other times he didn’t. He made the pair of them to run his errands. They found out everything on their own. They were so cruel. They were cruel for pleasure. They would have killed the children in the other room. They would have left them here.”
“You want to kiss them good-bye?” I asked.
“I loathe them,” she responded. She sounded so sleepy. “But why are they so lovely? Their hair so fine? It wasn’t their fault. Their souls might have been beautiful.”
“You think so? You
really
think so? You didn’t taste their free will when you drank from them? You didn’t taste an immense sweep of modern knowledge when you drank from them? And what was the summit of their existence, may I ask, other than bashing innocent souls; was it dancing and listening to fine music?”
Quinn came up behind her, keen for my words, and wrapped his arms around her. She raised her eyebrows and nodded.
“Watch what I do,” I said. “Remember it.”
I let loose the Fire with all my consuming power. Let it be merciful, Saint Lestat. I saw the outline of their black bones in the flames for a second, the heat blasting my face, and it was in that second, and that second only, that the bones moved.
The fire flashed to the ceiling, scorched it, and then shrank to nothingness. A tracery of the bones vanished. All that remained was black grease in the spacious tub.
Mona gasped. Her cheeks were beating with the blood she’d drunk. She stepped forward and peered down at the black bubbling grease. Quinn was speechless and plainly horrified.
“And so you can do that to me when I want to go, can’t you?” Mona said, her voice raw.
I was shocked.
“No, dolly dear,” I said. “I couldn’t. Not if my life depended on it.”
I let loose the Fire again. I sent it into the oily residue until there was nothing left.
And so the tall graceful long-haired dancers would dance no more.
I felt slightly dizzy. I shrank back into myself. I felt sick. I moved away from my own power. I collected all my force into my human-shaped self.
In the parlor, in the gentle manner of a human, I examined the children. There were four of them, and they had been beaten as well as bled. They were lying in a heap. All were unconscious, but I detected no blows to the head, no rushing of blood within the skulls, no permanent damage. Boys in shorts and skivy shirts and tennis shoes. No familial resemblance. How their parents must have been weeping. All could survive. I was certain of it.
The sins of my past rose up to taunt me. All my own excesses mocked me.
I made the requisite call to see to their care. I told the astonished clerk what I had discovered.
In the hallway, Mona was crying. Quinn held her.
“Come on, we’re headed for my flat now. So it wasn’t perfect, Quinn, you were right. But it’s over.”
“Lestat,” he said, his eyes glittering as we pulled the weeping Mona into the elevator. “I thought it was nothing short of magnificent.”
9
W E HAD TO DRAG M ONA through the French Quarter streets. She fell in love with the colors made by spilt gasoline in mud puddles, with exotic furniture in the store windows of Hurwitz Mintz, with antique shop displays of threadbare gilded chairs and lacquered square grand pianos and idling trucks belching white smoke from their upturned exhaust pipes and laughing mortals passing us on the narrow sidewalks carrying adorable babies, who twisted their little necks to peer at us—
—and an old black man playing a tenor saxophone for money, which we gave him in abundance, and a hat-wearing hot dog vender from which Mona could not buy a hot dog now save to stare at it and sniff it and heave it into a trash bin, which gave her staggering pause—
—and of course we attracted attention everywhere, in very unvampirelike fashion, Quinn being taller than anyone we passed and perhaps four times as handsome, with his porcelain face, and all the rest you know, and every now and then Mona with hair flying broke
“You want to kiss them good-bye?” I asked.
“I loathe them,” she responded. She sounded so sleepy. “But why are they so lovely? Their hair so fine? It wasn’t their fault. Their souls might have been beautiful.”
“You think so? You
really
think so? You didn’t taste their free will when you drank from them? You didn’t taste an immense sweep of modern knowledge when you drank from them? And what was the summit of their existence, may I ask, other than bashing innocent souls; was it dancing and listening to fine music?”
Quinn came up behind her, keen for my words, and wrapped his arms around her. She raised her eyebrows and nodded.
“Watch what I do,” I said. “Remember it.”
I let loose the Fire with all my consuming power. Let it be merciful, Saint Lestat. I saw the outline of their black bones in the flames for a second, the heat blasting my face, and it was in that second, and that second only, that the bones moved.
The fire flashed to the ceiling, scorched it, and then shrank to nothingness. A tracery of the bones vanished. All that remained was black grease in the spacious tub.
Mona gasped. Her cheeks were beating with the blood she’d drunk. She stepped forward and peered down at the black bubbling grease. Quinn was speechless and plainly horrified.
“And so you can do that to me when I want to go, can’t you?” Mona said, her voice raw.
I was shocked.
“No, dolly dear,” I said. “I couldn’t. Not if my life depended on it.”
I let loose the Fire again. I sent it into the oily residue until there was nothing left.
And so the tall graceful long-haired dancers would dance no more.
I felt slightly dizzy. I shrank back into myself. I felt sick. I moved away from my own power. I collected all my force into my human-shaped self.
In the parlor, in the gentle manner of a human, I examined the children. There were four of them, and they had been beaten as well as bled. They were lying in a heap. All were unconscious, but I detected no blows to the head, no rushing of blood within the skulls, no permanent damage. Boys in shorts and skivy shirts and tennis shoes. No familial resemblance. How their parents must have been weeping. All could survive. I was certain of it.
The sins of my past rose up to taunt me. All my own excesses mocked me.
I made the requisite call to see to their care. I told the astonished clerk what I had discovered.
In the hallway, Mona was crying. Quinn held her.
“Come on, we’re headed for my flat now. So it wasn’t perfect, Quinn, you were right. But it’s over.”
“Lestat,” he said, his eyes glittering as we pulled the weeping Mona into the elevator. “I thought it was nothing short of magnificent.”
9
W E HAD TO DRAG M ONA through the French Quarter streets. She fell in love with the colors made by spilt gasoline in mud puddles, with exotic furniture in the store windows of Hurwitz Mintz, with antique shop displays of threadbare gilded chairs and lacquered square grand pianos and idling trucks belching white smoke from their upturned exhaust pipes and laughing mortals passing us on the narrow sidewalks carrying adorable babies, who twisted their little necks to peer at us—
—and an old black man playing a tenor saxophone for money, which we gave him in abundance, and a hat-wearing hot dog vender from which Mona could not buy a hot dog now save to stare at it and sniff it and heave it into a trash bin, which gave her staggering pause—
—and of course we attracted attention everywhere, in very unvampirelike fashion, Quinn being taller than anyone we passed and perhaps four times as handsome, with his porcelain face, and all the rest you know, and every now and then Mona with hair flying broke
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