Resurrection

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and incidents in this work are fictitious or used fictitiously. No identification with actual persons, places, buildings, products, or publications -- living, dead, or otherwise -- is intended nor should such be inferred.

WARNING: Mild profanity. Vampiric intimacy.
Proceed at your own risk.

SPOILERS: IWTV, TVL, QotD, TotBT, MtD, AI.

IMPORTANT!

The entire Introduction represents a significant MtD spoiler.

Statistics

Revision History

Introduction

New York, February 1994

“Don’t be a common fool!” The terror cut through Lestat’s bitterness and he fell to sobbing again. He babbled almost incoherently, clutching at David and the mortal woman feverishly, repeating his incredible story. This demon taking him to Heaven and then Hell. The invitation to drink Christ’s blood.

Common, indeed. Armand’s mind remained closed, the petty insult brushed aside and his expression unchanged, rapt before the tumult wrought by the yellow-haired vampire. As he had always been. He could do nothing more. Long ago he had tried to evoke a deeper understanding from this provincial vampire, but there had never been more than the glimmer of comprehension, clinging as Lestat did to his aristocratic sentiments.

Lestat’s mind was open now, inviting, challenging. Love me. Accept what I tell you. Believe in me.

Lestat had played this game before, of course. The auburn-haired vampire knew exactly how aware Lestat was of his love. He’d never concealed that love from Lestat. It was Armand’s greatest gift. He was incapable of any real hatred. There was only love, and degrees of love. Lestat knew this.

The mortal woman.... Her mind was rampaging, dreams of wielding divine power surfacing in flashes. Visions of eternal glory. She must be stopped. But that, only Lestat could do. He had foolishly put his protection around her.

David seemed unaware of the lurking disaster and continued prodding Lestat for details. Why could they not see?

Armand was a believer. It made no sense to be otherwise. There was elegant simplicity in having one belief to argue. He would happily defend his convictions for centuries, if allowed. No other vampire was more accomplished in this than he. Lestat knew this as well.

One belief, yes. But truth was a diamond, each facet a new color, and each color unique. Every cut important or the luster was repressed.

But there was no time to ponder the truth of Lestat’s tale. It mattered not at all whether Armand believed. Not now, not with this woman collapsing under the pressure of it all. More coherent than most, but she had been damaged nonetheless when Lestat revealed himself to her. And it grew steadily worse, multiplying with every passing moment.

Armand attempted to placate the frenzied Lestat, offering assurances to convey that nothing had changed, that he was still wanted.

Lestat would not be comforted. The fool still wanted to join with the mortal world! He would reveal their most unfathomable secrets and then hold himself up to be glorified before them. Lestat’s grand delusion! He had not changed. He never changed, his mind could not accept that possibility. Armand changed, with every age. Yet Lestat could never see beyond his young frame. Ironic, when the vampire’s own visage was so puerile.

Immutable, yes, as the need for blood. Such a thing might deter the crazed vampire from this destructive course. Armand asked for what he had always asked, to drink from Lestat.

“Back away from me,” Lestat snarled and launched into another tirade about the relic, the Veil of Veronica.

Armand watched helplessly. He saw it coming, Lestat’s hand fumbling in his vest. He fell to his knees as the ancient cloth was drawn free, loosed upon the mortal woman.

He felt the blood tears tumbling inexplicably down his cheeks as Lestat’s mass thundered to the floor beside him. David alone stood, dumbfounded, as the woman danced maniacally around the flat, declaring the cloth to be her god.

No, he understood the tears. He’d had the first recognition of how this night would end. Armand squeezed his eyes shut. There must be another way!

Chaos erupted as Lestat and David pleaded with the demented mortal. Why did they bother? Her mind was gone. And yet they fawned over her like newborn fledglings, as if she was their maker.

Armand’s thoughts blazed ahead, envisioning clearly the fervor with which this revelation would be received. A tidal wave of religion to drown them all! How to stem the tide? Again he saw what he knew he must do, but the horror of it kept his mind searching.

Such zealotry would die of its own accord, but after how long? And after how many of their remaining number had been tortured? Here was physical evidence that the supernatural was among them. The books Louis and then Lestat had written would be reexamined and they would be hunted. All of them. Their names were known. How long would it take for someone to recognize her dark angel?

He took a fleeting instant to search his golden-haired friend’s frantic, unfocused eye. The hollow socket was as ugly as Lestat had ever wished for in his quest for goodness. Armand allowed his most secret and quietest silent voice to whisper to Lestat.

What has happened to you will haunt you, beloved. What I may need to do will haunt you. Dark days await us both. We can survive to speak of this another day, when you have found your peace. I can be patient. I will survive because I know what I face. You may not. Seek out Louis, wherever he wanders. He alone will comfort you, as he has always done. Our fledglings’ love is our greatest strength. This I believe.

Armand rose, following after the woman had danced out of the flat. He knew what she meant to do. He was powerless to stop her. Any move against her would be halted by the two he felt following behind him. Lestat would arise from his lethargy as surely as David would pommel him with questions about his motivations.

There would be no stopping the dam burst he saw, making his way into the New York winter and through the unplowed street as she screamed at the doors of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The realization chilled him more than the snow drifting about his feet. There would be no escaping this fate. He remained in the doorway as the gathering crowd of mortals swept inside, quietly conjuring to himself the images that would protect him.

Dawn was upon them. He had one moment to jam a wedge into this disaster. One he could later pull free to bring it all crashing down. Yes, he would be Lestat’s believer!

David was already dragging the inconsolable Lestat toward shelter as he told them what he would do. They had disappeared as he chose his place carefully, stretching his arms wide.

Every soul in the cathedral heard his declaration and watched as the sun’s first rays touched his flesh. For an instant, he was lost in the sheer magnificence of the sight before the long-forgotten warmth engulfed him.

He heard Lestat’s anguished cries as he hurled himself with preternatural speed away from the holy place, faster than mortal eyes could see, leaving behind the roiling fireball to blind them. Down into the subway, through the early crowds, a wisp of smoke all that marked his passage, and into the dismal tunnel, which was the deeper crypt. Collapsing finally in an eternally dark corner, still he heard Lestat’s lament.

The agony of his burns filled his senses, blessedly pushing the night’s events from his mind.

A tear faltered on its path down his blistered flesh and a word escaped his cracked lips as the welcome oblivion of Death’s sleep descended. A word that had been quietly echoing through his mind the entire night.

Part I: July 1996

Night One

Silicon Valley

Louis looked up from the divan to see his maker’s finger move across the long sheet of paper. He watched as Chérie’s red marker followed, noting each correction as Lestat pointed.

Louis smiled as he watched her warm brown hair bob playfully. She wore her ponytail looped halfway again through the colorful rayon and elastic tie, creating an unending circle. Her neck lay exposed seductively and his dark green eyes lovingly traced its alabaster contours. He ignored the urge to rise and taste that flesh with his lips, to loose that hair and feel its silkiness between his long, hard fingers. Lestat would be none too pleased at yet another interruption.

Since Daniel’s contract had been signed a month earlier, Chérie and Lestat had labored over the new edition of his book. Daniel would not begin his rewrites until Louis approved the changes and additions they had been diligently cataloging.

They had fallen into the pattern of Lestat dictating and Chérie typing, though their maker had been loathe to admit she was the better typist. Louis’s eyes danced, recalling the night Lestat had insisted they test this ability, maker and fledgling. Chérie trounced him every time, her vampiric abilities enhancing her natural dexterity.

She was so beautiful. And so very enticing to him. A modern vampire, made only last summer, the most recent and perhaps the last of Lestat’s coven. Chérie was unlike any other vampire. Not solely for her dress, which was strange enough, preferring as she did the lightest weight fabrics, rayon and silk, next to her preternatural flesh. She conceded to sweaters, long trowsers, and boots only when the foulest weather demanded them. Footwear, it seemed, she shunned most of all.

Louis marked his place in the novel he had been reading and set the book on the endtable. Lestat hovered over her now, one hand on the desk and one on her shoulder, reading the words as they appeared on the computer’s monitor. Chérie wore a long rayon shirt matching her hair tie, deep blue and covered in a print of tropical flowers, the material draping sensually beneath her maker’s hand. She sat with one leg tucked under her, slender fingers poised over the keyboard as Lestat described a location to her.

What separated Chérie from other vampires was how she had come to be Born to Darkness. Not in the way she had been made, for Louis had played a similar part in Claudia’s making as well, draining her before Lestat had allowed her to feed. She was unique in why she had sought the Dark Gift. Chérie had been conceived in love and she loved her maker without reservation. She found nothing but delight in Lestat and he seemed truly happy to heap his affections upon her.

Not since those early days with Claudia had Louis seen his maker so at ease with simple love. Making Chérie had seemed to lift the gloom that had trailed Lestat since his affair with Memnoch. It freed him to love Louis again, as he had never done, even going so far as to forgive Louis what Lestat had called his worst sin, withholding the immortal blood during the fiasco with the body thief.

But it was the demon Memnoch who had given understanding to Lestat of Louis’s anguish over killing mortals. There was no denying their vampire nature and the need to kill, though, as both he and Lestat had attempted. This had been excruciating for Chérie as well. He knew she had fed her second night, taking her instruction from Lestat on choosing to hunt where evildoers were prevalent. Their maker had been uncharacteristically patient with her, Louis later learned, once he had again fed from his maker and gained the ability to hear his Chérie’s thoughts.

For she had been made for him. She had accepted the Dark Gift because of her love for Louis. Chérie was not running from pain or guilt or fear. She chose being Born to Darkness so she might live with him forever.

A tear gathered in Louis’s eye. She loved him. Loved him more than she despised the killing. It had been by far the most difficult thing he’d done when, a week after her birthing, she had again needed to feed. He still hunted nightly then, though she did not, made as she was with Lestat’s powerful blood. Chérie had accompanied him, watching him take the first mortal to cross his path. They sat and talked a long time after that. He described his complete surrender to his vampire nature, how he fed swiftly and ruthlessly. His human nature manifested itself only in that he did not give his victims the chance to feel fear or pain. She asked about what their maker called the little drink and he had reminded her what it had done to Daniel and to Nicki, as they had read in Lestat’s books. Chérie had agreed it seemed cruel, only creating more victims while delaying the kill that must eventually come. He tried to explain Armand’s way of calling out Those Who Would Die, how the auburn-haired vampire would put up visions to entice his victims to come to him.

Late that night, after she had fed, Louis held her as she cried. Chérie had tried calling out a victim but she had visions when she fed, as her maker did, and it was too painful, the anguish her victim had felt, the loneliness, and the fear of living.

They had hunted once more together, a month after Louis had fed again from Lestat, finally accepting his maker’s appeal to embrace his vampiric gifts and grow stronger. That night, Chérie held Louis as he wept. He had seen the visions for the first time, experiencing completely the life he was taking. The loves and joys of his victim, the rapture the mortal had felt as the life drained from him. Sweet, too deliciously sweet.

She too was Merciful Death that night and when they returned to her little house, they lay together on her big bed and cried. She opened her mind to him, and he to her, telling silently of their victims. Holding each other, stroking hair, kissing away the blood tears. Finally they locked, fangs to neck, joined in love, bound in blood. The ecstasy he felt as the gush of her blood filled his mouth, sliding through his being, was unlike any he’d known. His flesh, warm from the kill, pressed hard against her scorching flesh. She had seemed frantic to pull him closer as their thoughts flooded together, image upon image rushing with the blood. So like mortal coupling but infinitely more.

He sat up abruptly on the divan at the sharpness in her voice. Lestat was as he was before but watching him and looking somewhat annoyed. Chérie had turned to face him, her cheeks slightly flushed.

“Louis,” she scolded gently. “We shall never get any work done with you thinking that way. My God! Who could concentrate!”

Lestat burst into laughter, the back of his hand delicately covering his lips. “What ever were you thinking, Louis?”

His maker matched his stare, the effect genuine. “You think not? I alone cannot read your thoughts, mon petit.” He turned back to the galleys, explaining no further.

There was no need. Louis had been careless to let his mind roam freely for other vampires to read as they pleased. He closed his mind now, putting up what he thought of as a wall of static, one corner of his preternatural mind churning out ambiguous images as fast as they could be conjured. And then he ignored that corner, something he was quite good at doing, actually.

But those vampiric minds, and those of innumerable mortals, were open to Lestat if he chose and they were unguarded, all but the four belonging to his living fledglings. He and Chérie. David. And Gabrielle. Louis smiled.

“Gabrielle sends her love,” he said. He saw Chérie’s smile before she turned. Lestat threw up his hands.

“Mon Dieu! Are we to get no work done tonight?” He stomped across the room and threw himself into the chair opposite Louis. “So. You’ve been in contact with Gabrielle.”

Louis nodded slowly. “She’s somewhere in South America, I think. It felt vaguely familiar.” He searched his maker’s blue-gray eyes. They were almost violet tonight, picking up the color from the brilliant purple satin shirt he wore, a perfect contrast to his lustrous yellow locks.

He returned his attention to their maker. Lestat’s eyes shimmered with amusement, his gaze low, his lips pressed together, silken and seductive. Lestat was playing with him, he knew. Louis intertwined his fingers and stared at them lest he get distracted again.

“I have been trying to contact her for several weeks,” he continued. “With no success. I wanted to learn if I could do this and she seemed the best choice.”

Lestat nodded. “Difficult. Yes, a good choice. If you could contact her, any of the others would be easy by comparison.”

“How is she?” Lestat asked quietly as he inspected the white plaster walls. “You know, this room screams for wallpaper.”

Louis glanced at Chérie. Lestat had already rearranged the furniture several times, his latest victim being the coffeetable, which now stood forlornly up-ended, exiled in the garage. Louis was at a loss in advising Chérie for it seemed he had always been routed in these bizarre little battles with his maker. And it had astounded him when she explained her belief that this was just another way Lestat expressed his love, that in lavishing his attention on their things he was in truth caring for them. It seemed far too simple, compared to Lestat’s usual machinations. Yet, she had worked hard for her home and was not about to relinquish her mastery over it.

“Oh, no you don’t!” she said. “Don’t you start redecorating my house now. I don’t have near enough budget for your tastes.”

“Wedding gift,” she repeated flatly, sitting back and hooking a leg over Louis’s.

Lestat leered at her momentarily then turned back to Louis. “So how is Mother?”

“She seemed fine,” Louis continued quickly, slipping his arm around Chérie. From the tension in her shoulders, he knew she would not let Lestat’s remark rest for long. What could Lestat be thinking? “Gabrielle is worried about you, though. I tried to let her know you were well, back to your old surly self, but I don’t think she’ll believe it until she sees you with her own eyes.”

His maker shifted, propping one elbow on the arm of the chair and leaning his head on his hand. “Well, it’s not exactly true, is it? I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same.” With his free hand he made a gesture that encompassed Louis and Chérie. “You two have been an interesting diversion, but really, how much longer can that last?”

Louis smiled. “A century, at least. We’ve done it before, under far worse circumstances.”

Lestat’s eyebrows raised thoughtfully as he absently nodded, stroking his chin with one finger.

“Don’t let them. They’re really only superficial, coincidence even. Like Louis’s feeding from Claudia and my feeding from you. It was simply time for the denial to end. Creating Claudia was folly. You were not.”

Louis pulled her onto his lap, loosing her hair and combing it with his fingers as she lay her head against his shoulder.

“For a time. It was an excuse because I loved Lestat from the moment I saw him. Through you I saw I no longer needed an excuse, that I could accept his love.” Louis looked up to see Lestat’s intense gaze upon him and he held those eyes a long time. He would never turn away from that love again. He smiled. “And you, my love, were the first of his fledglings he did not defeat into taking the Dark Gift.”

Lestat laughed. “No, Louis. You were the first.” He seemed amused by Louis’s confusion as he addressed himself to Chérie. “I never gave the others a choice. Only to Louis did I give understanding of what this life meant before working the Dark Trick. Horrified though he was, he saw the beauty beyond the death and loved me anyway. As you love him, Chérie.”

“Yes, but I hardly gave him a choice, now did I?” He stood hastily and knelt before them, crooking a finger under Chérie’s chin and stroking her cheek with his other hand. “I am a liar. Never forget that, Chérie. I will say anything to get what I want.”

She searched her maker’s eyes that were so like her own blue-gray eyes. Her delicate fingers caressed his face, cradling his beauty between her hands. She pulled him close, raking her fingers back through his hair, causing his chin to tilt upward, until her hands held the back of his neck and their parted lips almost touched.

“Don’t ever lie to me, Lestat,” she whispered, his name coming out as a seduction. She let their lips touch for an instant. “You have only to tell me what you desire and I will give it to you, if it is in my power, up to betraying Louis.”

“He is already yours. I would not want to change that even if it was in my power.” She slid from Louis’s lap and knelt beside their maker, their bodies close but not touching.

Lestat drew his finger along her nose and then gathered her into his arms. Gently drawing her hair away from his face, he fixed his eyes on Louis.

“Yes, from the very first night,” Louis said. He needs to hear the words, my love, he said silently.

She pulled back from Lestat, smoothing his hair as she demanded his gaze. She searched his face a long time before she spoke.

Louis saw her grimace slightly as she pierced her own tongue and drew their maker into her embrace. He watched, fascinated, as the surprise drained from Lestat’s face and he surrendered to the kiss. He heard his maker pierce his own tongue and saw their embrace deepen, Lestat lifting her from the carpet until he held her entire form in his arms.

Quietly, their lips parted, changing to smaller and smaller kisses. Chérie gazed up into Lestat’s eyes and smiled.

Lestat laughed and would have spoken, but just then the front door burst open and Daniel stumbled into the room.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded as she pried Daniel’s portable computer from his fingers, quickly setting it upon a table.

“What?” Louis asked, but he reached for the remote and clicked on the set. The mammoth screen blazed to life, it’s amplified sound seemingly alien.

Chérie put Daniel in Lestat’s chair and then perched on its arm, her hand on his shoulder.

Louis flipped to the cable news channel. The tape they were airing was shaky, a hand-held camera jostling to get the picture.

“...hoax. The witness believed dead has allegedly just completed a sworn affidavit before Dade County officials.”

Louis nodded, searching the crowds still shown on screen. A bright light fell upon the object of the camera’s search, a young man with long dark curls, a thin hand shielding his face as he kept his back to the light. Louis gasped as the auburn of the hair became evident.

“Armand? But I thought...” Chérie began, but Lestat held up his hand for silence.

“...held earlier at a local radio station,” the reporter droned on. “But reports indicate officials from the Justice Department, in full cooperation with the district attorney’s office, did indeed take a statement from the unidentified man, who was allegedly the first witness to the veracity of the Veil of Veronica. Statements taken at the time all reported the man had spontaneously combusted, bursting into flames and dying instantly. It now seems these reports were greatly exaggerated....”

The picture switched to the station’s studio and a man in a tailored suit. Louis clicked off the set and, dropping the remote, buried his face in his hands.

Alive. Armand was alive. Louis felt his tears gathering, tears he had not wept for Armand’s passing flowed now. He dug a handkerchief out of his pocket. He had never forgiven Armand for his part in Claudia’s death and he had been so cruel to the auburn-haired vampire. For decades, he let Armand hope for more than Louis had ever had any intention of giving. Suddenly there was hope. He looked up at Daniel’s moan.

“He’s alive,” the young vampire muttered. “The son of a bitch is alive!” He was trembling uncontrollably, his eyes wide. His hands dug frantically in his pockets for the cigarettes he had not carried in more than a decade.

“You’re all right, Daniel,” he soothed. “You’re safe with us and you’re stronger than you were then.”

“Of course he can,” Daniel whispered. “He already has. He lied to me. He let me think he was dead.”

Lestat had risen, staring at the blank screen as if images still flickered there.

“He had no choice, Daniel. Did you see his skin? His hand had been burned. To them,” he waved his hand at the screen but abruptly halted as he inspected his own lightly browned flesh, flexing his fingers and turning them before his eyes. “To mortals it is no more than a Miami tan. But he was burnt.”

Lestat slowly nodded. “Probably. The pain is terrible and other than taking old blood, healing blood from the ancient ones, going underground is the safest way to heal.” He turned and strode to where his leather jacket lay.

“You’re going to him?” Chérie asked as he pulled on the jacket and tied back his hair.

Lestat smiled warmly. “Nothing. Don’t worry, Daniel. I only need to speak with him.”

“No, Daniel,” Lestat said firmly. “You wouldn’t survive the route I’m taking. When you rise, Louis and Chérie can bring you east, safely.”

“That seems pretty clear. Or he would have staged his resurrection elsewhere.” He opened the door and breathed in the cool air.

Louis laid a hand gently on his maker’s shoulder and Lestat turned to embrace him.

“I don’t know, Louis.” Lestat closed his eyes. “Perhaps it’s simply Memnoch’s final trick. I don’t know.”

“Remember that we love you,” Louis whispered, kissing his maker on both cheeks.

Lestat nodded and disappeared into the night, rising faster than even preternatural eyes could follow.

Louis stared into the night sky, as if his eyes still beheld his maker against the stars. They never spoke of it, but he knew Lestat’s love for the auburn-haired vampire. He recalled a note his maker had once left for him in their townhouse in New Orleans. The fine parchment had appeared to be abandoned mistakenly, but he knew Lestat, well enough to know he had placed it with care where Louis was sure to find it. His maker’s flowing hand had filled the sheet.

“‘How strong could love grow if you had eternity to nourish it,’” he said, repeating the words Lestat had written, and later embellished for one of his books. He did not believe they were written with Armand in mind, but they seemed to fit nonetheless.

“I don’t know what I’ll say to him,” Daniel said, sitting on the porch step.

“Neither do I,” Louis admitted. He let the screen close and descended the two steps, tipping his head back to gaze at the stars over the roof. A light breeze lifted the hair off his neck momentarily. Cool but with the promise of another warm day, and Chérie sleeping in a lightweight tee-shirt again. Not an unpleasant prospect. The neighboring houses were all dark and the night was still but for the rustling leaves in the twisted walnut tree. A luxuriant California night. The young vampire glanced up at him.

“What can I say to him?” Daniel raked his fingers through his ashen hair. “I’ve hated him for dying, for leaving me.”

“Tell him what you want to tell him, Daniel,” Louis said. “But be truthful with yourself and tell him everything. You are his firstborn, his only child, and if what Lestat says is true, he will have gone through a terrible ordeal.”

Daniel closed his eyes as a gust swirled about them. “Until tonight,” he said quietly, “I could not picture his face, no matter how hard I tried. Now it’s all I can see and I can’t imagine it otherwise.”

Louis nodded, pushing his black hair away from his face. “For me, as well. I knew a lifetime with Armand but could not be the thing he wanted. I was incapable of feeling for his passing. Yet all I want is to see him again. Alive. Beautiful and alive.”

Daniel’s violet eyes misted and his lips moved as if to speak but in the end, he simply pressed them together, finding no words.

Louis watched him, hearing the turmoil in his thoughts. So much pain, and guilt. Daniel had regressed terribly after Armand’s death, falling back onto old habits, traveling aimlessly, spending most of his waking hours haunting taverns in the most dismal corners of the world’s great cities. He had spent exorbitant amounts rashly, almost contemptuously. He bought jets and then abandoned them, impatient to be wherever he was not. Securing leases in whatever building was within sight when he wanted to rest, staying only until sunset and never returning. The fortune Armand had amassed would not endure. Daniel had not created the wealth, only moved it between brokers and bankers, and he made no attempt to use his gifts as Armand had. The small fees he had been paid when he roused himself long enough to write up one of his interviews and the royalties on Louis’s book were Daniel’s only sources of income. And his feeding had become careless, his kills often flagrantly brutal and grisly, drawing mortal attention, so much so that even Lestat had commented.

Late last summer, Louis had begun searching out the ashen-haired vampire, once the mortal boy he had fed upon, forever altering the young man’s life. Responsibility, yes, he could not deny he felt that for Daniel, but there was more. And Chérie had encouraged him for she too felt an affection for Daniel, though they had never met, for his part in bringing them together. By early autumn, Louis had arranged a meeting with the young vampire. And Daniel had come to live with them in Chérie’s little house.

It had been difficult at first, Daniel’s lethargy unshakable, and at times he simply circled the backyard for hours. Incoherent mumbling. Bitter cackling. Silent torment.

Then Chérie had discovered his venerate fear of Louis and Lestat, the impossible images he had of them, mired in his memory. They worked constantly to dispel these myths, opening a door Daniel could finally step through.

He slowly came back to life, remembering those things Armand had taught him, concealing his kills, hearing what they had to tell him. They took great care, only augmenting his maker’s lessons. Then Daniel had taken up the pen once more. At first, he simply transcribed the bags of cassette tapes he had accumulated, his agent negotiating the publication of an anthology of his interviews. But now he was immersed in something larger as he waited to begin work on Louis’s book, his little portable computer a constant companion. Daniel’s laughter was coming easily again, the cynicism fading.

Louis sat beside Daniel. “You must tell Armand what is most important to you. He will want to know your pain. Hearing it will be as vital to him as the telling will be to you.”

“I just want to hear his voice again,” Daniel suddenly choked out, gulping back the sobs that threatened to consume him. He wasn’t ready for it, not yet. He opened his eyes wide so the early morning air could dry his tears before they spilled. “I want to hear his voice. He told me once that what scared him most was dying. It has been an endless nightmare, thinking of him trapped with the one thing that terrified him.”

“Oh God,” Daniel moaned, swiping at his eyes with both hands. “I’m such a mess.”

Louis rose and she instantly stole his seat, smiling up at him innocently. She so enchanted him, more beautiful than Armand had ever been because she was real. Armand had been almost a fantasy to him, abstract. There was a purity in how Chérie loved him, a celebration of life. Eve in the Garden, before there was guilt. Lestat’s Dark Blood had only magnified the joy she bestowed, allowing her to love what he loved, what Lestat loved, what Daniel loved. And their ecstasy seemed to feed her, creating an ever-increasing spring from which they happily drank.

Louis smiled. Perhaps Lestat did indeed drink of Christ’s blood. It had been difficult to completely believe until there was Chérie, his only fledgling created of that blood.

Chérie pulled a thin, white cylinder from her shirt pocket and pressed it between her lips.

“Once or twice,” she admitted, giving her shoulders a little shrug. “I keep a pack in the back of the freezer. Would you like one?”

“I thought you might,” she teased. “It’s really awful so don’t take a big hit. But then, we never smoked for the taste, did we?” She laughed.

He shook his head as his fingers caressed the thin white paper. “How did you know we could still smoke?”

“We breathe it every day,” she said, making an expansive gesture and then nudging his shoulder playfully. “You probably more so, with as much time as you spend in bars.” She carefully lit the cigarettes with a small butane lighter, Daniel drawing the smoke cautiously into his lungs and still choking somewhat.

Louis bent to kiss her cheek and went into the house, leaving them to their mortal pleasures. Chérie had become surrogate mother to Daniel, but they were contemporaries as well, Daniel being only four years her senior. He had already been a vampire a decade, however, when she was Born to Darkness, and his help had been invaluable to her as she became accustomed to her new life. They often chatted for hours, their language at times incomprehensible. He and Lestat would tease them by weaving the modern words into their speech, the effect perfectly ghastly, or by slipping into the archaic French patois of the plantation.

He smiled as he sat on the divan, shucking his boots and socks. He was glad they’d found friendship. So difficult to be alone with your age. Perhaps that is what had disturbed him most about Armand. The auburn-haired vampire had no one of his age he could relax with, he had been in perpetual need of translation.

Louis picked up the remote and with his thumb circled its buttons thoughtfully before he clicked on the set. As commercial gave way to sportscaster, he carried his boots to their bedroom. Dawn approached and he had already begun longing to stretch out in the coffin. Not yet.

The carpet felt good beneath his naked feet. Though walking around partially undressed still seemed improper to him, he was adjusting to the custom. Chérie did it, as did Daniel. And Lestat did as he pleased, as he had always done.

Another advertisement screamed from the set as he regained his place on the divan. It mercifully faded and the picture returned to what the announcer labeled “the top story of the day.”

Louis felt Daniel tense as Armand was described as the “alleged witness.” He called to him silently. Come inside. See with your own eyes.

Chérie held the door for the young vampire, before lounging in the big chair. Daniel sat next to Louis on the divan, close to the television.

The footage showed the front of an office building, the witness pushing through the doors and being mobbed by reporters. He wore a linen suit in taupe, a loose-woven sweater in the same beige under the lightweight coat. Whenever a light flared, he brought his hand up to block its brilliance. Between the flashes, though, his face was clear, his soft brown eyes meeting each questioner, his lips moving in response.

The auburn-haired vampire continued walking as he stared into the lens that kept pace with him. It seemed almost as if he was watching them watching him.

“People are being hurt,” Armand said, his voice unstrained by the press of mortal bodies. “Good people, people I love, and innocent strangers. This cannot go on.”

“I don’t know,” he said as the camera found him again, half-turned. The rest of his answer was lost as the crowd closed behind him. The picture continued as they had seen earlier.

“He is alive,” Daniel whispered. “It was his voice.” He laughed quietly. “What he calls his mortal voice, but it was his. I didn’t see the whole thing before. I was over at Mike’s,” he said, naming the nearby tavern and all-night coffee shop he frequented. “As soon as I realized what was going on, I ran home.” He sat back and smiled, his entire face alight. “Incredible!”

“Yes, my love,” Louis said. “And his flesh. Lestat was correct, he was burned.”

“What it took to stand waiting for the sun.” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine it. And was it all an act? Could he fool Lestat so completely?”

Daniel laughed and slowly nodded his head. “Oh yeah. Armand can make you believe anything he wants you to believe.”

“And it didn’t hurt that Lestat was beside himself,” Louis added. To Chérie, he explained. “Armand is a spellbinder. We all have this ability, but none so much as he. Armand can immobilize you with a thought, make you see, hear, even feel things that aren’t there. I myself have felt this, though it was long ago.”

Chérie’s eyes grew wide, though not at anything Louis had said. She raised a pale, delicate hand toward the television, where a shrouded gurney was shown being loaded into an ambulance. The newscaster’s voice droned.

“...and televangelist, Theodora Flynn, who had made public the alleged Veil of Veronica, is dead, reportedly at her own hands. Neighbors claim she became distraught over the allegations of fraud that were raised....”

Louis nodded, holding a hand to his mouth, a thumb pressed to his lips. How would this affect Lestat? His maker had obsessed over the mortal and had then fallen to pieces, haunting the orphanage, lost among the nameless little spirits. Could this push him back into despair?

Chérie rose slowly from her chair. “There’s nothing we can do until sunset and I’m feeling positively leaden. Louis?” She held out her hand.

Daniel shook his head. “In a minute. Tell me something, Louis. Tell me the truth. Will you fight Armand for me?”

Louis was surprised by the question. “If something is terribly wrong and you need me to, yes.” He smiled warmly as he suddenly realized Daniel’s concern. “But I suspect you will stay with Armand. He loves you as no other can. You know me well enough to know I only want you to be happy. But understand this, Daniel. You will always have a home with me. No strings attached.”

Louis squeezed his adopted fledgling quickly before following Chérie to their bedroom.

Daniel sat back on the divan and clicked on the television. The news channel was repeating their top story. The young vampire listened as the reporter asked his question and he again heard that most wonderful sound. His maker’s voice.

Night Two

The Night Island

They alighted on the rooftop of the seemingly deserted structure. Daniel rubbed his arms for warmth once Chérie released him, pulling the knitted cap off his head and running his fingers through his hair.

Louis circled warily, searching. He did not sense anything amiss, but he was proceeding cautiously nevertheless, keeping his mind closed. He didn’t know why Daniel had chosen the roof rather than one of the terraces, but he was content to allow the young vampire the lead. Daniel knew the Night Island better than anyone. He owned it.

And there were already more variables in this reunion than Louis cared to confront at once.

Armand was territorial, more so than any other vampire he knew. Would he view Louis’s mentoring of Daniel as a violation of his domain? And if Armand considered Louis still his, Chérie could be in danger for the same reason. Armand had killed the young ones, many of their kind.

Then there was the matter of Lestat. The trio had ascended into the California night within minutes of Louis’s awakening, but the sun off the coast of Miami was more than four hours gone by that time. They had ridden the fastest air currents to cross the continent, protecting Daniel as best they could from the thin air and biting cold, but that again had taken time. Nearly six hours had Lestat had, alone with Armand. Had his maker’s meeting with the auburn-haired vampire gone well or had Lestat’s notorious temper gotten the better of him? Louis sighed, breathing deeply of the salty coastal air.

Chérie took Louis’s hand as they followed the young vampire across the vast roof to an access door.

Louis turned, scanning behind them. “How long since you’ve been here, Daniel?”

“Right after the news came of Armand’s death,” Daniel said, already working a key into the third lock. “I think I was here for about two months, but I’m not sure. Time lost all meaning for me.” He unlatched the fourth lock. “I just sat in his suite. It looked so much like the last vision he gave me, of the Villa of the Mysteries.” Daniel tapped out the combination on the electronic keypad beside the door and its indicator flashed from amber to green. He lifted the handle and the door began to swing open, only to halt abruptly.

“Shit! I forgot. I set the New York lock from the inside before I left.” His fingers played along the scant opening but there was not enough room for them to slip inside. Daniel’s lips set and his cheeks flushed with anger.

“Screw this,” he muttered and furiously kicked the door. It twisted back hideously on its hinges.

“Subtle.” Louis laughed quietly. It wasn’t often the young vampire so blatantly demonstrated his strength.

Daniel gave his shoulders a shrug. “Hey, it’s my door. And it only opens onto the stairwell. There’s another one inside that leads directly into the villa, with a whole different set of locks. And another one of these.” He shook the steel bar that had held the door fast against mortal intruders.

“It would probably be easier just going in the door you used when you left,” Chérie suggested. “Not to mention quieter.” She grinned.

“Then it’s down to the concourse,” Daniel said, leading the way past the wrecked door. Three floors and five locks later, vacant mall shops stretching out in either direction, they were standing before an unmarked door that seemed protected only by a keypad.

Louis stared blankly at the electronic lock. “I remember using a key on this door.”

“We changed it after everyone drifted off. Too many keys were unaccounted for.” Daniel sighed, staring at the indicator winking amber. “I have to enter three series of numbers within a few seconds,” he explained. “If I screw up even one of them, it trips the entire system and we’re locked out for an hour. I hate this lock. Armand kept setting the timer shorter and shorter to see if I could do it.” He glanced over his shoulder at Louis and Chérie. “So don’t bug me,” he admonished, winking.

Daniel took a deep breath and poised his fingers over the keypad. Before he could again move, the indicator suddenly blinked from amber to green. He stumbled back from the door as if it was a viper.

“Well, someone is here,” Louis said warily, moving beside the door and drawing Chérie behind him.

Daniel swallowed hard and pushed the door open. Louis and Chérie followed as Daniel entered the villa.

Louis swung the door shut behind them, feeling the tumblers automatically fall into place. He turned and followed down the dark hallway, emerging to see Daniel transfixed on a silhouetted figure across the room. Candles blazed in the candelabra atop the enormous piano behind the spectre. Chérie threw Louis a furtive glance, holding her interlocked hands to her mouth. Louis stepped up behind Daniel and gently laid a hand on his shoulder.

Daniel’s trembling hand touched Louis’s fingers, as if for strength, before he stepped forward, tentatively approaching the spectre with the long curling hair. He had not crossed half the distance when it seemed his knees would buckle.

Both Louis and the shadowy figure hastened to keep Daniel from falling. Reaching him first, Louis firmly grasped the young vampire under the arms, only to find himself staring over the ashen hair and into a pair of soft, dark brown eyes suddenly just inches away. His breath caught in his throat.

“Armand,” Daniel whispered, legs slowly straightening, his fingers gingerly touching the scorched, yet radiant flesh of his maker’s face. So like a mortal suntan.

Armand’s arms quickly enfolded his fledgling, drawing him close as his eyes shut, lips parting as if in ecstasy.

Armand’s eyes shot open and Louis smiled. Yes, I can hear you now. Beware, my friend. Beware.

A faint smile curled Armand’s lips as his gaze shifted to his fledgling, his child. He took Daniel’s face in both hands, searching the young vampire’s violet eyes before crushing him to him again.

Daniel lay limp in his arms, eyes squeezed tightly shut, his shoulders rising sharply with each labored breath.

“Daniel. Again you are a gift to me from Louis,” Armand said, sighing. “From his very hands.” His vampiric voice was seduction itself, mesmerizing and sensuous.

A gasp escaped Daniel’s lips and his arms instantly surrounded his maker’s waist. They knitted across Armand’s back briefly, fervently, before one long arm snaked over his maker’s shoulder and Daniel buried his face in the auburn curls. He breathed deeply as his pale cheek intimately brushed against the tanned cheek and his lips found his maker’s flesh, the delicate impression beyond his ear, nuzzling closer and kissing him again.

Louis glanced down and smiled as Chérie slipped her hand around his arm. Her eyes were veiled in crimson, her affection for their adopted fledgling undisguised. He followed her gaze as he covered her hand with his.

Armand’s expression was unreadable as his eyes met Louis’s. “You will excuse us a few moments. Lestat is on the living room terrace. We’ll join you there, and then,” his dark brown eyes shifted briefly to Chérie, “and then we can make the introductions.”

Louis nodded and led Chérie up the wide stairs. As they emerged on the second floor, he glanced back. Armand and Daniel had already withdrawn.

Chérie marveled at the vast room, awash in the glow of a few carefully placed candles. Luster of leather and marble and velvet. Tapestries and chandeliers. A chessboard, a game in progress. She sat and studied the board.

“I remember,” she said, smiling up at him and kissing his long fingers before releasing his hand. They had agreed she should carefully observe the old etiquette until Armand welcomed her. If he welcomed her....

Louis tarried before a painting, Picasso, before he crossed the room and stepped into the breeze that came from the terrace, the doors all pushed wide. Against the rail leaned Lestat, the Miami skyline a halo around him.

He paused. It was an astonishing sight, his maker appeared as he imagined the archangel had to the shepherds near long-ago Bethlehem. Louis’s approach was reverent as he moved close enough to run his hand along the narrow lapel of Lestat’s tailored coat, the heavy gray velvet reassuringly familiar beneath his fingers. He smiled.

Lestat tossed his hair back from his eyes and shrugged. “It was in my study where I’d left it. Go figure.”

Louis’s green eyes twinkled as he leaned beside Lestat, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t play the imbecile, Louis,” his maker said, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “I do, of course.”

“Underground,” Lestat said, his tone implying there had never been any other possible answer. “In Central Park, if you can believe that.”

Lestat nodded in agreement. “What’s surprising is that he told me at all. It’s so...candid of him.” He looked both puzzled and amused.

“Did he tell you, Lestat?” Louis asked suspiciously. “He seems in extraordinarily good shape for what he’s been through. Not a blemish on him other than that perfect tan. I can sense no discomfort at all.”

Lestat furrowed his brow, appearing annoyed, though his eyes danced. “I gave him a few swallows. So what? And I didn’t even make him ask for it.” He idly inspected his nails before unfurling a finger towards the villa. “You would have as well if you had seen the pain he was in.”

Anger tinged those fierce blue-gray eyes. “How dare you! I did it for compassion’s sake. Do you forget I know that pain?”

“Come on, Lestat,” Louis said, tipping his head to look at his maker and grinning. “Don’t bullshit me.”

Lestat winced dramatically. “Oh, please Louis! The language doesn’t suit you. Really.”

His maker’s shoulders fell with his sigh. He scowled at his fledgling. “Why can I deny you nothing? For a few precious seconds, Louis, an eternity really, his mind was mine.”

Up flew Lestat’s hands. “Yes, yes, yes! I needed blood if I was to give it.”

“Knock that off,” Lestat glowered, but Louis could see he had already lost control. His maker broke into a fit of giggles.

Lestat wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and then licked away the blood tears, ever the provincial lord.

His maker leered at him and then sighed. “You don’t blame me, do you Louis? He never allows anyone in and it was far too tempting to pass up.”

“No, I suppose not, though he’s let you in freely enough in the past. You have an intimacy with Armand I never had, relegated as we were to using words.” He shook his head and laughed lightly. “But I wasn’t sure if you wouldn’t simply rip his heart out for the deception he pulled.”

Lestat suddenly seemed distant, his eyes drifting off to somewhere unseen. “I won’t lie and tell you I hadn’t considered it. But what was the use, truly? It was time for the charade to end anyway.”

“Perhaps,” Louis said, draping an arm across his maker’s back and clasping his neck. “Do you know about Dora?”

“Yes.” Lestat turned and leaned both hands on the railing, staring intensely across the water at the teeming city. “She was dead the moment she touched the Veil. I saw it then. Everything she ever was ceased to exist. All because of some thing.” He spat out the last word.

Louis watched Lestat’s lips draw taut, yet no less sensual. He listened in fascination as his maker continued quietly.

“I think I understand it all now, Louis.” Lestat frowned. “No, that’s a lie. I won’t understand it all until I finally die, and perhaps not even then. The only absolute truth I’ve gleaned from this is that I don’t ever want to die.” He glanced at his fledgling and a fleeting affection deepened the dimples at the corners of his mouth. “Or you. I couldn’t bear your death.”

“I don’t want you to die either,” Louis admitted, though his cheeks flushed. “You’ve brooded about it a long time, Lestat. Since Akasha made you stronger than all of us. Since she gave you a taste of being a god here on earth. You’ve long been alone with that knowledge, the possibility of outliving us all, that nothing on earth could kill you.” He sought his maker’s blue-gray eyes. “Are you finished with trying to end it, Lestat? Will you stay with us now?”

Lestat shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, Louis. I hope so, more than I’ve dared hope since the concert.” He touched Louis’s cheek. “Since I had you with me again.” He laughed and raked his hair back away from his face. “For the first time in ages, it feels like this is enough. But who knows how long this will last?”

Louis smiled as he studied his boots. “I suppose forever would be too much to ask,” he said under his breath. He glanced up and, seeing amusement in his maker’s smile, shook his head gently. “No, don’t bother, Lestat. It’s just a wish. Tell me what new understanding you’ve found.”

Shaking his mop of blond curls, his maker sighed, resigned. “Hopelessly sentimental.” Lestat returned his gaze to the glimmering Miami skyline.

Captivated, but by what? Louis watched his maker slowly lower his eyes, a malignant smile curling his lips.

“Memnoch--” He abruptly halted and laughed cruelly. “No, never again that name. Satan,” he began again, pointedly, “showed me Heaven and Hell, all of history, simply to confuse me. He wanted no more than to enthrall me with the telling.” His gaze shifted to his fledgling as if to assure himself Louis was listening. “Do you know what gave it away for me, Louis?”

“It was his story of being trapped in a mortal body. Everything he said was aimed at entangling me into comparing his choices with ones I myself have made, to make me identify with him. I don’t believe he hoped I would ever agree to become his lieutenant. I’d turned down Akasha, after all, and he had to know the princely reign he would ultimately offer me was far more loathsome. But he left that open just in case. You never can tell with me.” He smiled. “I think you’ll like this part, Louis. Remember how, beforehand, I heard fleeting bits of his conversation with God?”

Lestat turned and faced his fledgling. “And of all the biblical tales, of which does it remind you most?”

“Job,” Louis said without hesitation. “How the Devil petitioned God before testing Job’s faith.” His green eyes alight, he smiled at his maker. “A righteous soul. You know, I can’t recall a single tale where the Devil propositioned a soul that was already damned, Lestat. Whatever else occurred, you didn’t make a pact with the Devil. God was right about you.”

“Was He? Perhaps. He only said He saw me differently,” Lestat said with a shrug. “I wonder if He thought I would accept Satan’s terms. If He did, I think I surprised Him. Satan knew how I’d react. The Devil used me for his ends, to unleash a blind, religious wave upon humanity. Turning over the Veil to me was God’s agreement to the test. Had it come from any other hands, I would not have accepted it. Satan knew this.”

Louis shook his head. “God must surely know your longing for goodness, this yearning you’ve given me.” His eyes grew wide in wonder. “He knew your name, Lestat, and allowed you to hear His voice! Perhaps it was only to serve His ends, but perhaps He did so out of an individual love for you.”

Lestat shrugged. “I don’t know, Louis. Perhaps. But Satan didn’t want me to hear, and I can’t forget the heartbreak in God’s voice when He saw me in Satan’s company. And I’m fairly certain His invitation to drink was not in the Devil’s plan.” He searched his fledgling’s eyes. “It’s His goodness you feel, from His blood.”

“No, Lestat. That is there, certainly, but there is more.” Louis mused quietly, knitting his brow. It was difficult to explain. “I believe you have lived with this hunger so long, since you were mortal, that you aren’t consciously aware of it anymore. Not of how strong it is.” He smiled. “You know, it sounds as if you understand more than you give yourself credit for, Lestat. Satan showed you all those things, enfolded you in the telling, but still you saw the trap.”

Lestat gazed back at the city. “Not before fulfilling his plan, however. Or God’s plan.” He gave a tiny shake of his head and shrugged. “Was it all true? I don’t know. I believe so.”

Lestat smirked. “Oh, he lied to me all right. His lie was that it had nothing to do with Dora.” He clamped his eyes shut for a brief moment, tipping his head back, and then opening them full to the heavens. “The entire thing was about Dora. It was she who finally did his bidding, she who failed his test.”

“Yes, exactly. Heaven was beauty and love and knowledge, Louis, not things. The Veil might as well be a golden calf.” Lestat absently twisted a strand of his hair.

Maker and fledgling turned to see Armand, resplendent in crushed black linen, step onto the terrace and gracefully cross the distance to them. He took the yellow hair from Lestat’s hand and carefully smoothed it back.

“No one truly believes you are a god,” he finished, his youthful smile entrancing. And then he reached out and mussed the blond mass of curls.

Lestat laughed aloud, giving him a murderous grin before shaking his hair back into place.

Armand turned to Louis and ran the back of his browned hand down Louis’s pale cheek before drawing him into a kiss too brief for the passion it held. Then Armand laid a hand on each of their shoulders and looked slowly from one to the other.

Lestat dipped his chin in acknowledgment and Louis simply smiled at his old companion, his eyes liquid.

I know. Armand’s face lost all expression. We have much to forgive each other.

Louis glanced up, causing Armand to turn as Daniel emerged on the terrace with Chérie, their right hands clasped. Daniel guided her into Louis’s arms.

“Ah, so lovely,” Armand whispered. “Louis, in love again.” His gaze met Chérie’s. “Is there anything more beautiful in the world?”

She shook her head softly. “No, I don’t believe there is.” She smiled, searching his dark brown eyes boldly, as if they were precious stones.

Armand straightened suddenly and extended his hand formally, gently taking her fingers and pressing them to his silken lips.

“Thank you, Armand.” Chérie seemed transfixed as the auburn-haired vampire warmed her hand between his. He smiled disarmingly.

“You made her?” He grabbed Lestat’s hand and as quickly flicked it away from him. “With this blood, you made her?”

“Indeed,” Lestat said, one eyebrow raised smugly. “And charmingly so, don’t you think?”

Armand turned back to Chérie, pausing for her nod before he again took her hand, seeming to feel for the first time the hardness of her alabaster flesh, the powerful blood pulsing through her veins.

“Armand, this is Chérie. My sister. My lover. As I am her brother, her mate.” He slid her hand out of Armand’s grasp, gently to cause no offense, and held it to his breast. His desire for her rose and he felt his heartbeat quicken. But he only held her hand and smiled into her hypnotic blue-gray eyes.

Lestat pushed away from the balcony and rested a hand on Armand’s shoulder. “I first searched her thoughts carefully. She did not want the Dark Gift, yet she asked for it. There was no guilt, no anger, no fear.”

“I only wanted Louis, to stand with him the rest of his days,” she whispered. “And he could not become as I was.” Chérie smiled up into Louis’s eyes.

Lestat waved a hand delicately at Chérie. “And mademoiselle had unwittingly devised a way to finally give Louis the gift he so needed to become the vampire he has become. Look at him, Armand!”

Armand shook his head. He had already heard Louis speak silently, seen his deepened pallor, and held the hardness of his flesh.

“No,” Lestat said. “Most of what you see had already been wrought when he summoned me. She had changed him.”

“Au contraire, ma petite. Even when he had believed himself happy, Louis always despaired. Don’t you see, Armand? The cloud of gloom is gone!”

Louis laughed aloud. He kissed Chérie’s cheek and draped a long arm around Armand’s shoulders.

“There is an easier way for you to understand,” he said, drawing Armand back into the villa. He paused when he heard Daniel following and glanced back at the young vampire, locking onto his violet eyes.

Daniel’s jaw dropped, his eyes growing wide before he staggered back a few steps and collapsed into a chair.

No harm will come to him, Louis assured him silently. He motioned for Armand to lead the way and smiled when he heard Lestat’s giggling behind them.

Armand was in a rage. “You do this in my own home? Before my very eyes. To my beloved, my Daniel! You insult me in this way?”

“Please, Armand,” Louis soothed. “You of all vampires cannot begrudge me one moment to show off.” He smiled. “Now choose the room.”

The auburn-haired vampire halted, shaking his head. “No. This I cannot do.” His gaze narrowed.

Louis sighed. “You do not trust me, Armand?” He searched his friend’s eyes as he concentrated, focusing on a night a century earlier when Armand had led him to the top of a tower on the outskirts of Paris.

The image was clear. He could smell the dust and the rain and feel his body react to the sound of the old chairs as they cracked between Armand’s hands. And they became a fire, luxuriant warmth. But it was the auburn-haired vampire that held his attention. How his pale skin absorbed the firelight. How his eyes beckoned, all promise and desire.

Armand had stepped out of the quiescent image, circling the fire in the gliding fashion he favored in those days, moving without seeming to move. He ran his hand over the remembered clothing, brushing away the moisture, and examining his pallid flesh.

Louis leaned against the neglected brick of the tower chamber, disregarding the rain bouncing off his shoulders. “It is a time I felt most loved. There have been but a few such moments in my immortal life and I wanted you to feel the happiness you gave me.” Armand had drawn close in the vision and Louis pulled him tightly to him, stroking his face, lips almost touching.

He opened his eyes, though he couldn’t recall closing them. Armand stood motionless across the villa’s living room.

“Understand that I did not feel that happiness again, not to that depth, until my eyes fell upon Chérie. Now choose the room.”

“The study,” Armand said, waiting for Louis and walking beside him. “But why do you wish for privacy?”

“I seek your comfort,” Louis corrected. “I also chose the vision because it is one we share. Using this gift is still difficult for me and I may need your help.” He ran a hand down over his mouth. “I need your understanding, my friend. I want to open my mind to you completely.”

Armand’s hand darted out and caught him by the shoulder. “Wait. My suite then.” They changed directions. “No one but lovers invite this invasion.”

Louis’s lips parted, curling into a smile. “But we were lovers once.” His smile broadened. “Perhaps my guilt at not giving you what you needed then is working in your favor now. And perhaps I will allow you to take advantage of this weakness.” His green eyes danced mischievously.

“Ah,” Louis murmured. Armand was still Armand. “Since when do you need blood to violate a willing mind, my friend? Don’t push it, Armand.”

“Yes,” Louis said, nodding. “I suppose I would. But Lestat has forbidden it.”

“Lestat, who breaks every rule,” Armand scoffed as they stepped into his lush quarters and private study, Venetian artistry surrounding them.

Louis sat on the enormous bed, drawing one leg up under him so he might face Armand as he sat beside him. “I am not Lestat.”

“What could I gain by denying what you know it holds? You, who were transformed by this blood. Even in that small taste, I knew. I knew.” Pain briefly clouded his brown eyes. “Besides, it was always you, Louis, who had the difficulty believing we could be good.”

They sat quietly. For a hundred years, Louis had existed by the belief that their evil was without question, without gradation. In his pain, he had sought oblivion in a world without feeling.

“Come, my friend. Teach me once again.” Louis extended his hand and sighed as Armand slowly clasped it, so pale against the bronzed flesh. The soft brown eyes found his, and in them he saw the shades of auburn, the sparkle of gold surrounding the engulfing blackness in their center. Spellbinder.

Yes, Armand told him. But you who sees everything needs no teacher. Show me what you will.

And together they touched the rough bark of the sequoia, hands pulling back in unison.

“So empty!” Armand cried softly, glancing at Louis in amazement. “Your entire will bent on holding back the pain. So much pain.”

They peered over the hedge at the mortal woman gazing up at them silently, unhurriedly pushing her chocolate tresses back over one shoulder.

Armand knelt beside her, stroking her hair. She reacted to his presence, yet it seemed inconsequential to the vision, which continued as she spoke her metaphor of the tiger and revealed her own pain.

“I cannot be evil,” Louis said. “I feed and find peace in killing because we are predators. I enjoy the kill because we are human predators, sensual beings, with conscious thought and for the same reason I mourn those deaths. There is no evil in this.”

Armand nodded. “It is our nature.” He rose to face Louis and they were inside the little house.

Louis stood with the woman clutched to his breast, revealing his fangs to her wide eyes.

“Yes,” Louis said, turning his hungry eyes on Armand. “But you know this moment, my friend, when you will break your most sacred vow and increase our number.”

“Do you feel how it is the same for me? Can you smell her body decaying? Only the scent of her blood is stronger.”

“Oh, yes! She loves and understands what I am. Through her eyes, I can love what I am. I cannot lose this! I will not.”

Tears tumbled down Louis’s cheeks. “Yes, when she is in mortal danger, she is frightened for me. Is this not goodness, Armand?”

Louis opened his eyes to find Armand against his breast. He smoothed the shimmering auburn hair, so soft beneath his preternatural flesh. His eyes again closed and the strands lightened with each touch, becoming blond. It was Lestat in his arms.

Armand felt it all, the goodness within Lestat suffusing his tanned expression. “Not damned.”

The moon erupted across the pond, its silver light blinding. And it was Chérie in his arms, Lestat agreeing and naming his conditions.

The vast space of St. Patrick’s Cathedral filled Louis’s vision suddenly. Light poured through the upper reaches of the sanctuary, the colors bleeding down, stretching out like stains of distasteful chemicals. Glaring in his eyes, blinding him. The heat! Oh, dear God, the heat!

Louis cried out and slid from the bed, crashing to his knees, arms up to block the sun’s awesome rays. In the vision, they caught, ablaze as the outer layer of flesh exploded, hair singed away, and he was hurtled from the building, seeking darkness with all preternatural speed. Alone in the subway tunnel, the stench of smoldering flesh reaching his nose, nauseating him, his bloody gorge rising. And the pain! Dear Lord! The pain was everywhere, the fetid breeze feeling as sand rubbed across his raw skin.

“Daniel!” Louis gasped as his tear-filled eyes shot open in terror. His heels dug into the white carpet, scrambling back against the tall bed. “You were protecting Daniel!” Frantically, he dragged his friend down into his arms, hesitating before touching that scorched flesh, and then crushing Armand to him.

His lips parted as Armand’s fangs punctured his flesh, the silken lips pressing against his throat, his precious blood pumping over the satiny tongue that caressed the wound. Savoring the intimate pulling on his veins as he held his dear friend.

His vision quickly filled with his penetrating Chérie before pressing Lestat to her, and to his own throat. Then the symphony of her making, the triple exchange of blood.

Armand drew away and Louis sighed as the tender mouth cleaned the remaining blood from where the wounds had been.

The auburn-haired vampire leaned close to search Louis’s eyes as he gashed his own throat.

He opened his mouth to Armand’s blood, the rich warmth spreading, exciting his veins as he felt his friend’s arms surrounding him. Powerful blood! Old and pure, long-harnessed and coursing through him now. A kinship he knew, Lestat’s blood. And suddenly a deep understanding he’d never known caressed him, flashes of images flowing with each heartbeat. Armand saying the blessing before a meal with his mother and father. Marius’ secret kiss. Market day around the piazza, choosing the armloads of flowers to adorn the palazzo for his Master’s return. And more, all in a few beats of Armand’s heart.

Then the vision filled his being, their last day of companionship, as they parted on the banks of the Mississippi decades earlier. He felt Armand’s consuming sorrow over the change in Louis that had begun at the Théâtre des Vampires. His lost passion, the animation gone from his face. A vicious and empty fiend. Tears overflowed, spilling down his cheeks.

Louis pulled back, his lips gently kissing away the last of the blood as the wound closed. He smiled at Armand, accepting his offered handkerchief.

“I have mourned that loss, as well,” he said aloud. “For a hundred years I fled that terrible pain, forsaking your love to avoid it.” He shook his head sadly. “Can you forgive me?”

Armand seemed astounded. “You ask me for forgiveness? From the pain my desire caused you?”

“Yes.” Louis furrowed his brow. “I let you hope when there was no hope in me. My cruelty continued long after I stopped mourning Claudia, if I ever truly mourned her.”

Louis sighed. “She was my child. Yes, I saw the woman inside the child’s body, but before whatever else I felt for her, she was ever my child and my love for her, a parent’s love. I can never forget, Armand, but I know what it means to me to feel your arms about me again and that I love you despite the hand you had in her death.” He searched the dark brown eyes. “Is that forgiveness?”

“And you dare to call me näive!” Armand touched the hard, pallid flesh of Louis’s cheek. “Yes, you have forgiven me. And by the same measure, I have forgiven you.” He sat back and draped an arm over his bent knee, shaking his head in amazement. “Your desire is strong, Louis.”

“Absolutely. But I have no wish to do so.” He tipped his head and regarded his friend soberly. “I have done that far too much already. That time is past.” He laughed quietly. “Armand, I am glad to see you again. Happier than I could have imagined. But you are correct, I no longer seek a teacher. Only a dear friend.” He extended his hand to Armand.

The auburn-haired vampire took Louis’s powerful fingers in his, stroking the hardened flesh. “Yes, you are much changed. It is good what Lestat has done in helping awaken you.”

Armand nodded thoughtfully. “The first truly good vampire. It is difficult to grasp, but to see the passion again in your eyes? How can I not believe this has happened?” His gaze narrowed, puzzling. “And she sees no evil in what we are, even now?”

Wonder filled Louis’s eyes. “None at all. She accepts the killing as she does breathing or sleeping.” He sighed deeply. “But in refusing me as her maker, in refusing to increase my torment, she showed me my evil. That in denying my powers, in denying my love for what Lestat had given me and had yet to give, I killed needlessly and created my own hell.” He smiled warmly. “The only one damning me was me. And once that deceitful voice fell silent, I could finally embrace the truths I had known all along, what Lestat had so desperately forced me into acknowledging, and what you had patiently shown me, my friend.”

Louis stood, relieved to hear his friend speak her name. There was a familiar intimacy in using their names, something he knew Armand respected. He drew the auburn-haired vampire to his feet.

“Yes, but she is so young still,” Louis said. “She needs to feed. I can feel it, though she is trying to wait for the desire to rise in me. But it will not for a time yet.” He gave his shoulders a slow shrug. “This change was more rapid in me.”

“Yes. I tried to teach her as you taught me, to call Those Who Would Die, but their pain about suffocated her. I don’t think I taught her well, my friend,” Louis admitted. “It’s not my way.”

“And you want her to find her own way.” Armand smiled. “Yes, I will do this for you, Louis.”

“Thank you, Armand,” Louis said, clasping the tanned hands in his. “And now we should return before Daniel has a cow.”

When they emerged in the living room moments later, they found Daniel pacing furiously. Without a shred of fear, he stormed up to Louis.

Chérie jumped up from her chair at the chessboard, leaving Lestat giggling and contemplating his next move. She caught the young vampire by the shoulders and pushed him down onto the gray, velvet-covered divan.

Louis glanced at Armand and they shared a smile. Armand lowered himself beside his fledgling and smoothed back the ashen hair lovingly.

“You two are a terrible influence on Louis,” he teased. He whispered something to Daniel in a long-forgotten Russian dialect, his tone both seductive and soothing.

Daniel responded in the same language, though his words were halting. His expression was filled with adoration for his maker as they sat touching each other, assuring themselves they were indeed reunited.

Chérie slipped her arm around Louis’s waist. “We appear to have lost our ward.”

Chérie tipped her mouth up to meet Louis’s kiss. “You’ll excuse me while I finish trouncing him.” She smiled wickedly. “He has no head for strategy.”

She seemed unconcerned by his menace. “Oh, I don’t think so, mon père, not in chess.”

“Yes,” Armand said. “Finish your game so you may come with Daniel and myself into the city.”

Chérie frowned. “But Armand, will it not be dangerous for you there now? You made national news, you know, worldwide perhaps. Everyone will recognize you.”

“People will see what they want to see,” Armand said cryptically. “And a simple haircut will be sufficient guise if the nuisance is persistent.”

Armand basked in the compliment. “Thank you, but it will grow back, you understand.” He pointed to the racks of neatly labeled videocassettes. “I have a tape, if you’d like to see.”

“Yes, actually, I’d be fascinated,” Chérie said sincerely. “Why are you going into the city?” But she clamped her hands over her mouth, instantly catching herself. “You need to feed, of course.”

“You forget I learned English from flatboatmen,” he snarled, reaching across the board and tipping Chérie’s king. “You concede, ma petite.” He glared at Louis. “And I may take a certain pride in being called Brat Prince, but I know rude when I see it. Or hear it, as the case may be.” He rose and crossed his arms indignantly.

His maker waved him off, approaching Chérie and taking her hand. “Are they pressuring you into anything, my dear?”

She shrugged, slightly embarrassed. “Louis correctly pointed out that I again hunger.”

Her maker pressed her fingers to his lips. “Do not be disconcerted, Chérie. I told you it would be so in the beginning. Louis has a two-hundred-year head start on you. Be patient.” Lestat tucked a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear. “It is only a matter of time.”

His smile was dazzling and she melted in the face of it. He gestured toward Armand and continued. “Listen to our oldest friend as he shows you his trick tonight. He is the master spellbinder and can teach you this as no one else can.” He grinned maliciously at Louis before returning his attention to her. “I do not hold with it, you understand, but perhaps you will find it amusing. But you’ll find your way, there are no rules here.” He smiled, knowing what was to come.

“Hide the kill!” Armand and Louis scolded, nearly in unison. Daniel rolled his eyes and laughed.

“Yes, yes,” Lestat said, fatigued. “I always forget that one.” He plopped down sideways in an enormous black leather chair and winked at Chérie. “What were the other ones? Make no more of our kind? Oops.” He held a hand to his lips.

“You do not take these things seriously enough, Lestat,” Armand said as he rose, following Daniel and Chérie.

“Armand,” Lestat quietly called after him as their fledglings disappeared down the stairs.

Louis heard one of the speedboats sputter and roar to life. He wandered onto the terrace and watched as the boat raced toward the distant skyline. Lestat stepped silently beside him and leaned his arm heavily on Louis’s shoulder.

“That should not surprise you. You knew I would as soon as I learned of the pain he was yet suffering.”

“I could no more refuse that gift than you could.” He glanced at his maker and then was lost within his own thoughts, staring out over the black and ever-changing ocean.

“He really surprised you, didn’t he?” Lestat’s grin softened when his fledgling cautiously searched his face. He nodded a little. “Armand’s visions can be startling.”

Louis gave his head a tiny shake. “It wasn’t the vision so much. But before, perhaps in the span of a sigh, he seemed to gather images to himself.” Louis’s brow furrowed. “A private sort of protection almost, very personal images of happiness he seemed unable to conceal.” And they flooded his memory again. Armand proudly bewitching his victim for the first time, Marius watching. Lestat emerging from the Paris opera all in red velvet, Marius and hope reborn. His secret kiss for Daniel. Louis shook off the remembered images and then slowly shrugged. “Dozens of images, very personal, very happy, but all in a fleeting moment, as I said.”

Lestat murmured something that seemed to convey an understanding. “Almost violent in the intimacy. I wonder if he’s even aware he does it. The vision pales in comparison.”

“Yes, nearly ordinary. But I’ve never had such awareness of another vampire, Lestat. You have been part of me from the beginning. And with Chérie, it’s felt the same. Part of me. But good Lord, Lestat! Before tonight, he’s only given his blood to Daniel.”

“And Marius,” Lestat quickly reminded him. “Don’t forget that until Chérie, you were as protective of your own blood, Louis. For the very same reasons Armand has guarded his.” He slid his arm back until he could squeeze his fledgling’s shoulder. “Yes, we know him now as few others do, but the gift you gave him was no less precious.”

Louis sighed. “Yes, I suppose you’re correct.” He smiled. “And I believe he enjoys the idea that we carry a part of his blood within us.”

“Oh, I’m certain of it,” Lestat said, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “So, what shall we do? Rearrange his videotapes? Or perhaps lock every book in one of the crypts?” He stifled a giggle.

“As amusing as that might be, I’m afraid I must decline. I want to see the state of my suite and I need to prepare a crypt for Chérie.”

“You Americans slaughter the English language with deplorable gusto,” came a properly British accent from behind them.

“David!” Lestat beamed, instantly catching up the tweed-encased vampire in his arms.

“Oh, do put me down, Lestat,” David protested, his youthful expression belying the elderly English gentleman at his soul. “Hello, Louis,” he said once he’d regained his footing.

“Good evening, David.” Louis smiled, bowing slightly. He enjoyed David’s polite company and did not wish to forgo the opportunity to annoy his maker.

“Well,” David said, rebuttoning his coat, “I’m afraid I owe you a bit of an apology, really. You see, I was with Gabrielle when you contacted her. We were quite involved in cataloging a site in Peru and, well, Lestat was far too persistent the last time I spent any time with his mum. I do hope you’ll forgive me.”

Louis smiled. “Without question. But you had nothing to fear. Lestat and Chérie have been involved in a project of their own for the past month. A more complete edition of my book is in the works.”

Louis shook his head. “They still tally the inaccuracies so there has been no need as yet. Chérie will ask for a vision from time to time, and Daniel still has his tapes. I’m not much of a writer, I’m afraid.” He laughed quietly. “My involvement will principally be to ensure the work does not turn into one of Lestat’s tales.”

Lestat was fuming. “What is this? Am I to be excluded from every conversation tonight?”

David embraced his maker solicitously. “I am sorry, my friend. How is work progressing on Louis’s book? By the by, your mother bade me give you this.” He cupped Lestat’s chin in his hand and tenderly kissed his cheek.

The yellow-haired vampire smoothed David’s dark hair away from his face. “Why must you treat me as a child? I have not seen you in nearly two years and much has happened.”

“Please don’t pout, Lestat,” David said, slipping an arm through his maker’s. “You know I have little tolerance for it and I do want to hear all that has occurred. You look marvelous. But first, where is Armand and how does he appear?”

Lestat led his fledglings indoors as he spoke. “He’s a shade darker than I am, I think. Still raw, but respectable enough to pass for any vacationing tourist.”

“I saw no scarring,” Louis added, lowering himself onto a straight-backed chair and crossing his legs.

His maker nodded. “None at all. But he was in terrible pain when I arrived at sunset. You remember how it was with me, David, and I had the advantage of ancient blood.”

“We both did,” Louis said. “Even with Lestat’s blood, he was still agonizing.”

“It might be years before he’s completely healed,” Lestat said, sighing. “And the cold may bother him as it still does me, but I believe we’ve stopped the pain.”

Lestat shook his head slowly. “I’m sure Armand would appreciate that, but not just yet, David. I suspect Marius may turn up at sunset and it might not be a good idea to feed Armand solely from myself and my fledglings.”

“I don’t know. Call it a hunch, or just plain, old-fashioned caution, but Armand believed himself evil for centuries, a servant of darkness in one form or another. He recognized goodness tonight and now that’s stewing inside him. How will it ultimately affect him?” He shrugged.

Lestat smiled. “I’m glad you like it. When you meet Chérie, you may understand further. But just look what an infusion of blood has done for Louis.” His gaze narrowed. “They won’t tell me, of course, and I’d never presume to ask, but I suspect they feed from each other. Regularly.”

“In fact,” Lestat continued, “I’m surprised Maharet hasn’t added an addendum to the Great Family, tracing our bloodlines.”

“It’s only distantly related to her Great Family, now isn’t it?” David said. “But after your last extraordinary outing, I began tracking it myself. To see where Christ’s blood flowed.” He turned to Louis, his smile wide. “Now tell me of your Chérie. Where is she?”

David nodded. “This would be her fourth feeding?” He waited for Louis’s nod. “Yes, she’s progressing faster than I did.”

“Perhaps you could tell her that when you have the chance,” Lestat said. “She was being rather hard on herself for feeling the need so much sooner than Louis.”

“Certainly, I’d be pleased to help.” He returned his attention to Louis. “She must be lovely from the changes I see in you. They can’t all be from Lestat’s blood.”

“If I may beg off the details until a later time, let me tell you for now that I have never known life like this. Daniel has documented it, so perhaps you can come out to California for a few nights. I believe Chérie has her heart set on stopping at the townhouse for a while before we return, but I think she would welcome your visit.”

“Yes, please come,” came a lush alto from the terrace. Chérie stepped through the doors, alone. They all rose as she crossed to kiss Louis, her cheeks flushed and warm to his touch.

Louis smiled. There was no vanity in her reply, simply a sincere appreciation for the compliment given, for the kindness in its expressing. Her beauty was hidden from her and if it existed, she had said, the credit was due her mortal and immortal parents, not to her.

Lestat extended his hand to her and, when she clasped it, he drew her before the tall muscular vampire. “David Talbot, I’m honored to present your new sister. Chérie, this is David.”

“I’m so pleased to meet you, David,” she said. “You’ve done so much for Lestat and for that you have my eternal gratitude.”

“The pleasure is most assuredly mine, mademoiselle,” he said, pressing his lips briefly to the fingers of her proffered hand. He glanced up at Louis. “More charming than I could have imagined.”

Louis nodded in acknowledgment. “Why have you returned ahead of the others, Chérie?”

She smiled innocently. “I could not stand to be away from you a moment longer, of course.” Her blue-gray eyes sparkled.

“It’s true, I swear!” She giggled. “But Daniel wanted time alone with Armand. And now I can see why. He must realize the villa will fill up and they’ll never have a moment together.” She became serious. “The dawn is not far off, my love.”

“Indeed. I have yet to see the condition of my suite.” Louis embraced David warmly. “We shall talk,” he promised.

“I look forward to it,” David said, bowing to accept Chérie’s kiss. “Or perhaps you would like to tell the story for once. I suspect Louis has monopolized the telling.” He squeezed her hand gently before releasing it.

She smiled, hearing the speedboat approach. “Or perhaps Daniel, who had to write it all down. But for now, we must take our leave. Please extend our good-nights to Armand and Daniel.”

Lestat walked with them to the end of the room. Louis held him tightly for a moment, stealing a brief kiss before stepping aside for Chérie. Lestat lifted her from the ground and cradled her in his arms.

“Sleep well, Chérie. Watch over Louis,” he said, his eyes closing for her embrace.

It had become their ritual. Louis found the display touching. Their maker was protective of her as he had been of no other. Not even Claudia. And Chérie tolerated it better, without question, truly enjoying his affections.

Lestat gently set her upon her feet and she ran her hand down his cheek. “Bonne nuit, mon père.”

Arm in arm, they walked to the end of the hall and mounted the stairs to the third floor. A long hallway stretched before them, glass windows along the seaward side, doors on the shoreward. Louis paused before one of the doors and entered a series of numbers on the keypad. When the indicator changed colors, he pushed open the door and held it for Chérie. She turned abruptly at the sound of the door closing, locks and concealed panels falling into place.

Louis smiled. “The door is secure against the sun. Daniel worked a long time with the engineers to perfect it. And the terrace has a similar mechanism.”

She turned again as Louis stood close behind her and wrapped his arms around her. Her gaze moved about the room in wonder.

“It’s beautiful, Louis. I never would have guessed, although reading of the Matisse in the townhouse should have been clue enough.”

Louis was pleased she liked the room. He and Daniel had worked through plan after plan before succeeding with the effect.

The entire suite seemed bathed in sunlight. The plastered walls were cut into at ingenious angles and painted slightly darker or lighter hues to simulate the fresh low rays of sunrise. There was a decided feel to the room of a secluded villa on the Côte d’Azur. Flowering vines of myriad vibrant hues grew from recessed and deep planters, fed and lighted through electronic sensors, trailing their fragrant tendrils along carefully chosen paths. The ceiling had an almost unseen tint of blue in the white.

He walked ahead of her and pressed the button that lowered the terrace guard into place.

She watched the Miami skyline in puzzlement. “Nothing is happening.” Then she gasped in delight. “The panel is identical to the skyline!”

“Yes,” Louis said. His eyes shifted to the control panel when he heard its alerting beep. “The entire room is impervious to the sun. We may sleep here, or if you prefer, we can retire to my crypt.”

“Here,” she whispered reverently. “I’ve never seen a more perfect room. It’s as if we’ve stepped into Monet’s garden.” Her gaze narrowed. “Lestat doesn’t come here, does he?”

Louis sat on the edge of the enormous bed, its bleached posts draped with billowy netting. The bed appeared to grow directly out of the cool earthen tiles that formed a step around its perimeter. “He came in here once, but he said it was too realistic to tolerate.” He pulled off his boots and socks as she knelt before him on the tiles, her feet already bare. “I have never missed the sun, Chérie. It’s not the sun I tried to capture in this room.”

“Precisely.” Louis sighed deeply. “You understand so well. You make the room perfect, my love.”

Louis laughed, delighted by the image, as she slowly pulled off his thick sweater, unbuttoning and removing the heavy broadcloth shirt beneath. Slowly, she ran her hands across his chest, loving every inch of his preternatural flesh. He pulled her closer, sliding his long fingers up under her sweater, relishing the smoothness of her skin, until he drew the sweater over her head. He dropped it to the floor as she unbuttoned his jeans. He stood slowly as she held the thick indigo fabric, pulling off each leg in turn. He again sat and began unfastening her jeans, holding her as they fell to her ankles and she stepped from them.

Louis lifted her in his arms and lay her on the warm flannel sheets. He reached for the control panel and pressed a series of buttons. As the lights dimmed, a breeze came up, warm yet refreshing, and he saw Chérie’s lips part in delight. He stretched out beside her, resting on one elbow, his chin propped on his hand. Lightly, he let his fingertips wander across her opalescent skin, tracing the delicate paths where he saw her blood flow. His dark green eyes lazily followed her contours until they were swimming in the brilliant blue-gray depths of her eyes.

Louis watched, enthralled, as blood flooded the pools that were her eyes. He watched her lungs struggle for breath, her lips move soundlessly. He watched it all, memorizing everything, and waited.

“My sweet Louis,” she said quietly, her fingers touching his lips, tracing his dark brow, and gently pushing his hair away from his face. “So many gifts you have given me and when I think there can be none greater, you give me this. Forever is a long time for us. Forgive me for asking but, for you, I must.” She took a deep breath. “Are you sure, Louis?”

He smiled slowly, the low light glistening in his eyes. “Oh, yes, my love. I was so very glad of your early return that we might have this one perfect moment. So that I might tell you that there was no life in me until you entered my heart. You have watered my soul and coaxed the blossoms from their long hibernation. Whether you marry me or not, I am yours forever, my love. But I will always want you for my bride.”

Her tears fell. “Then we shall marry, my love. Such pure love I found when you first took my hand in the moonlight. We were the same, you and I, two creatures made whole. I knew then that I would spend every night thereafter at your side. Every tomorrow is ours.”

She wept as he gathered her into his arms, their naked skin pressed together, legs intertwined. Two became one. He buried his face in her hair and breathed deeply.

Louis lifted her chin and gently kissed away the tears, her blood in his mouth, becoming his blood. Hungrily, he pressed his lips to hers, holding their silky texture for a moment before tasting again. And again. And again. His lips drew taut, pulled seemingly against his will into an ever-widening smile. He felt as if he would never stop smiling again. His own tears gathered as the first laugh escaped him. Such joy as he’d never known!

She smiled up at him, mischief mixing with her happiness, so easy to see in her eyes. “You realize, of course, that Lestat will insist on making the arrangements. Lestat will....” Her voice trailed off, her eyes growing wide in recognition. “Lestat knew!”

“Yes, my love. Such a thing has never been done before and who better to consult than he who breaks every rule?” His eyes danced. “And yes, he wants to make all the arrangements. But we can fight him on that tonight. Sleep is upon us, my love.”

She lay nestled against his chest, listening to his heart beating its terrible rhythm and he felt hers pounding an identical song beside him. Their eyes closed and they slept.

Night Three

The Night Island

He was smiling when he awoke. His dreams in this room had always been wonderful, but it was her kisses that made him smile. She always awakened before him and she was tormenting him this evening. He ached to hold her long before his arms could move.

He crinkled it, briefly baring his fangs, and with enormous effort raised a hand to wipe it dry. He let the arm fall across his chest, enduring her continued kisses for several minutes.

Then he grabbed her, fully animated and using all his preternatural speed, entrapping her in his arms. She all but purred.

“Yes!” she said joyously, flipping him on his back and resting an elbow gently in the center of his chest. She leaned her chin on her hand. “I just wanted to be sure I hadn’t dreamed the whole thing.”

He stood suddenly, catching her up in his arms. “My whole life has become a dream. A dream come true,” he whispered and nuzzled her hair away from her neck suggestively.

And he did, allowing his sharp fangs to slowly press against her flesh, feeling her skin suddenly give way and the blood gush over his tongue. Her warmth spread through him. He shifted, holding her closer and he felt her lips move on his throat, raising every hair on his body, as his own flesh tore and his vital blood pumped into her hungry mouth.

The delicious torment of his blood draining matched the ecstasy of her blood filling him, his veins awash with sensation.

Their hearts pounded as one, thundering across his senses. And then the vision came. Yet it was as if he had opened his eyes, though they remained closed. They circled the bed to lie together in this very room, blossoms drifting about them. Then leaves, and they were beneath the twisted walnut tree, circling the hedge to come together. And the hedge was bamboo reaching to the stars and they came together and turned in each other’s arms, before bougainvillea, and hibiscus, and Queen’s Wreath. Water from the fountain in the enclosed courtyard rained down on them.

Louis’s lips kissed the wound, feeling it close, his tongue embracing her smooth skin, and he opened his eyes to the forest of her deep brown hair. She had released him and he kissed her jaw, and her chin, and finally her lips, the taste of his blood lingering there, mixing with hers. So sweet. He was lost in her eyes, her tropical eyes.

He pulled back and furrowed his brow. “Have I told you tonight that I love you?”

She looked up at him wide-eyed and innocent as he set her down. “Why no, you haven’t.”

“I can’t believe we forgot to bring you a change of clothes,” he called. “You’re welcome to anything I have here, but I’m afraid it’s all far too large for you.”

“No imagination,” she muttered. “Just choose a tee-shirt and a button-down shirt that are not horrid together and we’ll see what I can do with them.” She had her jeans pulled on when he tossed out the two shirts. The tee-shirt was teal and the other was white, heavy cotton, and long-sleeved.

Louis emerged in light-weight black wool trowsers and a rich burgundy sweater, his black hair pulled back at the nape of his neck. He smiled when he saw Chérie. She had tucked the tee-shirt into her jeans and wore the cotton shirt open atop it, the collar up, the tails tied around her waist, and the sleeves rolled up above her elbows.

She shrugged. “Standard issue in college. This is what everyone wore. Do you think Armand would be upset if I walked around barefoot?”

Louis was already pulling on a pair of black suede boots when she sat beside him and began pulling on the socks. She paused to watch him.

He laughed. “I don’t believe I’ve ever counted them.” He thought about it a moment. “Somewhere near forty pairs, I’d guess. Perhaps more. Why?”

“Curious,” she said, pulling on her own boots. “And I keep trying to figure out how to break this to my folks. Maybe if I tell them you’re a fabulous catch...they might be able to relate to that.” She nodded to herself.

“Last month. You and Daniel were off doing something. And God only knows where Lestat was.” She stood and stamped her feet, seating the boots around the too-large socks. She looked up in surprise. “Good God! I can’t believe I never told you about them. I’ve been meaning to, of course.”

“You measure time differently now. You’ll become accustomed to it eventually. When did you see them last?”

“Four, no, five years ago. They live in Maine now, moved there when I went away to college. Have you ever been to Maine?”

He smiled, puzzled by the question. “No, though I probably should. Most of my sweaters are made there.”

“Well, think of the coldest place you’ve ever been and Maine is colder. Not exactly a haven for vampire kind. It’s great, I suppose, if you’re looking to avoid them.”

She looked up at Louis. “I’d like to tell them I’m getting married, but they would want to come and bring the entire family.” She shook her head. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“That’s probably wise.” She smiled and slipped an arm around his waist. “Thank you, Louis.”

He kissed her and opened the door, letting her pass and then catching her hand as they walked toward the stairs.

When they stepped into the living room, the gathered vampires rose and broke into polite applause.

Daniel patted them both on the shoulder and grinned. “You know you two will never live this down.”

Daniel leaned over to him conspiratorially. “Actually, you should be thankful you missed this. They’ve been talking about you-know-what for an hour.”

This did not escape Daniel’s attention. He smiled at her, then back to Louis. His smile widened into a grin.

“Come, my love,” Louis said, ignoring Daniel. “I may as well begin introducing you to the new arrivals.”

“No need to frighten the dear,” said a woman blocking their path, her long blonde hair in a thick braid down her back. She held Louis lightly by the shoulders and they kissed decorously on both cheeks. “You look well, Louis. Love agrees with you.”

“Merci, madame. It’s good to see you again, Gabrielle.” He smiled. “This is Chérie.”

“Très bien, but I understand you are just learning French, so I will not tax you. And please call me Gabrielle.” Her smile was warm.

“Yes, and thank you for answering my call,” Louis said. “From the way David spoke last night, I did not think you would come.”

She scowled and smoothed her khaki jacket. “I did not plan to do so, not for Armand’s little deception. But then I heard the other news and I knew I must come for you.”

Her deep cobalt eyes sparked. “You know I do nothing on pretense, mon cher.” Her attention shifted to Chérie. “And how is my son treating you? He behaves himself, I hope.”

Chérie’s eyes lighted. “I fear no one will believe me, but Lestat has been nothing but a gentleman. Exceedingly patient and kind, quick to add detail when I need. And I treasure the affection he gives so freely.”

Gabrielle seemed taken aback. “Yes, I can see how that would surprise the others. Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I should find our dear Lestat.” She turned and disappeared as quickly as she had arrived.

Louis shook his head. “I don’t believe so. She may have been startled to finally hear first-hand the news of her son’s change. Gabrielle has fretted about Lestat since his ordeal with that demon.” He smiled. “She would never admit to having such instincts, but she is his mother, still. Come, Chérie. There are others.”

He led her to the chess table. An enormous vampire sat studying the pieces. He glanced up at their approach and broke into an angelic smile.

Gently he took her proffered hand in his and squeezed it with calculated care. “I’m happy to meet you. She’s beautiful, Louis.”

Chérie smiled. “Yes, I’d like that.” She seemed fascinated as Khayman searched her eyes.

His gaze shifted to the chessboard and back. “You were five moves from mate when you conceded.” He laughed, a joyous sound, guileless. “And Lestat didn’t know.”

“Sometimes a fast opening is worth the risk,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

Khayman nodded. “Surprise can force fatal mistakes,” he said, grinning as he impulsively enveloped Chérie in his arms. “Or it can unveil infinite treasures.”

Louis was distressed to see his love crushed in the unexpected and powerful embrace. But Chérie smiled, her eye

Resurrection

Contents

Statistics

Revision History

Introduction

New York, February 1994

Part I: July 1996

Night One

Silicon Valley

Night Two

The Night Island

Night Three

The Night Island