“ ‘I have,’ he said. ‘I do.’
“ ‘You know nothing,’ she said to him gravely, her voice so low that the slightest noise from the street interrupted it, might carry her words away, so that I found myself straining to hear her against myself as I lay with my head back against the chair. ‘And suppose the vampire who made you knew nothing, and the vampire who made that vampire knew nothing, and the vampire before him knew nothing, and so it goes back and back, nothing proceeding from nothing, until there is nothing! And we must live with the knowledge that there is no knowledge.’
“ ‘Yes!’ he cried out suddenly, his hands out, his voice tinged with something other than anger.
“He was silent. She was silent. He turned, slowly, as if I’d made some movement which alerted him, as if I were rising behind him. It reminded me of the way humans turn when they feel my breath against them and know suddenly that where they thought themselves to be utterly alone… that moment of awful suspicion before they see my face and gasp. He was looking at me now, and I could barely see his lips moving. And then I sensed it. He was afraid. Lestat afraid.
“And she was staring at him with the same level gaze, evincing no emotion, no thought.
“ ‘You infected her with this…’ he whispered.
“He struck a match now with a sharp crackle and lit the mantel candles, lifted the smoky shades of the lamps, went around the room making light, until Claudia’s small flame took on a solidity and he stood with his back to the marble mantel looking from light to light as if they restored some peace. ‘I’m going out,’ he said.
“She rose the instant he had reached the street, and suddenly she stopped in the center of the room and stretched, her tiny back arched, her arms straight up into small fists, her eyes squeezed shut for a moment and then wide open as if she were waking to the room from a dream. There was something obscene about her gesture; the room seemed to shimmer with Lestat’s fear, echo with his last response. It demanded her attention. I must have made some involuntary movement to turn away from her, because she was standing at the arm of my chair now and pressing her hand flat upon my book, a book I hadn’t been reading for hours. ‘Come out with me.’
“ ‘You were right. He knows nothing. There is nothing he can tell us,’ I said to her.
“ ‘Did you ever really think that he did?’ she asked me in the same small voice. ‘We’ll find others of our kind,’ she said. ‘We’ll find them in central Europe. That is where they live in such numbers that the stories, both fiction and fact, fill volumes. I’m convinced it was from there that all vampires came, if they came from any place at all. We’ve tarried too long with him. Come out. Let the flesh instruct the mind’
“I think I felt a tremor of delight when she said these words, Let the flesh instruct the mind. ‘Put books aside and kill,’ she was whispering to me. I followed her down the stairs, across the courtyard and down a narrow alley to another street. Then she turned with outstretched arms for me to pick her up and carry her, though, of course, she was not tired; she wanted only to be near my ear, to clutch my neck. ‘I haven’t told him my plan, about the voyage, the money,’ I was saying to her, conscious of something about her that was beyond me as she rode my measured steps, weightless in my arms.
“ ‘He killed the other vampire,’ she said.
“ ‘No, why do you say this?’ I asked her. But it wasn’t the saying of it that disturbed me, stirred my soul as if it were a pool of water longing to be still. I felt as if she were moving me slowly towards something, as if she were the pilot of our slow walk through the dark street. ‘Because I know it now,’ she said with authority. ‘The vampire made a slave of him, and he would no more be a slave than I would be a slave, and so he killed him. Killed him before he knew what he might know, and then in panic made a slave of you. And you’ve been his slave.’
“ ‘Never really…’ I whispered to her. I felt the press of her cheek against my temple. She was cold and needed the kill. ‘Not a slave. Just some sort of mindless accomplice,’ I confessed to her, confessed to myself. I could feel the fever for the kill rising in me, a knot of hunger in my insides, a throbbing in the temples, as if the veins were contracting and my body might become a map of tortured vessels.
“ ‘No, slave,’ she persisted in her grave monotone, as though thinking aloud, the words revelations, pieces of a puzzle. ‘And I shall free us both.’
“I stopped. Her hand pressed me, urged me on. We were walking down the long wide alley beside the cathedral, towards the lights of Jackson Square, the water rushing fast in the gutter down the center of the alley, silver in the moonlight. She said, ‘I will kill him.’
“I stood still at the end of the alley. I felt her shift in my arm, move down as if she could accomplish being free of me without the awkward aid of my hands. I set her on the stone sidewalk. I said no to her, I shook my head. I had that feeling then which I described before, that the building around me — the Cabildo, the cathedral, the apartments along the square — all this was silk and illusion and would ripple suddenly in a horrific wind, and a chasm would open in the earth that was the reality. ‘Claudia,’ I gasped, turning away from her.
“ ‘And why not kill him!’ she said now, her voice rising, silvery and finally shrill. ‘I have no use for him! I can get nothing from him! And he causes me pain, which I will not abide!’
“ ‘And if he had so little use for us!’ I said to her. But the vehemence was false. Hopeless. She was at a distance from me now, small shoulders straight and determined, her pace rapid, like a little girl who, walking out on Sundays with her parents, wants to walk ahead and pretend she is all alone. ‘Claudia!’ I called after her, catching up with her in a stride. I reached for the small waist and felt her stiffen as if she had become iron. ‘Claudia, you cannot kill him!’ I whispered. She moved backwards, skipping, clicking on the stones, and moved out into the open street. A cabriolet rolled past us with a sudden surge of laughter and the clatter of horses and wooden wheels. The street was suddenly silent. I reached out for her and moved forward over an immense space and found her standing at the gate of Jackson Square, hands gripping the wrought-iron bars. I drew down close to her. ‘I don’t care what you feel, what you say, you cannot mean to kill him,’ I said to her.
“ ‘And why not? Do you think him so strong!’ she said, her eyes on the statue in the square, two immense pools of light.
“ ‘He is stronger than you know! Stronger than you dream! How do you mean to kill him? You can’t measure his skill. You don’t know!’ I pleaded with her but could see her utterly unmoved, like a child staring in fascination through the window of a toy shop. Her tongue moved suddenly between her teeth and touched her lower lip in a strange flicker that sent a mild shock through my body. I tasted blood. I felt something palpable and helpless in my hands. I wanted to kill. I could smell and hear humans on the paths of the square, moving about the market, along the levee. I was about to take her, making her look at me, shake her if I had to, to make her listen, when she turned to me with her great liquid eyes. ‘I love you, Louis,’ she said.
“ ‘Then listen to me, Claudia, I beg you,’ I whispered, holding her, pricked suddenly by a nearby collection of whispers, the slow, rising articulation of human speech over the mingled sounds of the night. ‘He’ll destroy you if you try to kill him. There is no way you can do such a thing for sure. You don’t know how. And pitting yourself against him you’ll lose everything. Claudia, I can’t bear this.’
“There was a barely perceptible smile on her lips. ‘No, Louis,’ she whispered. ‘I can kill him. And I want to tell you something else now, a secret between you and me.’