The Complete Vampire Chronicles 12-Book Bundle (The Vampire Chronicles) (289 page)

Reason told me it was a little too early to plot anything. Besides, I have never had a deep interest in revenge. Revenge is the concern of those who are at some point or other beaten. I am not beaten, I told myself. No, not beaten. And victory is far more interesting to contemplate than revenge.

Ah, best to think of little things, things which can be changed. David had to listen to me. He had at least to give me his advice! But what else could he give? How could two mortal men go after that despicable creature. Ahhh … 

And Mojo was hungry. He was looking up at me with his large clever brown eyes. How people in the café stared at him; what a wide berth they gave him, this ominous furry creature with his dark muzzle, tender pink-lined ears, and enormous paws. Really ought to feed Mojo. After all, the old cliché was true. This great hunk of dog flesh was my only friend!

Did Satan have a dog when they hurled him down into hell? Well, the dog would probably have gone with him, that much I knew.

“How do I do it, Mojo?” I asked. “How does a mere mortal catch the Vampire Lestat? Or have the old ones burnt my beautiful body to ashes? Was that the meaning of Marius’s visit, to let me know it was done? Oooooh, God. What does the witch say in that ghastly film? How could you do this to my beautiful wickedness. Aaah, I have a
fever again, Mojo. Things are going to take care of themselves. I’M GOING TO DIE!”

But Lord in heaven, behold the sun crashing down silently on the dirty pavements, look at my shabby and charming New Orleans waking to the beauteous Caribbean light.

“Let’s go, Mojo. Time to break and enter. And then we can be warm and we can rest.”

Stopping by the restaurant opposite the old French Market, I bought a mess of bones and meat for him. Surely it would do. Indeed, the kindly little waitress filled a sack with scraps from last night’s garbage, with the lusty little affirmation that the dog was going to like that a lot! What about me? Didn’t I want some breakfast? Wasn’t I hungry on a beautiful winter morning like this?

“Later, darling.” I placed a large bill in her hand. I was still rich, that was one consolation. Or at least I thought I was. I wouldn’t know for certain until I reached my computer, and tracked the activities of the loathsome swindler for myself.

Mojo consumed his meal in the gutter without a single solitary complaint. That’s a dog for you. Why wasn’t I born a dog?

Now, where the hell was my penthouse apartment! I had to stop and to think, and then to wander two blocks out of my way, and back again before I found it, getting colder by the minute, though the sky was blue and the sun very bright now, for I almost never entered the building from the street.

Getting into the building was very easy. Indeed the door on Dumaine Street was very simple to force and then slam shut. Ah, but that gate, that will be the worst part, I thought, as I dragged my heavy legs up the stairs, one flight after another, Mojo waiting kindly at the landings for me to catch up.

At last I saw the bars of the gate, and the lovely sunlight streaming into the stairwell from the roof garden, and the flutter of the large green elephant ears, which were only a little bruised at the edges from the cold.

But this lock, how would I ever break this lock? I was in the process of estimating what tools I would need—how about a small bomb?—when I realized that I was looking at the door to my apartment some fifty feet away, and that it was not closed.

“Ah, God, the wretch has been here!” I whispered. “Damn him, Mojo, he’s sacked my lair.”

Of course that might be construed as a hopeful sign. The wretch still lived; the others hadn’t done away with him. And I could still catch him! But how. I kicked the gate, sending a riot of pain through my foot and leg.

Then I grabbed hold of it and rattled it mercilessly but it was as secure in its old iron hinges as I had designed it to be! A weak revenant such as Louis couldn’t have broken it, let alone a mortal man. Undoubtedly the fiend had never even touched it but made his entry as I did, out of the skies.

All right, stop this. Obtain some tools and do it quickly, and discover the extent of the damage which the fiend has done.

I turned to go, but just as I did so, Mojo stood at attention and gave his warning growl. Someone was moving inside the apartment. I saw a bit of shadow dance on the foyer wall.

Not the Body Thief, that was impossible, thank God. But who?

In an instant the question was answered. David appeared! My beautiful David, dressed in a dark tweed suit and overcoat and peering at me with his characteristic expression of curiosity and alertness over the length of the garden path. I don’t think I have ever been so glad to see another mortal being in all my long accursed life.

I called his name at once. And then in French declared that it was I, Lestat. Please open the gate.

He did not immediately respond. Indeed, never had he seemed so dignified, self-possessed and so truly the elegant British gentleman as he stood there, staring at me, his narrow heavily lined face registering nothing but mute shock. He stared at the dog. Then he stared at me again. And then once more at the dog.

“David, it’s Lestat, I swear to you!” I cried in English. “This is the body of the mechanic! Remember the photograph! James did it, David. I’m trapped in this body. What can I tell you to make you believe me? David, let me in.”

He remained motionless. Then all of a sudden, he came forward with swift determined steps, his face quite unreadable as he stopped before the gate.

I was near to fainting with happiness. I clung to the bars still, with both hands as if I were in prison, and then I realized I was staring directly into his eyes—that for the first time we were the same height.

“David, you don’t know how glad I am to see you,” I said, lapsing into French again. “How did you ever get in? David, it’s Lestat. It’s
me. Surely you believe me. You recognize my voice. David, God and the Devil in the Paris café! Who else knows but me!”

But it was not my voice to which he responded; he was staring into my eyes, and listening as if to distant sounds. Then quite suddenly his entire manner was altered and I saw the clear signs of recognition in his face.

“Oh, thank heaven,” he said with a small, very polite British sigh.

He reached into his pocket for a small case, quickly removing from it a thin piece of metal which he inserted into the lock. I knew enough of the world to realize this was a burglar’s tool of some sort. He swung the gate back for me, and then opened his arms.

Our embrace was long and warm and silent, and I fought furiously not to give way to tears. Only very seldom in all this time had I ever actually touched this being. And the moment was charged with an emotion which caught me somewhat off guard. The drowsy warmth of my embraces with Gretchen came back to me. I felt safe. And just for an instant, perhaps, I did not feel so utterly alone.

But there was no time now to enjoy this solace.

Reluctantly, I drew back, and thought again how splendid David looked. Indeed, so impressive was he to me that I could almost believe I was as young as the body I now inhabited. I needed him so.

All the little flaws of age which I naturally saw in him through my vampire eyes were invisible. The deep lines of his face seemed but part of his great expressive personality, along with the quiet light in his eyes. He looked entirely vigorous as he stood there in his very proper attire, the little gold watch chain glittering on his tweed waistcoat—so very solid and resourceful and grave.

“You know what the bastard’s done,” I said. “He’s tricked me and abandoned me. And the others have also abandoned me. Louis, Marius. They’ve turned their backs on me. I’m marooned in this body, my friend. Come, I have to see if the monster has robbed my rooms.”

I hurried towards the apartment door, scarce hearing the few words he uttered, to the effect that he thought the place was quite undisturbed.

He was right. The fiend had not rifled the apartment! Everything was exactly as I’d left it, down to my old velvet coat hanging on the open closet door. There was the yellow pad on which I’d made notes before my departure. And the computer. Ah, I had to go into the computer immediately and discover the extent of his thievery. And my
Paris agent, the poor man might still be in danger. I must contact him at once.

But I was distracted by the light pouring through the glass walls, the soft warm splendour of the sun spilling down upon the dark couches and chairs, and on the lush Persian carpet with its pale medallion and wreaths of roses, and even upon the few large modern paintings—furious abstracts all—which I had long ago chosen for these walls. I felt myself shudder at the sight of it, marveling again that electric illumination could never produce this particular sense of well-being which filled me now.

I also noted that there was a blazing fire going in the large white-tiled fireplace—David’s doing, no doubt—and the smell of coffee coming from the nearby kitchen, a room I had scarce entered in the years I had inhabited this place.

At once David stammered an apology. He hadn’t even checked into his hotel, so anxious was he to find me. He’d come here direct from the airport, and only gone out for a few little provisions so that he might spend a comfortable night keeping watch that I might come or think to call.

“Wonderful, very glad that you did,” I said, a little amused by his British politeness. I was so glad to see him, and here he was apologizing for making himself at home.

I tore off the wet overcoat and sat down at the computer.

“This will take only a moment,” I said, keying in the various commands, “and then I’ll tell you about everything. But what made you come? Did you suspect what happened!”

“Of course I did,” he said. “Don’t you know of the vampire murder in New York? Only a monster could have wrecked those offices. Lestat, why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you ask my help?”

“One moment,” I said. Already the little letters and figures were coming up on the screen. My accounts were in order. Had the fiend been into this system, I would have seen preprogrammed signals of invasion throughout. Of course there was no way to know for certain that he hadn’t attacked my accounts in European banks until I went into their files. And damn, I couldn’t remember the code words, and in fact, I was having a difficult time managing the simplest commands.

“He was right,” I muttered. “He warned me my thinking processes wouldn’t be the same.” I switched from the finances program into Wordstar, my means of writing, and immediately typed out a
communication to my Paris agent, sending it through the phone modem, asking him for an immediate status report, and reminding him to take the utmost personal care as to his own safety. Over and out.

I sat back, heaving a deep breath, which immediately brought on a little fit of coughing, and realized that David was staring at me as if the sight were too shocking for him to absorb. Indeed, it was almost comical the way he was looking at me. Then again, he looked at Mojo, who was inspecting the place silently and a little sluggishly, eyes turning to me over and over for some command.

I snapped my fingers for Mojo to come to me and gave him a deep strong hug. David watched all this as if it were the weirdest thing in the world.

“Good Lord, you are really in that body,” he whispered. “Not just hovering inside, but anchored into the cells.”

“You’re telling me,” I said disgustedly. “It’s dreadful, the whole mess. And the others won’t help, David. I’m cast out.” I gritted my teeth in rage. “Cast out!” I went into a seething growl which inadvertently excited Mojo so that he at once licked my face.

“Of course I deserve it,” I said, stroking Mojo. “That’s the simplest thing about dealing with me, apparently. I always deserve the worst! The worst disloyalty, the worst betrayal, the worst abandonment! Lestat the scoundrel. Well, they have left this scoundrel entirely on his own.”

“I’ve been frantic to reach you,” he said, his voice at once controlled and subdued. “Your agent in Paris swore he couldn’t help me. I was going to try that address in Georgetown.” He pointed to the yellow pad on the table. “Thank God you’re here.”

“David, my worst fear is that the others have destroyed James and my body with him. This may be the only body I now possess.”

“No, I don’t think so,” he said with convincing equanimity. “Your little body borrower has left quite a trail. But come, get out of these wet clothes. You’re catching cold.”

“What do you mean, trail?”

“You know we keep track of such crimes. Now, please, the clothes.”

“More crimes after New York?” I asked excitedly. I let him coax me towards the fireplace, immediately glad of the warmth. I pulled off the damp sweater and shirt. Of course there was nothing to fit me in my various closets. And I realized I had forgotten my valise somewhere
on Louis’s property last night. “New York was Wednesday night, was it not?”

“My clothes will fit you,” David said, immediately snatching the thought from my mind. He headed for a mammoth leather suitcase in the corner.

“What’s happened? What makes you think it’s James?”

“Has to be,” he answered, popping open the suitcase and removing several folded garments, and then a tweed suit very like his own, still on its hanger, which he laid over the nearest chair. “Here, change into these. You’re going to catch your death.”

“Oh, David,” I said, continuing to undress. “I’ve almost caught my death repeatedly. In fact, I’ve spent my whole brief mortal life nearly dying. The care of this body is a revolting nuisance; how do living people endure this endless cycle of eating, pissing, sniveling, defecating, and then eating again! When you mix in fever, headache, attacks of coughing, and a runny nose, it becomes a penitential sentence. And prophylactics, good Lord. Removing the ugly little things is worse than having to put them on! Whatever made me think I wanted to do this! The other crimes—when did they take place! When is more important than where.”

He had fallen into staring at me again, too purely shocked to answer. Mojo was giving him the eye now, sizing him up more or less, and offering a friendly lick of his pink tongue to David’s hand. David petted him lovingly, but continued to stare blankly at me.