Blackwood Farm by Anne Rice

ghost have a choice? Did a ghost pillage its trunks in the attic?
    Aunt Queen nodded and smiled. “My boy, my beautiful Little Boy,” she said. Then she looked to Lestat again. His demeanor, his kindliness towards her had not changed one jot.
    â€œYou know, Lestat, I can’t travel anymore,” she said quite seriously, her words saddening me. “And sometimes I have the horrid thought that my life is finished. I must realize that I’m eighty-five. I can’t wear my beloved high heels any longer, at least not out of this room.”
    She looked down at her feet, which we could still plainly see, at the vicious sequined shoes of which she was so proud.
    â€œIt’s even an undertaking to go into New Orleans to the jewelers who know I’m a collector,” she pressed on. “Though I have out back at all times the biggest stretch limousine imaginable, certainly the biggest limousine in the parish, and gentlemen to drive me and accompany me and Jasmine, darling Jasmine of course. But where are you these days, Quinn? It seems if I do wake at a civil hour and make some appointment you can’t be found.”
    I was in a haze. It was a night for shame and more shame. I felt as cut off from her as I was near to her, and I thought of Stirling again, of the taste of his blood and how close I had come to swallowing his soul, and I wondered again if Lestat had worked some magic on both of us—Aunt Queen and me—to make us feel so totally without guile.
    But I liked it. I trusted Lestat, and a sudden mad thought came to me, that if he was going to hurt me, he would never have gone so far in listening to Aunt Queen.
    Aunt Queen went on with a lovely animation, her voice more pleasant though the words were still sad.
    â€œAnd so I sit here with my little talismans,” she said, “and I watch my old movies, hoping that Quinn will come, but understanding if he doesn’t.” She gestured to the large television to our left. “I try not to think bitterly about my weaknesses. Mine has been a rich, full life. And my cameos make me happy. The pure obsession with them makes me happy. It always has, really. I’ve collected cameos since that long-ago day. Can you see what I mean?”
    â€œYes,” said Lestat, “I understand you perfectly. I’m glad that I met you. I’m glad to be received in your house.”
    â€œThat’s a quaint way to put it,” she said, obviously charmed by him, and her smile brightened and so did her deep-set eyes. “But you are most graciously welcome here.”
    â€œThank you, Madam,” Lestat replied.
    â€œAunt Queen, my darling,” she pressed.
    â€œAunt Queen, I love you,” he responded warmly.
    â€œYou go now, both of you,” she said. “Quinn, put the chairs back because you’re big and strong, and Jasmine will have to drag them over the carpet, and you are free, both of you, my young ones, and I am so put out that I have ended this spirited conversation on a sad note.”
    â€œOn a grand note,” said Lestat, rising, as I took both the chairs easily and returned them to the writing table. “Don’t think I haven’t been honored by your confidences,” he went on. “I’ve found you a grand lady, if you’ll forgive me, an entrancing lady indeed.”
    She broke into a delighted riff of laughter, and as I came around in front of the table again and saw her shoes glittering there as if her feet were immortal and could carry her anywhere, I suddenly detached from all decorum and went down on my knees and bent my lips to kiss her shoes.
    This I had done often with her; in fact, I had caressed her shoes and kissed them to tease her, and liked the feel of her arch in them, and I kissed that too, the thin nylon-covered skin, often and now, but for me to do it in front of Lestat was outrageously amusing to her. And on and on she laughed in a lovely soft high laugh