The Complete Vampire Chronicles 12-Book Bundle (The Vampire Chronicles) (366 page)

Except, in the tiny room where I had slept there stood only the chest. My clothes and the blanket on which they’d lain, covered with the same dirt and pine needles from an ancient forest floor, were all gone.

“Did you take them?”

“No,” he said. “I believe she did. They are the tattered relics of the angelic messenger. The Vatican officials have them, as far as I know.”

I laughed. “And they’ll analyze all that material, the bits of organic matter from the forest floor.”

“The clothes of the Messenger of God, it was already in the papers,” he said. “Lestat, you must come to your senses. You cannot blunder through the mortal world like this. You are a risk to yourself, to others. You are a risk to everything out there. You must contain your power.”

“Risk? After this, what I’ve done, creating a miracle, like this, a new infusion of blood into the very religion that Memnoch loathed. Oh God!”

“Ssssshhhh. Quiet,” he said. “The chest, there. The books are in the chest.”

Ah, so the books had been in this little room, where I had slept. I was consoled, so consoled. I sat there, my legs crossed, rocking back and forth, crying. Oh, this is so weird to cry with
one eye! God, are tears coming out of the left eye? I don’t think so. I think he ripped away the ducts, what do you think?

David stood in the hallway. The light from the distant glass wall made his profile icy and calm.

I reached over and opened the lid of the chest. It was made of wood, a Chinese chest, carved deep with many figures. And there were the twelve books, each wrapped as we had wrapped them so carefully, and all padded and safe and dry. I didn’t have to open them to know.

“I want us to leave now,” David said. “If you begin crying out again, if you begin trying to tell people again.…”

“Oh, I know how tired you are, my friend,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” From riot after riot, he’d torn me and dragged me out of the sight of mortal eyes.

I thought about those policemen again. I hadn’t even been resisting them. I thought about the way they backed off one by one, as if from something so inherently unwholesome that their molecules told them to do it. Back off.

And she spoke of a Messenger from God. She was so certain.

“We have to leave it now,” he said. “It’s done. Others are coming. I don’t want to see the others. Do you? Do you want to answer the questions of Santino or Pandora or Jesse or whoever might come! What more can we do? I want to leave now.”

“You believe I was his fool, don’t you?” I asked, looking up at him.

“Whose fool? God’s or the Devil’s?”

“That’s just it,” I said. “I don’t know. You tell me what you believe.”

“I want to go,” he said, “because if I do not go now, I will join them this morning on the church steps—Mael and whoever else is there. And there are others coming. I know them. I see them.”

“No, you can’t do that! What if every particle of it was a he! What if Memnoch wasn’t the Devil, and God wasn’t God, and the whole thing was some hideous hoax worked on us by monsters
who are no better than we are! You can’t ever think of joining them on the church steps! The earth is what we have! Cling to it! You don’t know. You don’t know about the whirlwind and Hell. You don’t know. Only He knows the rules. Only He is supposed to speak the truth! And Memnoch over and over described Him as if He were Mad, a Moral Idiot.”

He turned slowly, the light playing with the shadows of his face. Softly he asked, “His blood, Lestat, could it truly be inside you?”

“Don’t start believing it!” I said. “Not you! No. Don’t believe. I refuse to play. I refuse to take either side! I brought the Veil back so you and she would believe what I said, that’s all I did, and this, this madness has happened!”

I swooned.

I saw the Light of Heaven for an instant, or it seemed I did. I saw Him standing at the balustrade. I smelled that fierce horrid smell that had arisen so often from the earth, from battlefields, from the floors of Hell.

David knelt beside me, holding me by my arms.

“Look at me, don’t fade out on me now!” he said. “I want us to leave here, we’re to go away. You understand? We’ll go back home. And then I want you to tell me the whole story again, dictate it to me, word for word.”

“For what?”

“In the words we’ll find the truth, in the details and in the plot we’ll discover who did what for whom. Whether God used you, or Memnoch did! Whether Memnoch was lying the whole time! Whether God.…”

“Ah, it makes your head ache, doesn’t it? I don’t want you to write it down. There will only be a version if you write it down, a version, and there are already so many versions, what has she told them of her night visitors who brought her the Veil, her benign demons who brought her the Veil? And they took my clothes! What if there is tissue from my skin on those clothes?”

“Come now, take the books, here, I’ll help you, here, there
are three sacks here but we need only two, you put this bundle in yours, and I’ll take the other.”

I obeyed his orders. We had the books in the two sacks. We could go now.

“Why did you leave them here when you sent all the other things back?”

“She wanted you to have them,” he said. “I told you. She wanted me to see that they were put in your hands. And she’s given you all the rest. All ties are cut for her. This is a movement drawing fundamentalist and fanatic, cosmic Christians and Christians from East and West.”

“I have to try to get near her again.”

“No. Impossible. Come. Here. I have a heavy coat. You must put this on.”

“Are you going to care for me forever?” I asked.

“Perhaps.”

“Why don’t I go to her now in the church and burn up the Veil! I could do it. I could do it with the power of my mind, make the Veil explode.”

“Then why don’t you?”

I shuddered. “I … I.…”

“Go ahead. You don’t even have to go in the church. Your powers go before you. You could burn it up, maybe. It would be interesting if it didn’t burn, wouldn’t it? But suppose it did, suppose it just went black and burnt up like the wood in a grate when you light it with the telekinetic power of your mind. What then?”

I broke into weeping. I couldn’t do such a thing. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t know for sure! I just didn’t. And if I had been the dupe of God, was that God’s will for all of us?

“Lestat!” He glared at me, or rather I should say, he fixed me with his authoritative gaze. “I’m telling you now, listen to what I say. Don’t get that close to them again! Don’t make any more miracles for them. There is nothing more that you can do. Let her tell the tale her way with her angel messenger. It’s passed into history already.”

“I want to talk one more time to the reporters!”

“No!”

“This time I’ll be soft-voiced, I promise, I won’t frighten anyone, I swear I won’t, David.…”

“In time, Lestat, if you still want … in time.…” He bent down and smoothed my hair. “Now come with me. We’re going.”

The orphanage was cold. Its thick brick walls, bare of all insulation, held the cold, and made it colder within than the winter outside. Seems I remembered that from before. Why had she given it to me? Why? She had given over the deed to me, and all his relics. What did it mean? Only that she was gone like a comet across the sky.

Was there a country on earth where the news networks had not carried her face, her voice, her Veil, her story?

But we were home, this was our city, New Orleans, our little land, and there was no snow falling here, only the soft scent of the sweet olive trees, and the tulip magnolias in the old neglected convent garden throwing off their pink petals. Look at that, pink petals on the ground.

So quiet here. No one knew of this place. So now the Beast could have his palace and remember Beauty and ponder forever whether Memnoch was weeping in Hell, or whether both of them—the Sons of God—were laughing in Heaven!

I walked into the chapel.

I had thought to find drapery and heaps and cartons and crates.

Rather, it was a completed sanctuary. Everything was placed properly as it should be, unwrapped, and dusted, and standing there in the gloom. Statues of St. Anthony, St. Lucy with her eyes on a plate, the Infant Jesus of Prague in his Spanish finery, and the icons hanging on the walls, between the windows, look, all neatly hung.

“But who has done this?”

David was gone. Where? He’d be back. It didn’t matter. I had the twelve books. I needed a warm place to sit, perhaps on the altar steps, and I needed light. With this one eye, I needed just a little more than the night’s light leaking in through the tall stained-glass windows.

A figure stood in the vestibule. Scentless. Vampire. My fledgling. Has to be. Young. Louis. Inevitable.

“Did you do all of this?” I asked. “Arrange things here in the church so beautifully?”

“It seemed the right thing to do,” he said. He walked towards me. I saw him clearly, though I had to turn my head to focus the one eye on him, and stop trying to open a left eye which wasn’t there.

Tall, pale, starved a bit. Black hair short. Green eyes very soft. Graceful walk of one who does not like to make noise, or make a fuss, or be seen. Plain black clothes, clothes like the Jews in New York who had gathered outside the cathedral, watching the whole spectacle, and like the Amish who had come by train, plain and simple, like the expression on his face.

“Come home with me,” he said. Such a human voice. So kind. “There’s time to come here and reflect. Wouldn’t you rather be home, in the Quarter, amongst our things?”

If anything in the world could have truly comforted me, he would have been the thing—with just the beguiling tilt of his narrow head or the way that he kept looking at me, protecting me obviously with a confidential calm from what he must have feared for me, and for him, and perhaps for all of us.

My old familiar gentleman friend, my tender enduring pupil, educated as truly by Victorian ways of courtesy as ever by me in the ways of being a monster. What if Memnoch had called upon him? Why didn’t Memnoch do that!

“What have I done?” I asked. “Was it the will of God?”

“I don’t know,” he said. He laid his soft hand on mine. His slow voice
was
a balm to my nerves. “Come home. I’ve listened for hours, to the radio, to the television, to the story of the angel of the night who brought the Veil. The Angel’s tattered
clothes have been given over to the hands of priests and scientists. Dora is laying on hands. The Veil has made cures. People are pouring into New York from all over the world. I’m glad you’re back. I want you here.”

“Did I serve God? Is that possible? A God I still hate?”

“I haven’t heard your tale,” he said. “Will you tell me?” Just that direct, without emotion. “Or is it too much of an agony to say it all again?”

“Let David write it down,” I said. “From memory.” I tapped my temple. “We have such good memories. I think some of the others can remember things that never actually happened.”

I looked around. “Where are we? Oh, my God, I forgot. We’re in the chapel. There’s the angel with the basin in its hands, and that Crucifix, that was there already.”

How stiff and lifeless it looked, how unlike the shining Veil.

“Do they show the Veil on the evening news?”

“Over and over.” He smiled. No mockery. Only love.

“What did you think, Louis, when you saw the Veil?”

“That it was the Christ I once believed in. That it was the Son of God I knew when I was a boy and this was swampland.” His voice was patient. “Come home. Let’s go. There are … things in this place.”

“Are there?”

“Spirits? Ghosts?” He didn’t seem afraid. “They’re small, but I feel them, and you know, Lestat, I don’t have your powers.” Again came his smile. “So you must know. Don’t you feel them?”

I shut my eyes. Or, rather, my eye. I heard a strange sound like many, many children walking in ranks. “I think they’re singing the times tables.”

“And what are those?” Louis asked. He squeezed my arm, bending close. “Lestat, what are the times tables?”

“Oh, you know, the way they used to teach them multiplication in those days, they must have sung it in the classrooms, two times two makes four, two times three makes six, two
times four makes eight … isn’t that how it goes … They’re singing it.”

I stopped. Someone was there, in the vestibule, right outside the chapel, between the doors to the hall and the doors to the chapel, in the very shadows where I had hidden from Dora.

It was one of our kind. It had to be. And it was old, very old. I could feel the power. Someone was there who was so ancient that only Memnoch and God Incarnate would have understood, or.… Louis, maybe, Louis, if he believed his memories, his brief glimpses, his brief shattering experiences with the very ancient, perhaps.…

Still, he wasn’t afraid. He was watching me, on guard, but basically fearless.

“Come on, I’m not standing in dread of it!” I said. And I walked towards it. I had the two sacks of books slung over my right shoulder, the fabric tight in my left hand. That allowed my right hand to be free. And my right eye. I still had that. Who was this visitor?

“That’s David there,” said Louis in a simple placating voice, as if to say, See? You have nothing to worry about.

“No, next to him. Look, look more deeply into the blackness. See, the figure of a woman, so white, so hard, she might as well be a statue in this place?

“Maharet!” I said.

“I am here, Lestat,” she said.

I laughed.

“And wasn’t that the answer of Isaiah when the Lord called? ‘I am here, Lord’?”

“Yes,” she said. Her voice was barely audible, but clear and cleaned by time, all the thickness of the flesh long gone from it.

I drew closer, moving out of the chapel proper and into the little vestibule. David stood beside her, like her anointed Second in Command, as if he would have done her will in an instant, and she the eldest, well, almost the eldest, the Eve of Us, the Mother of Us All, or the only Mother who remained, and now as I looked at her, I remembered the awful truth again,
about her eyes, that when she was human, they had blinded her, and the eyes through which she looked now were always borrowed, human.