"Oh, come now, Louis," I said. "Just a little adventure. I promise, I have no designs this time on Western civilization, or even on the attentions of two million rock music fans. I was thinking of something small, really. Something, well, a little mischievous. And rather elegant. I mean, I've been awfully good for the last two months, don't you think?"
"What on earth are you talking about?"
"Are you with me or not?"
He gave another little shake of his head again. But it wasn't a No. He was pondering. He ran his fingers back through his hair. Such fine black hair. The first thing I'd ever noticed about him-well, after his green eyes, that is-was his black hair. No, all that's a lie. It was his expression; the passion and the innocence and the delicacy of conscience. I just loved it!
"When does this little adventure begin?"
"Now," I said. "You have four seconds to make up your mind."
"Lestat, it's almost dawn."
"It's almost dawn here," I answered.
"What do you mean?"
"Louis, put yourself in my hands. Look, if I can't pull it off, you won't really be hurt. Well, not that much. Game? Make up your mind. I want to be off now."
He didn't say anything. He was looking at me, and so affectionately that I could hardly stand it.
"Yes or no."
"I'm probably going to regret this, but. . . ."
"Agreed then." I reached out and placed my hands firmly on his arms and
I lifted him high off his feet. He was flabbergasted, looking down at me. It was as if he weighed nothing. I set him down.
"Mon Dieu," he whispered.
Well, what was I waiting for? If I didn't try it, I'd never find out. There came a dark, dull moment of pain again; of remembering her; of us rising together. I let it slowly slip away.
I swung my arm around his waist. Upwards now. I lifted my right hand, but that wasn't even necessary. We were climbing on the wind that fast.
The cemetery was spinning down there, a tiny sprawling toy of itself with little bits of white scattered all over under the dark trees.
I could hear his astonished gasp in my ear. "Lestat!"
"Put your arm around my neck," I said. "Hold on tight. We're going west, of course, and then north, and we're going a very long distance, and maybe we'll drift for a while. The sun won't set where we're going for some time."
The wind was ice cold. I should have thought of that, that he'd suffer from it; but he gave no sign. He was merely gazing upwards as we pierced the great snowy mist of the clouds.
When he saw the stars, I felt him tense against me; his face was perfectly smooth and serene; and if he was weeping the wind was carrying it away. Whatever fear he'd felt was gone now, utterly; he was lost as he looked upward; as the dome of heaven came down around us, and the moon shone full on the endless thickening plain of whiteness below.
No need to tell him what to observe, or what to remember. He always knew such things. Years ago, when I'd done the dark magic on him, I hadn't had to tell him anything; he had savored the smallest aspects of it all on his own. And later he'd said I'd failed to guide him. Didn't he know how unnecessary that had always been?
But I was drifting now, mentally and physically; feeling him a snug yet weightless thing against me; just the pure presence of Louis, Louis belonging to me, and with me. And no burden at all.
I was plotting the course firmly with one tiny part of my mind, the way she'd taught me to do it; and I was also remembering so many things; the first time, for example, that I'd ever seen him in a tavern in New Orleans. He'd been drunk, quarreling; and I'd followed him out into the night. And he had said in that last moment before I'd let him slip through my hands, his eyes closing:
"But who are you!"
I'd known I'd come back for him at sunset, that I'd find him if I had to search the whole city for him, though I was leaving him then half dead in the cobblestone street. I had to have him, had to. Just the way I had to have everything I wanted; or had to do everything I'd ever wanted to do.
That was the problem, and nothing she'd given me-not suffering, or power, or terror finally-had changed it one bit.
Four miles from London.
One hour after sunset. We lay in the grass together, in the cold darkness under the oak. There was a little light coming from the huge manor house in the middle of the park, but not much. The small deep-cut leaded windows seemed made to keep it all inside. Cozy in there, inviting, with all the book-lined walls, and the flicker of flames from those many fireplaces; and the smoke belching up from the chimneys into the foggy dark.
Now and then a car moved on the winding road beyond the front gates; and the beams would sweep the regal face of the old building, revealing the gargoyles, and the heavy arches over the windows, and the gleaming knockers on the massive front doors.
I have always loved these old European dwellings, big as landscapes; no wonder they invite the spirits of the dead to come back.
Louis sat up suddenly, looking about himself, and then hastily brushed the grass from his coat. He had slept for hours, inevitably, on the breast of the wind, you might say, and in the places where I'd rested for a little while, waiting for the world to turn. "Where are we?" he whispered, with a vague touch of alarm.
"Talamasca Motherhouse, outside London," I said. I was lying there with my hands cradling my head. Lights on in the attic. Lights on in the main rooms of the first floor. I was thinking, what way would be the most fun?
"What are we doing here?"
"Adventure, I told you."
"But wait a minute. You don't mean to go in there."
"Don't I? They have Claudia's diary in there, in their cellar, along with Marius's painting. You know all that, don't you? Jesse told you those things."
"Well, what do you mean to do? Break in and rummage through the cellar till you find what you want?"
I laughed. "Now, that wouldn't be very much fun, would it? Sounds more like dreary work. Besides, it's not really the diary I want. They can keep the diary. It was Claudia's. I want to talk to one of them, to David Talbot, the leader. They're the only mortals in the world, you know, who really believe in us."
Twinge of pain inside. Ignore it. The fun's beginning.
For the moment he was too shocked to answer. This was even more delicious than I had dreamed.
"But you can't be serious," he said. He was getting wildly indignant. "Lestat, let these people alone. They think Jesse is dead. They received a letter from someone in her family."
"Yes, naturally. So I won't disabuse them of that morbid notion. Why would I? But the one who came to the concert-David Talbot, the older one-he fascinates me. I suppose I want to know. ... But why say it? Time to go in and find out."
"Lestat!"
"Louis!" I said, mocking his tone. I got up and helped him up, not because he needed it, but because he was sitting there glowering at me, and resisting me, and trying to figure out how to control me, all of which was an utter waste of his time.
"Lestat, Marius will be furious if you do this!" he said earnestly, his face sharpening, the whole picture of high cheekbones and dark probing green eyes firing beautifully. "The cardinal rule is-"
"Louis, you're making it irresistible!" I said.
He took hold of my arm. "What about Maharet? These were Jesse's friends!"
"And what is she going to do? Send Mekare to crush my head like an egg!"
"You are really past all patience!" he said. "Have you learned anything at all!"
"Are you coming with me or not?"
"You're not going into that house."
"You see that window up there?" I hooked my arm around his waist. Now, he couldn't get away from me. "David Talbot is in that room. He's been writing in his journal for about an hour. He's deeply troubled. He doesn't know what happened with us. He knows something happened; but he'll never really figure it out. Now, we're going to enter the bedroom next to him by means of that little window to the left."