
but the nightly attacks on us were devastating. We lost many. Hadrian didn’t care. He just made more, often by force.”
“Turning people and abandoning them,” I explain. “He dishonored us and broke the rules he himself had made.”
“How did it end?” Thorn asks.
Yves glances at me again before turning away. “He took everything from me.” When he looks up, his eyes are glowing with
barely contained rage, the irises tinged red. “He stripped me of my dignity, my autonomy, my love.”
“Cillian,” I whisper the name, barely able to speak it.
“He isolated me,” Yves continues. “I was forced to stay and appease him. It was the only way to stop his rampaging. Every
time I tried to leave, his anger was terrifying.” Yves blinks away the emotion causing his voice to shake. “So when the mob of
vampires showed up at our home, I distracted him, fed him dead blood, and let them drag him outside where they beat him,
bled him, and finally, burned him.”
Meredith, a southwest vampire, gasps, clutching her chest.
“I stood by and watched them.”
“They would have killed you if you had intervened,” Paolo notes.
“I know, but do you think Hadrian cares about that?”
“No.”
“No,” Yves repeats. “He saw it as the act of betrayal it was, I’m sure.” He wrings his hands together. “But I should have
known it wasn’t enough to kill him. I’m responsible for what’s happening now.”
“No, Yves,” I say. “You couldn’t have known.”
“Couldn’t I? He told us how indestructible we were. He told us there are only two ways to die, and one of them didn’t
work on him.”
“Dead blood and decapitation.”
Yves nods. “I didn’t let them take his head. I couldn’t.” His voice breaks. “I felt as if I was burning on that fire. His
screams tortured me.”
Syn grips his maker’s hand, arousing my jealousy. “Yves,” he whispers.
“While they killed my coven off, I stole Hadrian’s body, and I ran into the forest. I buried him and hid out until morning
when I could return for a box that would become his coffin.”
My eyes sting with tears that stopped flowing centuries ago. Yves’s pain, his guilt, all of it is mine.
“I returned to our home to find my coven obliterated. Beheaded, burned, staked to the ground. I took the few things of value
I could find and I left.”
“What did you do with Hadrian’s body?” Paolo asks.
“Pushed it into the sea. I thought we would be safe that way. There was nothing there for him to eat. Nothing to restore him.
He would simply float to the bottom and stay there. Or so I thought.”
“There was no sign of life when you did this?” Clyde asks.
“None. He was just…a shell. Badly disfigured.” Yves clutches his chest. “He deserved what happened, but that knowledge
doesn’t make it any less painful.”
“And you, Damiano?” Emiko, another vampire who has been quiet until now asks. “Where were you during all this?”
“Gone,” I answer. “I had my reasons, but they are for Yves’s ears first.”
Thorn glares at me while Syn rubs Yves’s back. I sense the love and loyalty flowing between them, and I am happy he has
them, but I also want to send them away and be his comfort.
 He lifts his eyes to me, clearly aware of my thoughts, but his expression is passive.
“Hadrian wants revenge,” Yves says, flatly. “He wants to punish me. Unfortunately, I am not his sole target. In his mind, he
is our god. He wants our reverence, devotion, and complete submission.”
“Yeah, well, he can fuck a dagger,” Thorn says. “I’m loyal to no one but Yves.”
Yves smiles warmly. “What we have on our side is modernity. Hadrian had to be locked away somewhere all this time, or
it would have happened sooner. We have technology and our own covens and allies to support us. He has an ego and rogue
vampires. That won’t make it easy, but we are not entirely defenseless.”
“We’ll start making calls right away,” Meredith says. “Should we consider Yves our main contact?”
Paolo nods. “New Onyx is his. If it falls, we all do.”
 FOUR

Yves

Waiting in the hotel lobby with Syn and Thorn, my thoughts are utter chaos. Lorenzo is alive. And by the gods, Hadrian lives.
“Are you sure you want Damiano to stay with us?” Syn asks. “He seems to disrupt you.”
A dark chuckle bubbles out of me. “Disrupt me? Brother, there are no words for his effect on me.”
“You loved him once?” Thorn asks.
“I’m not sure I’ve stopped loving him. After he left I thought…” I pause. “These are words meant for him first. All I can
say is that it would be impossible for me to let him stay anywhere else now that I know he lives.”
“You didn’t even suspect it?” Syn asks.
“No. I searched for him for years before I found you, Syn. I traveled the world, and there was no trace. Then in Spain I
found…” I shake my head. “Something he never would have left behind. I believed him dead at that point. Until recently, I
never once caught his scent.”
“Is he…” Syn grips my hand. “Is he your mate?”
“No. I would have known. I’m not sure I care though. Fate has yet to show me another option.”
The elevator doors part and Paolo steps out first, followed by Lorenzo. I should adjust to calling him Damiano for
simplicity. Perhaps in private he can still be my Enzo.
“You’re sure you have space for us?” Paolo asks.
“I own a high-rise. There’s space. Fully furnished flats. Do you have a mate to invite?”
Paolo shakes his head. “No one serious.”
My gaze shifts to Damiano. “You?”
He shakes his head. “No, Yves.”
I nod, filled with relief. “Well, we should go. There’s work to do.”
We exit the hotel, waiting for the valet to bring the SUV around. Paolo scans the lot with an eagle eye, as if Hadrian would
just walk up to us. No. Whatever his plan is, it will be stealthy and deadly.
“I’ll sit in the back with Damiano and Paolo,” Syn offers.
I nod, knowing a bit of distance between me and Damiano is probably a good thing until we can be truly alone.
I have a million questions. Why couldn’t I find him? Why couldn’t I scent him? Why the fuck did he leave me alone with
Hadrian? My guard is up, ensuring he can’t connect to my thoughts, but I feel his prodding, his desperation to know what I don’t
say.
I take my spot in the passenger seat up front, smiling at Thorn as he pats my thigh before tearing off. The ride home is silent.
I imagine all of us are deep in our own thoughts about what we’ve learned.
The last thing I ever thought I would deal with again is Hadrian’s presence. I felt safe imagining him at the bottom of the
Atlantic, buried under debris and sand, unable to free himself. My guilt never left me though. Not entirely. I often questioned
whether my solution was kinder than death. Perhaps I should have let the vampires take his head. But then again, I may never
have found Damiano.
When we arrive at our building, Thorn swings into his parking space, glancing at me with questions in his eyes.
He’s safe, brother.
Thorn nods. I’m a thought away if you need me.
I pat his leg in acknowledgment before exiting the car. Syn takes the lead, guiding Paolo to the elevator while Damiano
falls into step beside me.
“You own this?”
I nod. “We’ve had mortals rent in the building, but as they’ve moved out, I’ve not replaced them. My initial plan was to
blend in with them, but there’s something to be said for having our own sacred space.”
 “Why would they leave such a beautiful building?” Paolo asks.
“Rent hike,” Thorn says, chuckling.
“Ah. Smart,” Paolo says.
“They definitely weren’t happy about it, but it was right for us.” I glance at Damiano. “We can be ourselves here, from the
ground floor to the roof.”
“Yeah, we were pushing it,” Thorn says. “Like the time we slaughtered a mafioso in the lobby.”
Syn scoffs a laugh. “He started it.”
“How many of you are there?” Paolo asks, his eyes appreciating Thorn.
“My coven consists of five and their mates, plus me and two women who are not vampires,” I explain.
“The scent of desire is strong here,” Paolo notes. “Someone is in love.”
“All of us are,” Thorn says just as the doors open on our floor. “We have found our mates.” His eyes move to me. “Perhaps
we all have.”
I ignore the comment, focusing on my brothers instead. “I am proud of the family I’ve created. Their mates are welcome
additions.”
“You have a mate too, Thorn?” Paolo asks.
“Sure do, big guy. We’re not polyam either. Sorry.”
“Lucky man or woman,” Paolo says with a polite smile.
“Man. Gorgeous, sweet man,” Thorn gushes. “You’ll meet him later.”
“Yes, um, let’s take Paolo to unit eight,” I say.
Syn focuses on me. “And Damiano?”
I want to say mine, but I know we have a lot to discuss before either of us warms the other’s bed. “Unit ten.”
Damiano and I hover in the hall as Thorn and Syn lead Paolo to his unit.
“Nice building,” Damiano says.
“Thank you. Do you need to get settled first before we…talk?”
“No, Yves, I don’t. I haven’t been settled a single day since I last saw your face. I want to talk and be alone with you.
Now.”
Nodding, I gesture towards my unit. “Right this way.”
All the gods. Damiano, my Enzo, is about to enter my home. If fate is truly kind, I pray we will never part again.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Kommunistien
kokous Pöllölässä
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Kommunistien kokous Pöllölässä

Selostus Pöllölän kommuunin yleispöllöläisen internaalin
edustajiston neuvostokokouksesta

Author: Ilmari Kivinen

Release date: December 6, 2023 [eBook #72348]

Language: Finnish

Original publication: Finland: Kust.Oy Kirja, 1928

Credits: Tapio Riikonen

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK

KOMMUNISTIEN KOKOUS PÖLLÖLÄSSÄ ***
KOMMUNISTIEN KOKOUS PÖLLÖLÄSSÄ

Selostus Pöllöläm kommuunin yleispöllöläläisex internaalin

edustajiston neuvostokokouksesta

Pöytäkirjan nojalla laatinut

TIITUS [Ilmari Kivinen]

Helsingissä, Kustannusosakeyhtiö Kirja, 1922.

KOMMUNISTIEN KOKOUS
PÖLLÖLÄSSÄ

1 §.

Kommunistien yleispöllöläläinen internaali pidettiin Pöllölän

Hölölässä pyhänseutuna iltapäivällä.

Kokoushuoneen olivat tilaisuutta varten puhtaaksi pesseet ja

katajilla aistillisesti koristaneet toverittaret Kaisa Kompura ja
Josehviina Rytkyläinen joutomies, tov. Aatami Lötjösen
suostuvaisella avuliaisuudella.

Päivä oli sateellinen ja akkojen hameenhelmat vastaavassa

määrässä märkinä metsässä kaalamisesta.

Tov. Lötjönen makaili penkillä selkäpuoli ylöspäin ja piippu

hampaissa, lausuen julki mieskohtaiset aistimuksensa muutamalla
harvalla sanalla:

— Lähtee se tuosta katajasta oikein lojaali ja väkevä haisu…

 Mihin Josehviina Rytkyläinen, ilmakehän puhtautta silmälläpitäen,
varoiksi huomautti:

— Anna sinä Lötjönen niiden katajien vain yksikseen lemuta —

jottei tule paha sekoitus…

— Ha ha ha! nauroi Kaisa Kompura avoimesti, erittäinkin kun ei

hänellä ole hampaitakaan, ja sanoi:

— Ripustan tuon hameeni tuohon uunin eteen kuivamaan, koska

ei vielä kuulu niitä kommunistin soluja…

Kaisa Kompura pudotti päällyshameensa ja asetti sen nuoralle

uunin eteen, ja hetken perästä todisti tov. Lötjönen:

— Kuivuu siinä Kaisan hame, kun jo höyryää… siinä on oikein

lojaali lämmin.

— Missähän se Sinkkosen Reeta viipyy? tiedusteli Josehviina

Rytkyläinen, ja kun Sinkkosen Reeta samassa tempasi oven auki ja
nosti sisään suuren pärekorin, murahti tov. Lötjönen silmät
puoliummessa:

— Se on pirukin aina siinä missä mainitaan.

— Puoluetervehdyksellä! lausui Reeta Sinkkonen kimakalla

äänellä, ja huusi sitten:

— Korjaa pois Kaisa rytkysi uunin edestä, jotta pääsen internaalille

kahvin keittoon!

— Eipä noita vielä kuulu koko naaleja, vastusti Kaisa, ottaen

kuitenkin hameen nuoralta ja pujottaen sen ylleen. — Eipähän
lentänyt uunista tulipaukkuja hameeseen, vaikka nuo kuusihalot
räiskivät kuin lahtarit harjoituksissaan.

— P——leet! murahti tov. Lötjönen.

— Joko sinä kävit leipuri Pussiselta vehnäsiä? kysyi Josehviina

Rytkyläinen.

— Kävin, kävin, mutta pirtua en saanut, kun ei ollut tullut Pussisen

poika vielä hakumatkaltaan Jykkälästä, ilmoitti Reeta Sinkkonen.

— Mahtaako sillä olla… Jykkäläisellä? murahti tov. Lötjönen.

— Kun justikään eilen illalla toi kaupungista kanisterin itseänsä

vapaariikkiä! huudahti Kaisa Kompura.

— Ka no sitten… jos se oli niin lojaali, murahti tov. Lötjönen,

vaipuen mietiskelyihin.

— Kuulkaapas, kun taas lorottaa vettä taivaalta niin että katto

rumisee! huomautti Josehviina Rytkyläinen.

— On sitä lorottanutkin tänä kesänä, mistä riittäneekin? Ei taida

tulla mitään heinänteosta, jos vielä heinäaikaan sitä peliään pitää,
arveli Kaisa Kompura.

— Joutaapa nuo kastua… porvarin heinät! murahti tov. Lötjönen.

— Antaa kastua, antaa kastua! huusi Reeta Sinkkonen, joka

kauhalla ammensi vettä ovenpielessä olevasta korvosta suureen
kahvipannuun.

*****
 Vähitellen alkoi kokoontua kommunistisia soluja.

Ensiksi tuli Israel Huttunen, entinen työväenyhdistyksen

puheenjohtaja, minkä yhdistyksen nosket olivat törkeällä
ääntenenemmistöllä vallanneet oman hajoituskoplansa halpamielisiä
tarkoitusperiä palvelemaan.

Pyyhittyään lokaa pieksuistaan oven edessä oleviin havuihin ja

niistettyään nenänsä sormillaan astui Israel Huttunen sisään,
lausuen arvokkaisuudella:

— Kommunistisella tervehdyksellä!

— Terve, terve! vastasivat Kaisa Kompura ja Josehviina

Rytkyläinen, ja tov. Lötjönen vääntäytyi penkillä istualleen, haukotteli
ja painoi hatun lujemmin päähänsä.

— Hukkuu kohta köyhä rapaan noilla porvarien kujilla, valitti Israel

Huttunen, lyöden märkää hattuaan pieksunvarteen ja ripustaen sen
sitten puunaulaan seinälle valumaan.

— Hukkuuhan se köyhä… tässä yhteiskunnassa, murahti tov.

Lötjönen, ja
Kaisa Kompura kirkasi äkkiä:

— Vaan kun tulee roletaarin tiktatuuri, niin tasasesta kivestä

lasketaan Pöllölässä kujoset, niinkuin kauppaneuvos Tossavaisen
katukonki kaupungissa!

Mutta Reeta Sinkkonen ärjäsi:

— Ole vohkimatta siinä, Kompuran akka, ja ala sukkelaan pestä

noita osuuskaupasta ostettuja uusia kahvikuppeja!
 — Omalla rahallaanko se Reeta on ostanut uusia kahvikuppeja?
tiedusteli Israel Huttunen, ahtaen kessuja piippuunsa ja tarjoten tov.
Lötjösellekin.

— Kenenkäs sitten! sanoi Reeta Sinkkonen, kooten hiiliä ja

palavia kekäleitä patakoukussa riippuvan kahvipannun alle. — Mitäs
tällä puoluerähjällä olisi, kun se Karvisen perhana vei keväällä
laivamieheksi lähtiessään osaston koko kassan, niin ettei jäänyt kuin
15 penniä, joita se rosvo ei ollut huomannut, kun olivat pudonneet
lootan rakoon.

— Mitäpäs sitä enää muistella, näin kommunistien kesken, kun on

jo osastokin antanut sille Karviselle amnestiian sillä ehdolla, että
maksaa takaisin syksyllä, muistutti Israel Huttunen vähän
paheksuvasti. — Sitä voi toverillekin sattua vahinko vielä tässä
porvarillisessa yhteiskunnassa.

— Olisin minä antanut sille semmoisen amnestiian, ettei olisi

voinut viikkoon maata muuten kuin mahallaan! huusi Reeta
Sinkkonen äkäisesti. — Vaan kun piti minun juuri pahan nenällä
joutua porvarin linnaan.

Joutomies Aatami Lötjönenkin murahti, todistaen:

— Olisi se kyllä saanut Karvinen oikein lojaalin saunan, jos olisi

joutunut tämän Sinkkosen Reetan kynsiin, arvelen…

— Kommunistisella tervehdyksellä! tervehti suutari Jerobeam

Näppinen, astuen sisään sarkapalttoo vettä valuen.

Ja ripustaen palttoonsa ovensuuhun valumaan totesi hän:

 — Johan täällä olee saapuvilla muutamia soluja, vaikka olee näin
epätyydyttävä ilmasto.

— Joo, ei se ole oikein lojaali… se ilma, murahti tov. Lötjönen.

Uusia kommunistisia soluja saapui vähitellen.

2 §.

Kommunistisen Yleispöllöläläisen Internaalin Täysivaltaisen

Edustajiston Neuvostokokous alkoi klo 3 i.p. Moskovan aikaa, jonka
horisontin mukaan Israel Huttusen kello kävi.

Läsnä oli lopulta 17 kommunistista solua, lukuunottamatta akkoja

ja myöhemmin saapunutta Pussisen poikaa, jonka puoluekarvat ovat
vähän sekavat.

Israel Huttusen ehdotuksesta laulettiin aluksi moniäänisesti

Pöllölän
Internaali:

»Lahtarikaartin lipun päässä

Oli punikin luusta nuppi,
Jänteistä oli pistoolin nauhat
Ja suolista sapelin tuppi».

Tämän jälkeen Pöllölän kunniasolu, ikäpuhemies Jerobeam

Näppinen edeskuljetti ytimellisessä puheessa lahon porvarillisen
mädännäisyyden ja uuden aamuruskon auermat, jotka punaisella
sarastuksella heloittavat kaukaisen idän kangastuksissa.
 Valkoinen taantumusaaltoilu peittää vihertävällä vaahdolla suuren
osan Europasta, ja Amerikan kontinentaalissa ovat virkanyrkkien
petomaiset käpälät antaneet kauhistuttavia iskuja proletaarien
paljastettuihin paikkoihin. Imperialismi viuhuu vihureina, ollen
romahdusasteellaan. Se kuitenkin vielä vihaisesti kuohahtelee,
kosketellen pohjamutia kansakuntain alanteissa, josta olee sillen
itselleen turmio, estellen likinäköisessä sokeudessaan
punakumousta ja suurta yleisinhimillistä mullistusta, joka
kiertelemättömästi kohisee kohti mahtipontisena orgaanina,
pyyhkäisten yhteiskunnan huippuja peloittavalla henkäyksellä.

Pienoisessa Suomessakin lahtarien valkomyrskyt pärskyttävät

kokonaisia vuoria, tavoitellen työläisten rinnasta vapauden kaipuun
tukahduttamista rautaisella otteella vallankumouksen kurkussa. Se ei
kuitenkaan tukehdu, vaan kiteytyy vallankumoukselliseksi
joukkotahdoksi, silloin kun hetki lyö ja Ajan hengettären suuri
vellikello kumeasti pompottaen soittaa rynnäkköön, missä ryskyin
sortuu pakkovalta proletaarin vallankumouksellisen aivoston
nerokkaasti johtaman rynnistyksen taktillisuuden edessä. Ja juuri nyt
on kauhea kapitalismi auttamattomasti sotkeutumassa omiin
resuisiin pöksyihinsä, jotka ovat jo pudonneet alas kinttuihin.

Tämän tähden odottaa koko maailman luokkatietoinen köyhälistö

henkeään pidättäen kolmannen punaisen internaalin jalolla
kilparadalla, etteivät Pöllölän kommunistiset solut peräydy
historiallisen välttämättömyyden edessä, vaan valkoisen vainon
kynsissäkin intomielisesti kohottavat vallankumouksen lipun niin
korkealle, että sen punainen hulmu kuuluu ympäri maailman
Saharian kauheasta hietikosta Pohjan pimeille perukoille.
 Sittenkun puhuja vielä oli mieliinpainuvin sanoin varoittanut
noskelaisuuden mielenhäiriöstä, jonka jäljet inhottavasti haisevat
jokaiseen luokkatietoiseen nenään, palkittiin toveri Näppisen
selväpiirteinen, traagillisuuden punaiseen lankaan kudottu esitys
luokkatietoisten känsäkourien voimakkailla paukutuksilla.

Ikäpuhemies kysyi, katsottiinko kokous laillisessa järjestelmässä

kokoonkutsutuksi?

Israel Huttusen esityksestä pidettiin vaitiolemista

vallankumouksellisen myöntyväisyyden merkkinä.

Ikäpuhemies selitti, että kokouksen on ryhdyttävä valitsemaan

yhtä puhemiestä ja yhtä sihteeriä sekä ilmoitti kutsuneensa
sihteeriksi lois. Mikko Tarjuksen, mikä hyväksyttiin.

Ikäpuhemiehen kysymykseen, katsoiko kokous, että hän, tov.

Näppinen, oli luokkatietoisen köyhälistön äänillä yksimielisesti valittu
Pöllölän kommunistisen yleispöllöläläisen internaalin täysivaltaisen
neuvostokongressin puheenjohtajaksi, vastasi tov. Paavo Pellikka,
että puhemies on valittava suljetulla lippuäänestyksellä.

Josehviina Rytkyläinen kysyi, että kuinka tämän kokouksen koko

nimi olikaan, kun hän vähän sotkeutui sitä kuunnellessaan.

Josehviina Rytkyläisen välikyselyyn vastattiin ulkopuolella

pöytäkirjan, että pitäköön turpansa kiinni, minkä kokous hyväksyi
yksimielisesti.

Tov. Pellikan näkökanta kehitti pitkän ajatusvaihtelun, missä

esiintyi erilaisia mielipuolia, toiselta puolen vastaan ja toiselta
myöten.
 Kaisa Kompura huomautti, että lippu on työväentalon vinnillä ja
että työväentalo on ahnaitten noskelaiskätyrien hallussa, niin ettei
lippuäänestystä voida toimeenpanna.

Laajan keskustelun jälkeen, mitä jossain määrin vaikeutti

yleispöllöläläisen edustajiston emännöitsijän Reeta Sinkkosen
riiteleminen Josehviina Rytkyläiselle, joka oli särkenyt teevadin, yhtyi
kokous joutomies, tov. Lötjösen esitykseen, että puhemiesvaali
toimitettaisiin lojaalisesti korttiäänestyksellä lippuäänestyksen
sijasta.

Kysyttäessä, kenellä puolueen jäsenistä olisi kortit mukana, esitti

kolme kommunistista solua kukin korttipakkansa.

Hyväksyttiin yksimielisesti tov. Lötjösen kortit, koska ne olivat

eheimmät.

Ilman vastalausetta hyväksyttiin noudatettavaksi suutari Jerobeam

Näppisen äänestysehdotus, että ne, jotka kannattavat puhemieheksi
mainittua Näppistä, saavat lyödä pöytään punaista maata, se on
herttaa tai ruutua, nimittäin miehet ruutua ja akat herttaa, mutta jos
joku tahtoo äänestää Pellikkaa, joka on osoittautunut puolinoskeksi
ja tahtoo kiivetä vallan kukkuloille ryysyköyhälistön hartioilla, niin
lätkätköön padan tai ristin, sama se, kummanko, koska ei
tilaisuudessa löytyne yhtään puolinoskeakkaa, jolle pitäisi varata
oma lajinsa mustaa maata.

Vaalin toimittajaksi kutsui ikäpuhemies sihteeri Mikko Tarjuksen,

joka Lötjösen korttipakan saatuaan sanoi, että kukin saa käydä
valitsemassa itselleen mieleisensä äänestyskortin.
 Äänestyksen tuloksia laskettaessa havaittiin pöydällä yhdeksän
ruutua ja viisi herttaa, niiden joukossa ässä, ynnä neljä ristiä ja
patakuutonen, mille tulokselle nähtiin valveutuneiden
kansankerrosten vienosti hymyilevän. Sihteeri Mikko Tarjus ilmoitti
puhemiehen vaalin, että suutari kunniasolu Näppinen on tullut
musertavalla ääntenenemmistöllä yksimielisesti valituksi gongressin
puhemieheksi.

Noskelaiskopla, käyttäen halpamaista parjausta, huuteli alhaisia

vastalauseita sihteerin esitystä vastaan, että vaali olisi ollut
yksimielinen, koska oli pöydällä myöskin neljä ristiä ja yksi pata.

Suutari Näppinen todensi, että se on vain noskelaisten

korppimaista raakumista, mikä hyväksyttiin.

Useiden karjuessa panivat läsnäolevat puolinosket typerän

vastalauseen sitä vastaan, että heitä epätoverillisesti haukutaan
noskeiksi, koska he oman ilmoituksensa mukaan eivät ole
noskelaisia, vaan kommunisteja.

Sihteeri Mikko Tarjuksen kysyttyä terävästi kommunistisen

omantunnon nimessä, mitä varten he sitten äänestivät Pellikkaa
vastoin kunniasolu Jerobeam Näppistä, vastasi puolinoske Heikki
Putkonen lyhytjärkisesti, että jokainen saa äänestää ketä tahtoo,
mille pikkuporvarillista maailmankatsomusta loistossaan kuvastavalle
yksinkertaisuudelle valveutunut luokkatietoinen proletariaatti päästi
ison naurun ja sekalaisia välihuomautuksia, joita ei ennätetty
pikakirjoittaa pöytäkirjaan.

Mari Kukkonen hyppäsi rahille koivet hajallaan ja huusi posket

hehkuen, että jos kuka ei äänestä Näppistä, niin on hän aatteen
petturi, mihin puolinosket nyrkkejään heristellen huusivat, että se on
helvetin vale, ja että Näppinen tahtoo päästä tsaariksi puolueessa.

Kiihtyneen mielialan rauhoittamiseksi lauloivat Hilta Kukkasjärvi ja

Reeta Sinkkonen sopraanollisesti »Hiljaa juuri kuin lammen laine»,
mikä vaikutti viihdyttävästi kansan tunnelmaan, ja puhemies pistäytyi
pihalla.

Puhemiehen astuttua jälleen paikalleen pyysi Israel Huttunen

puheenvuoron, ja loi asian täydelliseksi valaisemiseksi
selväpiirteisen katsauksen vaalien toimittamiseen Neuvosto-
Venäjällä, vallankumouksen aatteen hengessä, ja konstanteerasi
tämän vaalin tapahtuneen epäilemättä neuvostovallan periaatteen
mukaan, että on otettava huomioon vain kaikkein varmimpien
puoluetoverien äänet, vaikka muut äänestäjät turisisivat mitä
tahansa, joten kaikki vaalit saadaan yksimielisiksi köyhälistön
luokkavoiman katsannossa.

Puolinoskein huudettua sen olevan sananvapauden sortamista

puhemies säälivästi huomautti puuttuvasta vallankumouksellisesta
tietoisuudesta, ettei kommunistisessa yhteiskunnassa koskaan
olekaan mitään sananvapautta, ollen se porvarillisen yli aikansa
eläneen vapaamielisyyden mädännäisyyttä.

Kansan enemmistön tulkittua vilkkaasti suosiotaan huusi Kaisa

Kompura, että oikeassa kommunistiyhteiskunnassa ammutaan
kaikki, jotka ovat eri mieltä kuin komissarit, vallankumouksellisen
tietoisuuden säilyttämiseksi sekoittumattomana, mihin kohta
meilläkin päästään, jahka vielä vähän eletään ja terveinä ollaan.

Heikki Putkosen huudon johdosta, että ryssän komissarit ovat

juutalaisia miljonäärejä, nolasi Hilta Kukkasjärvi pöyhkeät
puolinosket teräväpiirteisellä huomautuksella, että juutalaiset ovat
Herran valittu kansa, mikä pantiin pöytäkirjaan.

Tämän johdosta eräät puolinosket kunnostautuivat

naurunpärskähdyksillä nurkissa, paljastaen siten huomattavaa
noskelaisuuttaan.

Asian tultua täten vastaanseisomattomasti toteennäytetyksi julisti

toveri Jerobeam Näppinen tulleensa valituksi tämän
neuvostokokouksen puhemieheksi yksimielisesti, mikä hyväksyttiin
yksinkertaisella äänten enemmistöllä.

Vaalin tuloksen tultua vahvistetuksi lausui puhemies

kommunistisen kiitoksensa siitä luokkatietoisesta yksimielisyydestä,
jolla neuvostokokous on toimintansa aloittanut. Tämän
sovinnollisessa ylevämielisyydessä esitetyn puheen aikana
päästelivät puolinosket halpa-arvoisia naurunrähäyksiä, mitkä
merkittiin pöytäkirjaan.

Puhemies kiinnitti kokouksen huomaavaisuutta siihen, että

ajankohta on ratkaiseva, joten kaikki luokkatietoiset kommunistit ovat
tervetulleet yhteiseen rintamaan luhistuvan kapitalismin
kukistamiseksi, ja pyysi läsnäolevia seisaalleen nousten
kunnioittamaan Pöllölän kommuunin ravintoloitsijan Reeta Sinkkosen
muistoa, hänen valkoisen terrorin luokkakoston uhrina istuttuaan
kaksi kuukautta valkohurttien linnassa kieltolakipykälien tähden
porvarillisessa maailmankatsomuksessa, tänään ensimmäistä kertaa
ottaessaan jälleen osaa julkiseen elämään vallankumouksellisessa
rintamassa. Tov. Näppinen huomautti sattuvasti siitä kokoavasta
merkityksestä, joka toveritar Sinkkosella aina punakaartin ajoilta
saakka on ollut puolueen toiminnassa, erityisesti lausuen
tunnustuksen aineen puhtaudesta ja hintojen kohtuullisuudesta,
minkä jälkeen läsnäolijat jaloilleen nousten lausuivat toveritar
Sinkkosen tervetulleeksi elävänä kurjalasta tähän ohranamaiseen
vapauteen.

Toveritar Sinkkonen kiitti liikutetussa äänilajissa häneen

kohdistetusta kommunistisesta kunnianosoituksesta, sekä kertoili
vaatimattomasti muistelmia porvarillisesta luokkavankeudesta,
vaikuttaen rauhoittavasti niihin kokouksen jäseniin, jotka olivat
joutuneet kapitalistiseen syytteeseen viime viikolla tapahtuneen
Tirrinkorven tehtaan löytymisen ja raakamaisen hävittämisen
johdosta.

Useiden pyynnöstä laulettiin tunnelmallisesti »Jos kaikki Suomen

järvet».

3 §.

Toveritar Sinkkosen ilmoitettua, että Pussisen aikamiespoika

näkyy jo olevan tulossa se nahkalaukkunsa selässään, keskeytettiin
asiain käsittely virvokkeiden nauttimista varten.

Kahvin kaatamisen kuppeihin suoritti tottumuksella toveritar Hilta

Kukkasjärvi, toveritar Sinkkosen ottaessa vastaan maksuja.

Pussisen poika ei lausunut itseään tervetulleeksi kommunistisella

tervehdyksellä, paljastaen siten salanoskelaisuutta.

Sihteeri Mikko Tarjus, läsnäolevien myötäillessä, tervehti Pussisen

poikaa raikkaalla soololaululla:
 »Mitäs on sulla poikanen pussissas, huhhei?
Onko rukiita, kauroja, maltaita, sulivei, sulirei, sulivei?»

Pussisen poika sanoi, että taitaa olla paremminkin virolaista

potaattia, mille vastaukselle nähtiin useiden kommunististen solujen
kriidillisesti myhäilevän.

Pussisen pojan selvitettyä asiansa toveritar Sinkkosen kanssa

ilmoitti Reeta Sinkkonen kommunistisella luottamuksella yksityisesti,
että limonaatipottuja on halullisten saatavana hinnasta 65 markkaa
kappale käteisellä, ja aine on täydellisesti karahteerattua, mikä
yksimielisesti hyväksyttiin.

Läsnäolevien solujen laadittua puolikuppiset ehdotti Israel

Huttunen kansalaisten osoittaessa voimallisesti suosiota Herra
Toveri Leniinin maljan kunnioitettavalla toivotuksella Herra Toveri
Leniinin täydelliseksi tervehtymiseksi, mikä hyväksyttiin pohjaan asti.

Solutar Kaisa Kompura teki aatteellista yksinkertaisuutta

todistavan kysymyksen, mahtaako Herra Toveri Leniini olla
pahastikin kipeä?

Pussisen poika paljasti noskelaista ajatuskantaa sanomalla, ettei

siitä taida enää kalua tulla, mille ala-arvoiselle iskulle
vallankumouksen selkään useat läsnäolijat kohottivat
paheksumishuutoja.

Puhemies Jerobeam Näppinen teki toista puolikuppista

valmistettaessa selväpiirteisesti selkoa Herra Toveri Leniinin
yleisvoinnista, joka Moskovan virallisen raation mukaan on
groonillista paranemista voitetusta pahoinvointisuudesta
yleismaailmallisen vallankumouksen voittoonviemiseksi.
 Joutomies Aatami Lötjösen esityksestä hymyiltiin Pussisen pojalle
lojaalista polseviikkista ivahymyä noskelaisuuden kustannuksella.

Kaisa Kompuran kysyttyä, kuuluuko sinne kirkonkylälle päin

mitään, ilmaisi Pussisen poika huhun tuntemattomasta lähteestä,
että toveri Kuusinen on salapuvussa liikkeellä täällä päin
järjestämässä aseellista nousua neuvostovallan kannatuksella.

Tämä tieto aiheutti suurta huomiota aatteellisesti valveutuneissa

yksilöissä, ja tulivat täten syntyneessä kansalaiskohinassa kahvilan
puolelle nekin, jotka tähän saakka olivat olleet tuvassa.

Israel Huttusen epäilevään lausuntoon, että kunhan et Pussisen

poika panisi omiasi, vastasi Pussisen poika välinpitämättömään
tapaansa, että liekö totta vai valetta, mutta Topi Rääkkyseltä hän sen
kuuli Jykkälän pihalla.

Useat todelliset kommunistisolut ja vallankumouksen

varhaisimmat esitaistelijat huusivat julki, että Topi Rääkkynen on
luotettava toveri ja tietää asioita, minkä Israel Huttunenkin erikseen
kysyttynä myönsi.

Heikki Putkosen kysymykseen, onko kukaan Pöllölän

kommunistisista soluista persoonallisesti nähnyt toveri Kuusista, että
tuntisi jos tiellä vastaan tulisi, vastattiin vaitiololla.

Jerobeam Näppinen selvitteli toveri Kuusisen fysikaalisuutta, joka

kuuluu olevan pienenpuolinen mies jalolla katsannolla.

Israel Huttunen lausui, Topi Rääkkysen tietojen perustuksella,

olevan todennäköistä toveri Kuusisen tahtovan Herra Toveri Leniinin
kannatuksella uhmailla porvarillisten valkoenkelien mustien