Prince Lestat
Page 93
Louis was greeting two blood drinkers who had just arrived, and Gregory saw with relief that these were Fareed and Seth. Louis had taken their heavy coats, coats for the wind and cold altitudes, and was passing them on now to a quiet, obedient mortal servant who slunk away as if he were invisible.
How handsome Louis looked, with his ivory-colored skin and deep green eyes, this somewhat humble and self-effacing being who had given birth to the books of the Coven of the Articulate. Lestat might be the hero of the Vampire Chronicles, but this one, Louis, was the tragic heart. Yet he seemed at long last to have achieved a kind of peace with the ghastly realities of his existence and the existence of all those around him who outranked him in power but not necessarily in insight or wisdom.
Fareed and Seth were robust and vital as ever, mussed, and even flushed from the journey, but obviously glad to be under this roof.
Armand came forward with the deliberate dignity of the receiving master of the house and embraced Fareed and then Seth in the French manner with a kiss on both cheeks. Were they distracted by that angelic face? Probably.
“Welcome to our house,” Armand said. “We are so glad you’ve come.”
“Unfortunately the plane’s been delayed,” said Fareed. He was referring to the plane carrying Rose and Viktor. “I am very unhappy. It won’t land before sunrise.”
“We have people who can meet the plane,” said Armand, “trusted people. They will take care of Rose and Viktor. Now come in and rest awhile.”
“Ah, but we have such people too,” Fareed said quickly, but not disagreeably. “And please understand, I don’t want them under this roof. We’ll keep them in our apartments in Midtown for a while.”
“This is a secret location?” asked Armand. “We have deep cellars here, inaccessible to mortals and most immortals.”
“The boy has a horror of basements and enclosed spaces,” said Fareed. “I’ve promised he won’t be locked in a crypt. He’ll feel much safer in our Midtown rooms.”
“And the girl. How much does she know?”
“Everything really,” said Fareed. “There was no point in tormenting her with lies.”
Armand nodded.
“We’ll bring them here,” said Seth. “We will allow them to meet everyone.”
Fareed was obviously shocked. He looked helplessly and a little angrily at Seth.
“If they are to go their own way after this, better they remember us for what we were.”
Armand nodded. “We want to make all of you comfortable in any way that we can.”
They passed into the parlor. Sybelle’s greeting was a quick nod, but Antoine came up with the violin and bow in his left hand to offer his right. Every new encounter with his own kind was treasured by Antoine.
Gregory watched as Marius came forward to embrace the two doctors. Ah, so powerful, this commanding Roman who had kept the Mother and Father safe and secret for two thousand years. If Marius experienced the slightest fear of his elders gathering here he showed not the slightest sign.
His beloved Chrysanthe, in her white-and-silver gown, who had been sitting with Marius—in deep conversation with him as far as Gregory could divine—also came forward and gave her tender, most gracious greeting to the newcomers.
Far off in rooms throughout the three townhouses others were coming to awareness of the latest arrival—Daniel and Arjun and Pandora who’d been talking together somewhere. And Thorne, redheaded Thorne, who had only arrived the night before, and had been in fast conversation with David and Jesse.
Jesse was in no state to be with the entire company. Rather she was someone in deep anxiety, and she had related in a trembling voice to Gregory all that Lestat had told her about the images he had caught from Maharet about the Guatemalan volcano, Pacaya. “But my aunt would never doom the entire tribe to extinction no matter how great her pain,” she’d averred. Then she’d given way to tears. Thorne was a friend to her, an old friend, as was David, and they remained closeted away.
“I can show you to your rooms now, if you like,” said Louis to Fareed and Seth. “Rooms where you might be alone and rest.” He still spoke with a faint French accent, and looked relaxed yet formal in his black wool suit with a flash of green silk at the neck, a shade of green that exactly matched the emerald ring on his left hand.
“In time,” said Fareed gratefully with a sigh. “Let us stay here with you, if we might. I heard the music when we were approaching.”
“And you shall hear it again,” said Sybelle, and with a nod she began again that same vigorous and dark waltz, “The Carousel Waltz.” Tall, lanky Antoine had taken his place beside her again, his long black hair loose and unkempt yet not unattractive, certainly not unattractive for a fiddler, and he began to accompany Sybelle, obviously waiting for her to initiate the variations.
Flavius and Davis appeared in the doorway. At once the doctor, Fareed, greeted Flavius and began asking as to the leg, the miracle leg, and they were lost now in conversation. But Seth had taken one of the many small gold music chairs against the wall and was staring at Sybelle and Antoine as they played together. He seemed oblivious to everyone else. Davis too had been distracted and drawn by the music.
Chrysanthe suddenly asked Marius if he cared to dance, and he, quite surprised, immediately accepted.
This startled Gregory. Indeed it shocked him.
“If you don’t know how to waltz,” Chrysanthe was saying, in her naïve and innocent fashion, “I’ll teach you.”
But Marius did know how, he confessed with a playful smile, and suddenly they were dancing in wide circles across the hardwood floor in the vast empty room, two stately and charming figures—Chrysanthe with her shimmering bronze hair threaded with pearls and spilling down her back in waves, and Marius staring right into her eyes as he guided her effortlessly in time with the music. He had cut his pale-blond hair short for this evening, and wore the simplest of male attire, a dark dinner jacket and trousers with a white turtleneck sweater.
He is the most impressive immortal here, Gregory thought, and my Chrysanthe is as beautiful as any, as beautiful as Pandora who is just now coming into the room. I don’t like it, their dancing. I don’t like it at all.
When had he ever seen blood drinkers dancing? He and Chrysanthe went out into human society frequently and always had, and they had danced, yes, on many a polished dance floor, passing for mortal, but this was wholly different. This was a gathering of immortals, and the dancing of immortals was different.
How handsome Louis looked, with his ivory-colored skin and deep green eyes, this somewhat humble and self-effacing being who had given birth to the books of the Coven of the Articulate. Lestat might be the hero of the Vampire Chronicles, but this one, Louis, was the tragic heart. Yet he seemed at long last to have achieved a kind of peace with the ghastly realities of his existence and the existence of all those around him who outranked him in power but not necessarily in insight or wisdom.
Fareed and Seth were robust and vital as ever, mussed, and even flushed from the journey, but obviously glad to be under this roof.
Armand came forward with the deliberate dignity of the receiving master of the house and embraced Fareed and then Seth in the French manner with a kiss on both cheeks. Were they distracted by that angelic face? Probably.
“Welcome to our house,” Armand said. “We are so glad you’ve come.”
“Unfortunately the plane’s been delayed,” said Fareed. He was referring to the plane carrying Rose and Viktor. “I am very unhappy. It won’t land before sunrise.”
“We have people who can meet the plane,” said Armand, “trusted people. They will take care of Rose and Viktor. Now come in and rest awhile.”
“Ah, but we have such people too,” Fareed said quickly, but not disagreeably. “And please understand, I don’t want them under this roof. We’ll keep them in our apartments in Midtown for a while.”
“This is a secret location?” asked Armand. “We have deep cellars here, inaccessible to mortals and most immortals.”
“The boy has a horror of basements and enclosed spaces,” said Fareed. “I’ve promised he won’t be locked in a crypt. He’ll feel much safer in our Midtown rooms.”
“And the girl. How much does she know?”
“Everything really,” said Fareed. “There was no point in tormenting her with lies.”
Armand nodded.
“We’ll bring them here,” said Seth. “We will allow them to meet everyone.”
Fareed was obviously shocked. He looked helplessly and a little angrily at Seth.
“If they are to go their own way after this, better they remember us for what we were.”
Armand nodded. “We want to make all of you comfortable in any way that we can.”
They passed into the parlor. Sybelle’s greeting was a quick nod, but Antoine came up with the violin and bow in his left hand to offer his right. Every new encounter with his own kind was treasured by Antoine.
Gregory watched as Marius came forward to embrace the two doctors. Ah, so powerful, this commanding Roman who had kept the Mother and Father safe and secret for two thousand years. If Marius experienced the slightest fear of his elders gathering here he showed not the slightest sign.
His beloved Chrysanthe, in her white-and-silver gown, who had been sitting with Marius—in deep conversation with him as far as Gregory could divine—also came forward and gave her tender, most gracious greeting to the newcomers.
Far off in rooms throughout the three townhouses others were coming to awareness of the latest arrival—Daniel and Arjun and Pandora who’d been talking together somewhere. And Thorne, redheaded Thorne, who had only arrived the night before, and had been in fast conversation with David and Jesse.
Jesse was in no state to be with the entire company. Rather she was someone in deep anxiety, and she had related in a trembling voice to Gregory all that Lestat had told her about the images he had caught from Maharet about the Guatemalan volcano, Pacaya. “But my aunt would never doom the entire tribe to extinction no matter how great her pain,” she’d averred. Then she’d given way to tears. Thorne was a friend to her, an old friend, as was David, and they remained closeted away.
“I can show you to your rooms now, if you like,” said Louis to Fareed and Seth. “Rooms where you might be alone and rest.” He still spoke with a faint French accent, and looked relaxed yet formal in his black wool suit with a flash of green silk at the neck, a shade of green that exactly matched the emerald ring on his left hand.
“In time,” said Fareed gratefully with a sigh. “Let us stay here with you, if we might. I heard the music when we were approaching.”
“And you shall hear it again,” said Sybelle, and with a nod she began again that same vigorous and dark waltz, “The Carousel Waltz.” Tall, lanky Antoine had taken his place beside her again, his long black hair loose and unkempt yet not unattractive, certainly not unattractive for a fiddler, and he began to accompany Sybelle, obviously waiting for her to initiate the variations.
Flavius and Davis appeared in the doorway. At once the doctor, Fareed, greeted Flavius and began asking as to the leg, the miracle leg, and they were lost now in conversation. But Seth had taken one of the many small gold music chairs against the wall and was staring at Sybelle and Antoine as they played together. He seemed oblivious to everyone else. Davis too had been distracted and drawn by the music.
Chrysanthe suddenly asked Marius if he cared to dance, and he, quite surprised, immediately accepted.
This startled Gregory. Indeed it shocked him.
“If you don’t know how to waltz,” Chrysanthe was saying, in her naïve and innocent fashion, “I’ll teach you.”
But Marius did know how, he confessed with a playful smile, and suddenly they were dancing in wide circles across the hardwood floor in the vast empty room, two stately and charming figures—Chrysanthe with her shimmering bronze hair threaded with pearls and spilling down her back in waves, and Marius staring right into her eyes as he guided her effortlessly in time with the music. He had cut his pale-blond hair short for this evening, and wore the simplest of male attire, a dark dinner jacket and trousers with a white turtleneck sweater.
He is the most impressive immortal here, Gregory thought, and my Chrysanthe is as beautiful as any, as beautiful as Pandora who is just now coming into the room. I don’t like it, their dancing. I don’t like it at all.
When had he ever seen blood drinkers dancing? He and Chrysanthe went out into human society frequently and always had, and they had danced, yes, on many a polished dance floor, passing for mortal, but this was wholly different. This was a gathering of immortals, and the dancing of immortals was different.
