PART III 6 page

broken pin. I took the locket from her fingers. 'My daughter,' she whispered, her lip trembling.

"It was a doll's face on the small fragment of porcelain, Claudia's face, a baby face, a saccharine, sweet mockery of innocence an artist had painted there, a child with raven hair like the doll. And

the mother, terrified, was staring at the darkness in front of her.

" 'Grief...' I said gently.

" 'I've done with grief,' she said, her eyes narrowing as she looked up at me. 'If you knew how I long to have your power; I'm ready for it, I hunger for it.' And she turned to me, breathing

deeply, so that her breast seemed to swell under her dress.

"A violent frustration rent her face then. She turned away from me, shaking her head, her curls.

'If you were a mortal man; man and monster!' she said angrily. 'If I could only sh ow you my

power...' and she smiled malignantly, defiantly at me '...I could make you want me, desire me!

But you're unnatural!' Her mouth went down at the corners. 'What can I give you! What can I do

to make you give me what you have!' Her hand hovered over her breasts, seeming to caress them

like a man's hand.

"It was strange, that moment; strange because I could never have predicted the feeling her words incited in me, the way that I saw her now with that small enticing waist, saw the round, plump

curve of her breasts and those delicate, pouting lips. She never dreamed what the mortal man in

me was, how tormented I was by the blood I'd only just drunk. Desire her I did, more than she

knew; because she didn't understand the nature of the kill. And with a man's pride I wanted to

prove that to her, to humiliate her for what she had said to me, for the cheap vanity of her

provocation and the eyes that looked away from me now in disgust. But this was madness. These

were not the reasons to grant eternal life.

"And cruelly, surely, I said to her, 'Did you love this child?'

"I will never forget her face then, the violence in her, the absolute hatred. 'Yes.' She all but hissed the words at me. 'How dare you!' She reached for the locket even as I clutched it. It was guilt that

was consuming her, not love. It was guilt---that shop of dolls Claudia had described to me,

shelves and shelves of the effigy of that dead child. But guilt that absolutely understood the

finality of death. There was something as hard in her as the evil in myself, something as

powerful. She had her hand out towards me. She touched my waistcoat and opened her fingers

there, pressing them against my chest. And I was on my knees, drawing close to her, her hair

brushing my face.

" 'Hold fast to me when I take you,' I said to her, seeing her eyes grow wide, her mouth open.

'And when the swoon is strongest, listen all the harder for the beating of my heart. Hold and say

over and over, "I will live." '

" 'Yes, yes,' she was nodding, her heart pounding with her excitement.

"Her hands burned on my neck, fingers forcing their way into my collar. 'Look beyond me at that

distant light; don't take your eyes off of it, not for a second, and say over and over, "I will live." '

"She gasped as I broke the flesh, the warn current coming into me, her breasts crushed against

me, her body arching up, helpless, from the couch. And I could see her eyes, even as I shut my

own, see that taunting, provocative mouth. I was drawing on her, hard, lifting her, and I could

feel her weakening, her hands dropping limp at her sides. 'Tight, tight,' I whispered over the hot

stream of her blood, her heart thundering in my ears, her blood swelling my satiated veins. 'The

lamp,' I whispered, 'look at it!' Her heart was slowing, stopping, and her head dropped back from

me on the velvet, her eyes dull to the point of death. It seemed for a moment I couldn't move, yet

I knew I had to, that someone else was lifting my wrist to my mouth as the room turned round

and round, that I was focusing on that light as I had told her to do, as I tasted my own blood from

my own wrist, and then forced it into her mouth. 'Drink it. Drink,' I said to her. But she lay as if

dead. I gathered her close to me, the blood pouring over her lips. Then she opened her eyes, and I

felt the gentle pressure of her mouth, and then her hands closing tight on the arm as she began to

suck. I was rocking her, whispering to her, trying desperately to break my swoon; and then I felt

her powerful pull. Every blood vessel felt it. I was threaded through and through with her

pulling, my hand holding fast to the couch now, her heart beating fierce against my heart, her

fingers digging deep into my arm, my outstretched palm. It was cutting me, scoring me, so I all

but cried out as it went on and on, and I was backing away from her, yet pulling her with me, my

life passing through my arm, her moaning breath in time with her pulling. And those strings

which were my veins, those searing wires pulled at my very heart harder and harder until,

without will or direction, I had wrenched free of her and fallen away from her, clutching that

bleeding wrist tight with my own hand.

"She was staring at me, the blood staining her open mouth. An eternity seemed to pass as she

stared. She doubled and tripled in my blurred vision, then collapsed into one trembling shape.

Her hand moved to her mouth, yet her eyes did not move but grew large in her face as she stared.

And then she rose slowly, not as if by her own power but as if lifted from the couch bodily by

some invisible force which held her now, staring as she turned round and round, her massive

skirt moving stiff as if she were all of a piece, turning like some great carved ornament on a

music box that dances helplessly round and round to the music. And suddenly she was staring

down at the taffeta, grabbing hold of it, pressing it between her fingers so it zinged and rustled,

and she let it fall, quickly covering her ears, her eyes shut tight, then opened wide again. And

then it seemed she saw the lamp, t he distant, low gas lamp of the other room that gave a fragile

light through the double doors. And she ran to it and stood beside it, watching it as if it were

alive. 'Don't touch it...' Claudia said to her, and gently guided her away. But Madeleine had seen

the flowers on the balcony and she was drawing close to them now, her outstretched palms

brushing the petals and then pressing the droplets of rain to her face.

"I was hovering on the fringes of the room, watching her every move, how she took the flowers

and crushed them in her hands and let the petals fall all around her and how she pressed her

fingertips to the mirror and stared into her own eyes. My own pain had ceased, a handkerchief

bound the wound, and I was waiting, waiting, seeing now that Claudia had no knowledge from

memory of what was to come next. They were dancing together, as Madeleine's skin grew paler

and paler in the unsteady golden light. She scooped Claudia into her arms, and Claudia rode

round in circles with her, her own small face alert and wary behind her smile.

"And then Madeleine weakened. She stepped backwards and seemed to lose her balance. But

quickly she righted herself and let Claudia go gently down to the ground. On tiptoe, Claudia

embraced her. 'Louis.' She signaled to me under her breath. 'Louis...'

"I beckoned for her to come away. And Madeleine, not seeming even to see us, was staring at her

own outstretched hands. Her face was blanched and drawn, and suddenly she was scratching at

her lips and staring at the dark stains on her fingertips. 'No, no!' I cautioned her gently, taking

Claudia's hand and holding her close to my side. A long moan escaped Madeleine's lips.

" 'Louis,' Claudia whispered in that preternatural voice which Madeleine could not yet hear.

" 'She is dying, which your child's mind can't remember. You were spared it, it left no mark on

you,' I whispered to her, brushing the hair beak from her ear, my eyes never leaving Madeleine,

who was wandering from mirror to mirror, the tears flowing freely now, the body g iving up its

life.

" 'But, Louis, if she dies...' Clauda cried.

" 'No.' I knelt down, seeing the distress in her small face. 'The blood was strong enough, she will live. But she will be afraid, terribly afraid.' And gently, firmly, I pressed Claudia's hand and

kissed her cheek. She looked at me then with mingled wonder and fear. And she watched me

with that same expression as I wandered closer to Madeleine, drawn by her cries. She reeled

now, her hands out, and I caught her and held her close. Her eyes already burned with unnatural

light, a violet fire reflected in her tears.

" 'It's mortal death, only mortal death,' I said to her gently. 'Do you see the sky? We must leave it now and you must hold tight to me, lie by my side. A sleep as heavy as death will come over my

limbs, and I won't be able to solace you. And you will lie there and you will struggle with it. But

you hold tight to me in the darkness, do you hear? You hold tight to my hands, which will hold

your hands as long as I have feeling.'

"She seemed lost for the moment in my gaze, and I sensed the wonder that surrounded her, how

the radiance of my eyes was the radiance of all colors and how all those colors were all the more

reflected for her in my eyes. I guided her gently to the coffin, telling her again not to be afraid.

'When you arise, you will be immortal,' I said. 'No natural cause of death can harm you. Come,

lie down.' I could see her fear of it, see her shrink from the narrow box, its satin no comfort.

Already her skin began to glisten, to have that brilliance that Claudia and I shared. I knew now

she would not surrender until I lay with her.

"I held her and looked across the long vista of the room to where Claudia stood, with that strange coffin, watching me. Her eyes were still but dark with an undefined suspicion, a cool distrust. I

set Madeleine down beside her bed and moved towards those eyes. And, kneeling calmly beside

her, I gathered Claudia in my arms. 'Don't you recognize me?' I asked her. 'Don't you know who

I am?'

"She looked at me. 'No.' she said.

"I smiled. I nodded. 'Bear me no ill will,' I said. 'We are even.'

"At that she moved her head to one side and studied me carefully, then seemed to smile despite

herself and to nod in assent.

" 'For you see,' I said to her in that same calm voice, 'what died tonight in this room was not that woman. It will take her many nights to die, perhaps years. What has died in this room tonight is

the last vestige in me of what was human.'

"A shadow fell ov er her face; clear, as if the composure were rent like a veil. And her lips parted, but only with a short intake of breath. Then she said, 'Well, then you are right. Indeed. We are

even.'

" 'I want to burn the doll shop!'

"Madeleine told us this. She was feeding to the fire in the grate the folded dresses of that dead daughter, white lace and beige linen, crinkled shoes, bonnets that smelled of camphor balls and

sachet. 'It means nothing now, any of it.' She stood back watching the fire blaze. And she looked

at Claudia with triumphant, fiercely devoted eyes.

"I did not believe her, so certain I was---even though night after night I had to lead her away

from men and women she could no longer drain dry, so satiated was she with the blood of earlier

kills, often lifting her victims off their feet in her passion, crushing their throats with her ivory fingers as surely as she drank their blood---so certain I was that sooner or later this mad intensity must abate, and she would take hold of the trappings of this nightmare, her own luminescent

flesh, these lavish rooms of the Hotel Saint-Gabriel, and cry out to be awakened; to be free. She

did not understand it was no experiment; showing her fledgling teeth to the gilt-edged mirrors,

she was mad.

"But I still did not realize how mad she was, and how accustomed to dreaming; and that she

would not cry out for reality, rather would feed reality to her dreams, a demon elf feeding her

spinning wheel with the reeds of the world so she might make her own weblike universe.

"I was just beginning to understand her avarice, her magic.

"She had a dollmaker's craft from making with her old lover over and over the replica of her

dead child, which I was to understand crowded the shelves of this shop we were soon to visit.

Added to that was a vampire's skill and a vampire's intensity, so that in the space of one night

when I had turned her away from killing, she, with that same insatiable need, created out of a

few sticks of wood, with her chisel and knife, a perfect rocking chair, so shaped and

proportioned for Claudia that seated in it by the fire, she appeared a woman. To that must be

added, as the nights passed, a table of the same scale; and from a toy shop a tiny oil lamp, a

china cup and saucer; and from a lady's purse a little leather-bound book for notes which in

Claudia's hands became a large volume. The world crumbled and ceased to exist at the boundary

of the small space which soon became the length and breadth of Claudia's dressing room: a bed

whose posters reached only to my breast buttons, and small mirrors that reflected only the legs of

an unwieldy giant when I found myself lost among them; paintings hung low for Claudia's eye;

and finally, upon her little vanity table, black evening gloves for tiny fingers, a woman's low-cut

gown of midnight velvet, a tiara from a child's masked ball. And Claudia, the crowning jewel, a

fairy queen with bare white shoulders wandering with her sleek tresses among the rich items of

her tiny world while I watched from the doorway, spellbound, ungainly, stretched out on the

carpet so I could lean my head on my elbow and gaze up into my paramour's eyes, seeing them

mysteriously softened for the time being by the perfection of this sanctuary. How beautiful she

was in black lace, a cold, flaxen-haired woman with a kewpie doll's face and liquid eyes which

gazed at me so serenely and so long that, surely, I must have been forgotten; the eyes must be

seeing something other than me as I lay there on the floor dreaming; something other than the

clumsy universe surrounding me, which was now marked off and nullified by someone who had

suffered in it, someone who had suffered always, but who was not seeming to suffer now,

listening as it were to the tinkling of a toy music box, putting a hand on the toy clock. I saw a

vision of shortened hours and little golden minutes. I felt I was mad.

"I put my hands under my head and gazed at the chandelier; it was hard to disengage myself

from one world and enter the other. And Madeleine, on the couch, was working with that regular

passion, as if immortality could not conceivably mean rest, sewing cream lace to lavender satin

for the small bed, only stopping occasionally to blot the moisture tinged with blood from her

white forehead.

"I wondered, if I shut my eyes, would this realm of tiny things consume the rooms around me,

and would I, like Gulliver, awake to discover myself bound hand and foot, an unwelcome giant?

I had a vision of houses made for Claudia in whose garden mice would be monsters, and tiny

carriages, and flowery shrubbery become trees. Mortals would be so entranced, and drop to their

knees to look into the small windows. Like the spider's web, it would attract.

"I was bound hand and foot here. Not only by that fairy beauty---that exquisite secret of

Claudia's white shoulders and the rich luster of pearls, bewitching languor, a tiny bottle of

perfume, now a decanter, from which a spell is released that promises Eden---I was bound by

fear. That outside these rooms, where I supposedly presided over the education of Madeleine---

erratic conversations about killing and vampire nature in which Claudia could have instructed so

much more easily than I, if she had ever showed the desire to take the lead---that outside these

rooms, where nightly I was reassured with soft kisses and contented looks that the hateful

passion which Claudia had shown once and once only would not return---that outside these

rooms, I would find that I was, according to my own hasty admission, truly changed: the mortal

part of me was that part which had loved, I was certain. So what did I feel then for Armand, the

creature for whom I'd transformed Madeleine, the creature for whom I had wanted to be free? A

curious and disturbing distance? A dull pain? A nameless tremor? Even in this worldly clutter, I

saw Armand in his monkish cell, saw his dark-brown eyes, and felt that eerie magnetism.

"And yet I did not move to go to him. I did not dare discover the extent of what I might have

lost. Nor try to separate that loss from some other oppressive realization: that in Europe I'd found

no truths to lessen loneliness, transform despair. Rather, I'd found only the inner workings of my

own small soul, the pain of Claudia's, and a passion for a vampire who was perhaps more evil

than Lestat, for whom I became as evil as Lestat, but in whom I saw the only promise of good in

evil of which I could conceive.

"It was all beyond me, finally. And so the clock ticked on the mantel; and Madeleine begged to

see the performances of the Theatres des Vampires and swore to defend Claudia against any

vampire who dared insult her; and Claudia spoke of strategy and said, 'Not yet, not now,' and I

lay back observing with some measure of relief Madeleine's love for Claudia; her blind covetous

passion. Oh, I have so little compassion in my heart or memory for Madeleine. I thought she had

only seen the first vein of suffering, she had no understanding of death. She was so easily

sharpened, so easily driven to wanton violence. I supposed in my colossal conceit and self-

deception that my own grief for my dead brother was the only true emotion. I allowed myself to

forget how totally I had fallen in love with Lestat's iridescent eyes, that I'd sold my soul for a

many-colored and luminescent thing, thinking that a highly reflective surface conveyed the

power to walk on water.

"What would Christ need have done to make me follow him like Matthew or Peter? Dress well,

to begin with. And have a luxurious head of pampered yellow hair.

"I hated myself. And it seemed, lulled half to sleep as I was so often by their conversation---

Claudia whispering of killing and speed and vampire craft, Madeleine bent over her singing

needle---it seemed then the only emotion of which I was still capable: hatred of self. I love them.

I hate them. I do not care if they are there. Claudia puts her hands on my hair as if she wants to

tell me with the old familiarity that her heart's at peace. I do not care. And there is the apparition of Armand, that power, that heartbreaking clarity. Beyond a glass, it seems. And tak ing Claudia's

playful hand, I understand for the first time in my life what she feels when she forgives me for

being myself whom she says she hates and loves: she feels almost nothing.

"It was a week before we accompanied Madeleine on her errand, to torch a universe of dolls

behind a plate-glass window. I remember wandering up the street away from it, round a turn into

a narrow cavern of darkness where the falling rain was the only sound. But then I saw the red

glare against the clouds. Bells clanged and men shouted, and Claudia beside me was talking

softly of the nature of fire. The thick smoke rising in that flickering glare unnerved me. I was

feeling fear. Not a wild, mortal fear, but something cold like a hook in my side. This fear---it was

the old town house burning in the Rue Royale, Lestat in the attitude of sleep on the burning

floor.

" 'Fire purifies...' Claudia said. And I said, 'No, fire merely destroys...'

"Madeleine had gone past us and was roaming at the top of the street, a phantom in the rain, her white hands whipping the air, beckoning to us, white arcs, of white fireflies. And I remember

Claudia leaving me for her. The sight of wilted, writhing yellow hair as she told me to follow. A

ribbon fallen underfoot, flapping and floating in a swirl of black water. It seemed they were

gone. And I bent to retrieve that ribbon. But another hand reached out for it. It was Armand who

gave it to me now.

"I was shocked to see him there, so near, the figure of Gentleman Death in a doorway,

marvelously real in his black cape and silk tie, yet ethereal as the shadows in his stillness. There

was the faintest glimmer of the fire in his eyes, red warming the blackness there to the richer

brown.

"And I woke suddenly as if I'd been dreaming, woke to the sense of him, to his hand enclosing

mine, to his head inclined as if to let me know he wanted me to follow---awoke to my own

excited experience of his presence, which consumed me as surely as it had consumed me in his

cell. We were walking together now, fast, nearing the Seine, moving so swiftly and artfully

through a gathering of men that they scarce saw us, that we scarce saw them. That I could keep

up with him easily amazed me. He was forcing me into some acknowledgment of my powers,

that the paths I'd normally chosen were human paths I no longer need follow.

"I wanted desperately to talk to him, to stop him with both my hands on his shoulders, merely to look into his eyes again as I'd done that last night, to fix him in some time and place, so that I

could deal with the excitement inside me. There was so much I wanted to tell him, so much I

wanted to explain. And yet I didn't know what to say or why I would say it, only that the fullness

of the feeling continued to relieve me almost to tears. This was what I'd feared lost.

"I didn't knew where we were now, only that in my wanderings I'd passed here before: a street of ancient mansions, of garden walls and carriage doors and towers overhead and windows of

leaded glass beneath stone arches. Houses of other centuries, gnarled trees, that sudden thick and

silent tranquility which means that the masses are shut out; a handful of mortals inhabit this vast

region of high-ceilinged rooms; stone absorbs the sound of breathing, the space of whole lives.

"Armand was atop a wall now, his arm against the overhanging bough of a tree, his hand

reaching for me; and in an instant I stood beside him, the wet foliage brushing any face. Above, I

could see story after story rising to a lone tower that barely emerged from the dark, teeming rain.

'Listen to me; we are going to climb to the tower,' Armand was saying.

" 'I cannot... it's impassible...'

" 'You don't begin to know your own powers. You can climb easily. Remember, if you fall you

will not be injured. Do as I do. But note this. The inhabitants of this house have known me far a

hundred years and think me a spirit; so if by chance they see you, or you see them through those

windows, remember what they believe you to be and show no consciousness of them lest you

disappoint them or confuse them. Do you hear? You are perfectly safe.'

"I wasn't sure what frightened me more, the climb itself or the notion of being seen as a ghost; but I had no time for comforting witticisms, even to myself. Armand had begun, his boots

finding the crack between the stones, his hands sure as claws in the crevices; and I was moving

after him, tight to the wall, not daring to look down, clinging for a moment's rest to the thick,

carved arch over a window, glimpsing inside, over a licking fire, a dark shoulder, a hand stroking

with a poker, some figure that moved completely without knowledge that it was watched. Gone.

Higher and higher we climbed, until we had reached the window of the tower itself, which

Armand quickly wrenched open, his long legs disappearing over the sill; and I rose up after him,

feeling his arm out around my shoulders.

"I sighed despite myself, as I stood in the room, rubbing the backs of my arms, looking around

this wet, strange place. The rooftops were silver below, turrets rising here and there through the

huge, rustling treetops; and far off glimmered the broken chain of a lighted boulevard. The room

seemed as damp as the night outside. Armand was making a fire.

"From a molding pile of furniture he was picking chairs, breaking them into wood easily despite

the thickness of their rungs. There was something grotesque about him, sharpened by his grace

and the imperturbable calm of his white face. He did what any vampire could do, cracking these

thick pieces of wood into splinters, yet he did what only a vampire could do. And there seemed

nothing human about him; even his handsome features and dark hair became the attributes of a

terrible angel who shared with the rest of us only a superficial resemblance. The tailored coat

was a mirage. And though I felt drawn to him, more strongly perhaps than I'd ever been drawn to

any living creature save Claudia, he excited me in other ways which resembled fear. I was not

surprised that, when he finished, he set a heavy oak chair down for me, but retired himself to the

marble mantelpiece and sat there warming his hands over the fire, the flames throwing red

shadows into his face.

" 'I can hear the inhabitants of the house,' I said to him. The warmth was good. I could feel the leather of my boots drying, feel the warmth in my fingers.

" 'Then you know that I can hear them,' he said softly; and though this didn't contain a hint of reproach, I realized the implications of my own words.

" 'And if they come?' I insisted, studying him.

" 'Can't you tell by my manner that they won't come?' he asked. 'We could sit here all night, and never speak of them. I want you to know that if we speak of them it is because you want to do

so.' And when I said nothing, and perhaps I looked a little defeated, he said gently that they had

long ago sealed off this tower and left it undisturbed; and if in fact they saw the smoke from the

chimney or the light in the window, none of them would venture up until tomorrow.

"I could see now there were several shelves of books at one side of the fireplace, and a writing table. The pages on top were wilted, but there was an inkstand and several pens. I could imagine

the room a very comfortable place when it was not storming, as it was now, or after the fire had

dried out the air.

" 'You see,' Armand said, 'you really have no need of the rooms you have at the hotel. You really have need of very little. But each of us must decide how much he wants. These people in this

house have a name for me; encounters with me cause talk for twenty years. They are only

isolated instants in my time which mean nothing. They cannot hurt me, and I use their house to

be alone. No one of the Theatre des Vampires knows of my coming here. This is my secret.'

"I had watched him intently as he was speaking, and thoughts which had occurred to me in the

cell at the theater occurred to me again. Vampires do not age, and I wondered how his youthful

face and manner might differ now from what he had been a century before or a century before

that; for his face, though not deepened by the lessons of maturity, was certainly no mask. It

seemed powerfully expressive as was his unobtrusive voice, and I was at a loss finally to fully

anatomize why. I knew only I was as powerfully drawn to him as before; and to some extent the

words I spoke now were a subterfuge. 'But what holds you to the Theatre des Vampires?' I asked.

" 'A need, naturally. But I've found what I need,' he said. 'Why do you shun me?'

" 'I never shunned you,' I said, trying to hide the excitement these words produced in me. 'You

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 576