Claudia. A face for a locket; or a small oval portrait done on porcelain and kept with a curl of her golden hair in a drawer. But how she would have hated such an image, such an unkind image.
Claudia who sank her knife into my heart and twisted it, and watched as the blood poured down my shirt. Die, Father. I'll put you in your coffin forever.
I will kill you first, my prince.
I saw the little mortal child, lying there in the soiled covers; smell of sickness. I saw the black-eyed Queen, motionless on her throne. And I had kissed them both, the Sleeping Beauties! Claudia, Claudia, come round now, Claudia . . . That's it, dear, you must drink it to get well.
Akasha!
Someone was shaking me. "Lestat," he said.
Confusion.
"Ah, Louis, forgive me." The dark neglected hallway. I shuddered. "I came here because I was so concerned . . . about you."
"No need," he said considerately. "It was just a little pilgrimage I had to make."
I touched his face with my fingers; so warm from the kill.
"She's not here, Louis," I said. "It was something Jesse imagined."
"Yes, so it seems," he said.
"We live forever; but they don't come back."
He studied me for a long moment; then he nodded. "Come on," he said.
We walked down the long hallway together; no, I did not like it; I did not want to be here. It was haunted; but real hauntings have nothing to do with ghosts finally; they have to do with the menace of memory; that had been my room in there; my room.
He was struggling with the back door, trying to make the old weathered frame behave. I gestured for him to go out on the porch and then I gave it the shove it needed. Locked up tight.
So sad to see the overgrown courtyard; the fountain ruined; the old brick kitchen crumbling, and the bricks becoming earth again.
"I'll fix it all for you if you want," I told him. "You know, make it like it was before."
"Not important now," he said. "Will you come with me, walk with me a little?"
We went down the covered carriageway together, water rushing through the little gutter. I glanced back once. Saw her standing there in her white dress with the blue sash. Only she wasn't looking at me. I was dead, she thought, wrapped in the sheet that Louis thrust into the carriage; she was taking my remains away to bury me; yet there she stood, and our eyes met.
I felt him tugging on me. "No good to stay here any longer," he said.
I watched him close the gate up properly; and then his eyes moved sluggishly over the windows again, the balconies, and the high dormers above. Was he saying farewell, finally? Maybe not.
We went together up to the Rue Ste. Anne, and away from the river, not speaking, just walking, the way we'd done so many times back then. The cold was biting at him a little, biting at his hands. He didn't like to put his hands in his pockets the way men did today. He didn't think it a graceful thing to do.
The rain had softened into a mist.
Finally, he said: "You gave me a little fright; I didn't think you were real when I first saw you in the hallway; you didn't answer when I said your name."
"And where are we going now?" I asked. I buttoned up my denim jacket.
Not because I suffered from cold anymore; but because being warm felt good.
"Just one last place, and then wherever you wish. Back to the coven house, I should think. We don't have much time. Or maybe you can leave me to my meanderings, and I'll be back in a couple of nights."
"Can't we meander together?"
"Yes," he said eagerly.
What in God's name did I want? We walked beneath the old porches, past the old solid green shutters; past the walls of peeling plaster and naked brick, and through the garish light of the Rue Bourbon and then I saw the St. Louis Cemetery up ahead, with its thick whitewashed walls.
What did I want? Why was my soul aching still when all the rest of them had struck some balance? Even Louis had struck a balance, and we had each other, as Marius had said.
I was happy to be with him, happy to be walking these old streets; but why wasn't it enough?
Another gate now to be opened; I watched him break the lock with his fingers. And then we went into the little city of white graves with their peaked roofs and urns and doorways of marble, and the high grass crunching under our boots. The rain made every surface luminous; the lights of the city gave a pearl gleam to the clouds traveling silently over our heads.
I tried to find the stars. But I couldn't. When I looked down again, I saw Claudia; I felt her hand touch mine.
Then I looked at Louis again, and saw his eyes catch the dim and distant light and I winced. I touched his face again, the cheekbones, the arch beneath the black eyebrow. What a finely made thing he was.
"Blessed darkness!" I said suddenly. "Blessed darkness has come again."
"Yes," he said sadly, "and we rule in it as we have always done."
Wasn't that enough?
He took my hand-what did it feel like now?-and led me down the narrow corridor between the oldest, the most venerable tombs; tombs that went back to the oldest time of the colony, when he and I had roamed the swamps together, the swamps that threatened to swallow everything, and I had fed on the blood of roustabouts and cutthroat thieves.
His tomb. I realized I was looking at his name engraved on the marble in a great slanting old-fashioned script.
Louis de Pointe du Lac 1766-1794
He rested against the tomb behind him, another one of those little temples, like his own, with a peristyle roof.
"I only wanted to see it again," he said. He reached out and touched the writing with his finger.
It had faded only slightly from the weather wearing at the surface of the stone. The dust and grime had made it all the clearer, darkening each letter and numeral. Was he thinking of what the world had been in those years?
I thought of her dreams, her garden of peace on earth, with flowers springing from the blood-soaked soil.
"Now we can go home," he said.
Home. I smiled. I reached out and touched the graves on either side of me; I looked up again at the soft glow of the city lights against the ruffled clouds.
"You're not going to leave us, are you?" he asked suddenly, voice sharpened with distress.
"No," I said. I wished I could speak of it, all the things that were in the book. "You know, we were lovers, she and I, as surely as a mortal man and woman ever were."
"Of course, I know," he said.
I smiled. I kissed him suddenly, thrilled by the warmth of him, the soft pliant feel of his near human skin. God, how I hated the whiteness of my fingers touching him, fingers that could have crushed him now effortlessly. I wondered if he even guessed.
There was so much I wanted to say to him, to ask him. Yet I couldn't find the words really, or a way to begin. He had always had so many questions; and now he had his answers, more answers perhaps than he could ever have wanted; and what had this done to his soul? Stupidly I stared at him. How perfect he seemed to me as he stood there waiting with such kindness and such patience. And then, like a fool, I came out with it.
"Do you love me now?" I asked.
He smiled; oh, it was excruciating to see his face soften and brighten simultaneously when he smiled. "Yes," he said.
"Want to go on a little adventure?" My heart was thudding suddenly. It would be so grand if- "Want to break the new rules?"
"What in the world do you mean?" he whispered.
I started laughing, in a low feverish fashion; it felt so good. Laughing and watching the subtle little changes in his face. I really had him worried now. And the truth was, I didn't know if I could do it. Without her. What if I plunged like Icarus-?