by Rice, Anne
Lestat glared at each and every one of us, and then stormed out of the flat.
All that long night, we didn’t know where he was. We knew his feelings, yes, and we understood them and we respected them, and in some unspoken fashion we resolved that we would do what he said. If we had a leader, it was Lestat. As dawn approached we took great care in going to our hiding places. We shared the common sentiment that we were no longer concealed by the human crowd.
After sunset the following evening, Lestat returned to the flat in the Rue Royale.
Merrick had gone down to receive another letter from a special courier, a letter of which I was in dread, and Lestat appeared in the front parlor of the flat just before her return.
Lestat was windblown and flushed and angry, and he walked about with noisy strides, a bit like an archangel looking for a lost sword.
“Please get yourself in hand,” I said to him adamantly. He glared at me, but then took a chair, and, looking furiously from me to Louis, he waited for Merrick to come into the room.
At last Merrick appeared with the opened envelope and the parchment paper in her hand. I can only describe the expression on her face as one of astonishment, and she looked to me before she glanced at the others, and then she looked to me again.
Patiently, gesturing to Lestat to be still, I watched her take her place on the damask sofa, at Louis’s side. I couldn’t help but notice that he made no attempt to read the letter over her shoulder. He merely waited, but he was as anxious as I.
“It’s so very extraordinary,” she said in a halting manner. “I’ve never known the Elders to take such a stand. I’ve never known anyone in our Order to be so very explicit. I’ve known scholarship, I’ve known observation, I’ve known endless reports of ghosts, witchcraft, vampires, yes, even vampires. But I’ve never seen anything quite like this.”
She opened the single page and with a dazed expression read it aloud:
“We know what you have done to Merrick Mayfair. We advise you now that Merrick Mayfair must return to us. We will accept no explanations, no excuses, no apologies. We do not mean to traffic in words with regard to this matter. Merrick Mayfair must return and we will settle for nothing else.”
Lestat laughed softly. “What do they think you are, chérie,” he said, “that they tell us to give you over to them? Do they think you’re a precious jewel? My, but these mossbacked scholars are misogynist. I’ve never been such a perfect brute myself.”
“What more does it say?” I asked quickly. “You haven’t read it all.”
She seemed to wake from her daze, and then to look down again at the paper.
“We are prepared to abandon our passive posture of centuries with regard to your existence. We are prepared to declare you an enemy which must be exterminated at all costs. We are prepared to use our considerable power and resources to see that you are destroyed.
Comply with our request and we will tolerate your presence in New Orleans and its environs. We will return to our harmless observations. But if Merrick Mayfair does not return at once to the Motherhouse called Oak Haven, we will take steps to make of you a quarry in any part of the world to which you might go.”
Only now did Lestat’s face lose its stamp of anger and contempt. Only now did he become quiet and thoughtful, which I did not interpret altogether as a good sign.
“It’s quite interesting actually,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Quite interesting indeed.”
A long silence gripped Merrick, during which time I think Louis asked some question about the age of the Elders, their identity, hitting upon things of which I knew nothing, and about which I had grave doubts. I think I managed to convey to him that no one within the Order knew who the Elders were. There were times when their very communications had been corrupted, but in the main they ruled the Order. It was authoritarian and always had been since its cloudy origins, of which we knew so little, even those of us who had spent our lives within the Order’s walls.
Finally Merrick spoke.
“Don’t you see what’s happened?” she said. “In all my selfish plotting, I’ve thrown down a gauntlet to the Elders.”
“Not you alone, darling,” I was quick to add.
“No, of course not,” she said, her expression still one of shock, “but only insomuch as I was responsible for the spells. But we’ve gone so far in these last few nights that they can no longer ignore us. Long ago it was Jesse. Then it was David, and now it’s Merrick. Don’t you see? Their long scholarly flirtation with the vampires has led to disaster, and now they’re challenged to do something that—as far as we know—they’ve never done before.”
“Nothing will come of this,” said Lestat. “You mark my words.”
“And what of the other vampires?” said Merrick softly, looking at him as she spoke. “What will your own elders say when they learn of what’s been done here? Novels with fancy covers, vampire films, eerie music—these things don’t rouse a human enemy. In fact, they make a comforting and flexible disguise. But what we’ve done has now roused the Talamasca, and it doesn’t declare war on us alone, it declares war on our species, and that means others, don’t you see?”
Lestat looked both stymied and infuriated. I could all but see the little wheels turning in his brain. There crept into his expression something utterly hostile and mischievous which I had certainly seen in years past.
“Of course, if I go to them,” said Merrick, “if I give myself over to them—.”
“That’s unthinkable,” said Louis. “Even they must know that themselves.”
“That’s the worst thing you could do,” I interjected.
“Put yourself in their hands?” asked Lestat sarcastically, “in this era of a technology that could probably reproduce your cells within your own blood in a laboratory? No. Unthinkable. Good word.”
“I don’t want to be in their hands,” said Merrick. “I don’t want to be surrounded by those who share a life I’ve lost completely. That was never, never my plan.”
“And you won’t be,” said Louis. “You’ll be with us, and we’re leaving here. We should be making preparations, destroying any evidence with which they can back their designs for the rank and file.”
“Will the old ones understand why I didn’t go to them,” she asked, “when they find their peace and solitude invaded by a new type of scholar? Don’t you see what’s involved?”
“You underestimate us all,” I said calmly. “But I think we are spending our last night in this flat; and to all these various objects which have been such a solace, I’m saying my farewell, as should we all.”
We looked to Lestat, each of us, studying his knotted angry face. Finally, he spoke.
“You do realize, don’t you?” he asked me directly, “that I can easily wipe out the very members who made the observations that are threatening us now.”
At once Merrick protested, and so did I. It was all a matter of desperate gestures, and then I gave in to a rapid plea.
“Don’t do this thing, Lestat,” I said. “Let’s leave here. Let’s kill their faith, not them. Like a small retreating army, we’ll burn all evidence which might have become their trophies. I cannot endure the thought of turning against the Talamasca. I cannot. What more can I say?”
Merrick nodded, though she remained quiet.
Finally, Lestat spoke up.
“All right then,” he said with vengeful finality. “I give in to you all because I love you. We’ll go. We’ll leave this house which has been my home for so many years; we’ll leave this city which we all love; we’ll leave all this, and we’ll find someplace where no one can pick us out of the multitudes. We’ll do it, but I tell you, I don’t like it, and for me the members of the Order have lost by these very communications any special protective shield they might have once possessed.”
It was settled.
We went to work, swiftly, silently, making certain that noth-ing remained which contained the potent blood which the Talamasca woul
d seek to examine as soon as it could.
The flat was soon clean of all that might have been claimed as evidence, and then the four of us went over to Merrick’s house and carried out the same thorough cleansing, burning the white silk dress of the terrible séance, and destroying her altars as well.
I had then to visit my erstwhile study at St. Elizabeth’s and burn the contents of my many journals and essays, a task for which I had no taste at all.
It was tiresome, it was defeating, it was demoralizing. But it was done.
And so, on the very next night, we came to leave New Orleans. And well before morning, the three—Louis and Merrick and Lestat—went ahead.
I remained behind in the Rue Royale, at the desk in the back parlor, to write a letter to those whom I had once trusted so very much, those I had once so dearly loved.
In my own hand I wrote it, so that they might recognize that the writing was of special significance to me, if to no one else.
To my beloved Elders, whoever you might truly be,
It was unwise of you to send to us such caustic and combative letters, and I fear that some night you might—some of you—have to pay dearly for what you’ve done.
Please understand, this is no challenge. I am leaving, and by the time you claim this letter by means of your questionable procedures, I will be well beyond your reach.
But know this. Your threats have greatly roused the tender pride of the strongest among us, one who had for some time now regarded you as quite beyond his eager reach.
By your ill-chosen words and threats you have forfeited the formidable sanctuary which enshrined you. You are now as exquisitely vulnerable to those whom you thought to frighten as any other mortal woman or man.
Indeed, you have made another rather grievous error, and I advise you to think on it long and well before plotting any further action in regard to the secrets we both share.
You have made yourselves an interesting adversary to one who loves challenges, and it will require all of my considerable influence to protect you individually and collectively from the avid lust which you have so foolishly aroused.
I had read this over carefully, and was in the act of affixing my signature when I felt Lestat’s cold hand on my shoulder, pressing firmly on my flesh.
He repeated the words “an interesting adversary,” and there came from him a sly laugh.
“Don’t hurt them, please,” I whispered.
“Come on, David,” he said confidently, “it’s time for us to leave here. Come. Prompt me to tell you about my ethereal wanderings, or perhaps give you some other tale.”
I bent over the paper, completing my signature carefully, and it occurred to me that I had no count of the many documents I had written for, and in, the Talamasca, and that once more, to one such document, a document which would go into their files, I had put my name.
“All right, old friend, I’m ready,” I said. “But give me your word.”
We walked down the long corridor to the back of the flat together, his hand heavy but welcome on my shoulder, his clothes and hair smelling of the wind.
“There are tales to be written, David,” he said. “You won’t keep us all from that, will you? Surely we can go on with our confessions and maintain our new hiding place as well.”
“Oh, yes,” I answered. “That we can do. The written word belongs to us, Lestat. Isn’t that enough?”
“I’ll tell you what, old boy,” he said, stopping on the rear balcony and throwing a passing glance over the flat which he had so loved. “Let’s leave it up to the Talamasca, shall we? I’ll become the very saint of patience for you, I promise, unless they raise the stakes. Is that not fair enough?”
“Fair enough,” I answered.
And so I close this account of how Merrick Mayfair came to be one of us. So I close the account of how we left New Orleans and went to lose ourselves in the great world.
And for you, my brothers and sisters in the Talamasca, as well as for a multitude of others, I have penned this tale.
4:30 p.m.
Sunday
July 25, 1999
F O R
Stan Rice
A N D
Christopher Rice
A N D
Nancy Rice Diamond
A Ballantine Book
Published by the Random House Publishing Group
Copyright © 2001 by Anne O’Brien Rice
All Rights Reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Ballantine and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-375-41421-3
This edition published by arrangement with Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.
www.ballantinebooks.com
v3.1
Contents
Master Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Part 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Part 2
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Part 3
Chapter 36
Dedication
THE LISTENER
1
His name was Thorne. In the ancient language of the runes, it had been longer—Thornevald. But when he became a blood drinker, his name had been changed to Thorne. And Thorne he remained now, centuries later, as he lay in his cave in the ice, dreaming.
When he had first come to the frozen land, he had hoped he would sleep eternally. But now and then the thirst for blood awakened him, and using the Cloud Gift, he rose into the air, and went in search of the Snow Hunters.
He fed off them, careful never to take too much blood from any one so that none died on account of him. And when he needed furs and boots he took them as well, and returned to his hiding place.
These Snow Hunters were not his people. They were dark of skin and had slanted eyes, and they spoke a different tongue, but he had known them in the olden times when he had traveled with his uncle into the land to the East for trading. He had not liked trading. He had preferred war. But he’d learnt many things on those adventures.
In his sleep in the North, he dreamed. He could not help it. The Mind Gift let him hear the voices of other blood drinkers.
Unwillingly he saw through their eyes, and beheld the world as they beheld it. Sometimes he didn’t mind. He liked it. Modern things amused him. He listened to far-away electric songs. With the Mind Gift he understood such things as steam engines and railroads; he even understood computers and automobiles. He felt he knew the cities he had left behind though it had been centuries since he’d forsaken them.
An awareness had come over him that he wasn’t going to die. Loneliness in itself could not destroy him. Neglect was insufficient. And so he slept.
Then a strange thing happened. A catastrophe befell the world of the blood drinkers.
A young singer of sagas had come. His name was Lestat, and in his electric songs, Lestat broadcast old secrets, secrets which Thorne had never known.
Then a Queen had risen, an evil and ambitious b
eing. She had claimed to have within her the Sacred Core of all blood drinkers, so that, should she die, all the race would perish with her.
Thorne had been amazed.
He had never heard these myths of his own kind. He did not know that he believed this thing.
But as he slept, as he dreamt, as he watched, this Queen began, with the Fire Gift, to destroy blood drinkers everywhere throughout the world. Thorne heard their cries as they tried to escape; he saw their deaths in so far as others saw such things.
As she roamed the earth, this Queen came close to Thorne but she passed over him. He was secretive and quiet in his cave. Perhaps she didn’t sense his presence. But he had sensed hers and never had he encountered such age or strength except from the blood drinker who had given him the Blood.
And he found himself thinking of that one, the Maker, the red-haired witch with the bleeding eyes.
The catastrophe among his kind grew worse. More were slain; and out of hiding there came blood drinkers as old as the Queen herself, and Thorne saw these beings.
At last there came the red-haired one who had made him. He saw her as others saw her. And at first he could not believe that she still lived; it had been so long since he’d left her in the Far South that he hadn’t dared to hope she was still alive. The eyes and ears of other blood drinkers gave him the infallible proof. And when he looked on her in his dreams, he was overwhelmed with a tender feeling and a rage.
She thrived, this creature who had given him the Blood, and she despised the Evil Queen and she wanted to stop her. Theirs was a hatred for each other which went back thousands of years.
At last there was a coming together of these beings—old ones from the First Brood of blood drinkers, and others whom the blood drinker Lestat loved and whom the Evil Queen did not choose to destroy.
Dimly, as he lay still in the ice, Thorne heard their strange talk, as round a table they sat, like so many powerful Knights, except that in this council, the women were equal to the men.
With the Queen they sought to reason, struggling to persuade her to end her reign of violence, to forsake her evil designs.
