I had to force myself to pull back. I held a mouthful of blood as long as I could until it seemed to be absorbed without my swallowing, and I let those last ripples of warmth pass through my fingers and toes.
"And you?" I asked. He was slumped there against the tree, obviously dizzy. I went to take him in my arms.
"Get away from me," he growled. And started off walking, fast away from me. "Stick your filthy droit du seigneur right through your greedy heart."
But I caught up with him and he didn't resist when I put my arm around him and we walked on together like that.
"Now, that's an idea," I said, kissing him quickly though he stared forward and continued to ignore me. "If I was 'King of the Vampires,' I'd make it the right of every maker to drink from his fledgling anytime he chose. Maybe it would be good to be king. Didn't Mel Brooks say, 'It's good to be the king'?"
And then in his droll cultured British voice he said with uncharacteristic brashness, "Kindly shut up."
Seems I heard other voices in Paris; seems I sensed things. Seems I might have paid a little more attention, and not so cavalierly lumped all intrusions on my mind with the paparazzi vampires.
There was a point right after that when we were walking near the old catacombs, where the bones of the old eighteenth-century cemetery, Les Innocents, had been gathered, that I heard something, something distinct and plaintive, the voice of an old immortal singing, laughing, murmuring, "Ah, young one, you are riding the Devil's Road in such glory." I knew that voice, knew that timbre, that slow lilting tone. "And with your venerable battle-ax beneath your splendid raiment." But I closed my ears. I wanted to be with David just then, and only David. We made our way back to the Tuileries. I didn't want complications, or new discoveries. I wasn't ready yet to be open as I'd once been to the mysteries surrounding me. And so I ignored that strange rumbling song. I never even knew if David could hear it.
And finally I told David I had to go back now into exile, I had no choice. I assured him that I was not in danger of trying to "end it," just not ready at all to come together with others or to think about the horrific possibilities that had alarmed Jesse. He was all mollified by then and didn't want me to vanish on him.
Yes, I have a safe refuge, I insisted. A good refuge. Be assured. Yes, I will use the iPhone magic to communicate.
I had turned to leave him when he took hold of me. His teeth went into the artery before I could think what was happening, and his arms went tight around my chest.
His pull was so strong that I swooned. Seems I turned and put my arms around him, catching his head in my left hand, and struggled with him, but the visions had opened up, and I didn't know one realm from the other for a moment, and the manicured paths and trees of the Tuileries had become the Savage Garden of all the world. I'd fallen into a divine surrender, with his heart pounding against my heart. There was no restraint in him, no caution such as I'd shown in feeding on him.
I came to myself on the ground, my back to the trunk of a young chestnut tree, and he was gone. And the mild balmy night had turned to a gray winter dawn.
Home I went--to my "undisclosed location," only minutes away on the currents of the wind, to ponder what I'd learned from my friends because I couldn't do anything else.
The next night on rising, I caught the scent of David on my jacket, even on my hands.
I fought off the desire for him and forced myself to relearn how to use my powerful computer, and to obtain yet another e-mail address through another service, and then I sent a long missive to Maharet. I asked if I might visit her, wherever she was, and if not, would she communicate with me in this way? I let her know that I was aware of how things were changing for us, and how Benji's pleas for leadership on the part of the older ones echoed the feelings of many, but I myself did not know how to respond. I asked for her thoughts.
Her communication was brief. I must not try to find her. Under no circumstances approach her.
Of course I asked why.
She never replied.
And six months later, her numbers were disconnected. E-mail no longer valid.
And in time I forgot again how to use the computer. The little iPhone rang a number of times. It was David. We'd talk, it would be brief, and then I'd forget to recharge the little thing. He did tell me he'd found Marius in Brazil and he was heading there to talk with him. He told me that Daniel Malloy, Marius's companion, was in very good spirits and that Daniel was taking him to Marius. But I didn't hear from him again.
Truth was, I lost the little iPhone. And went back to calling my attorneys in Paris and New York now as I had always done, with an old-fashioned landline phone.
A year passed.
I was lodged now in my father's chateau in the mountains of the Auvergne--in my special hiding place in "plain sight," so to speak, and where no one thought to look for me--the renovations on it now almost complete.
And the Voice came again.
"Have you no desire to punish those fledglings in the capital?" he asked. "Those vermin who chased you out of Paris last time you were roaming there?"
"Ah, Voice, where have you been?" I asked. I was at my desk drawing up plans for the new rooms that would soon be added to this old chateau. "Have you been well?"
"Why did you not destroy them?" he asked. "Why do you not go there and destroy them now?"
"Not my style, Voice," I said. "Too often in the past I've taken life, both human and preternatural. I have no interest now in doing such things."
"They drove you out of your city!"
"No, they didn't," I said. "Goodbye, Voice. I have things to do."
"I was afraid you would take this attitude," he said. "I should have known."
"Where are you, Voice? Who are you? Why do we always meet like this in audial encounters at odd moments? Aren't we ever going to meet again face-to-face?"
Ah, what a blunder. No sooner were the words out of my mouth than I looked to the great eighteenth-century mirror over the mantelpiece, and there he was of course in the guise of my reflection, down to the old bag-sleeve shirt I wore, and my loose hair, only he wasn't reflecting me otherwise, but rather peered at me as if he were trapped in a glass box. Lestat's face twisted with anger, almost petulant, childish.
I studied the image in the mirror for a moment and then I used my considerable powers to force it to disappear. That felt extremely good. Subtle and good. I could do that now. I knew. And though I could hear a low rumbling in my head, I was able to sink it down, down below the lovely music, the music of Sybelle playing the piano that came from my computer, Sybelle broadcasting from New York.
The simple fact was, I wasn't interested in him anymore. I didn't even bother to thank him for advising me to come home here, home to these stone rooms in which I'd been born, home to the quiet of this mountaintop. Why didn't I do that? It was he who'd put the idea in my head, he who'd guided me back to the old fields and forests, to this sublime rural quiet, this breathtaking and familiar solitude where I felt so safe, so content.
I didn't care enough to thank him.
Oh, it would have been nice to identify him before banishing him forever. But we don't always get what we want.
Part II
THE OPEN HIGHWAY
THROUGH THE
SAVAGE GARDEN
5
The Story of Rose
THE FIRST TIME Rose saw Uncle Lestan, he carried her up into the stars. That's how she remembered it and nothing ever weakened the conviction that he'd scooped her up from the terrace by the seawall and carried her straight through the clouds and towards the Heavens. Rose remembered always the chill of the wind and those stars above her, millions of stars fixed in the black sky like myriad burning lights. She remembered Uncle Lestan's arms around her, and the way he whispered to her not to be afraid, the way he brought his coat close to protect her.
They were on another island when Rose learned her mother had died in the earthquake. Everyone had died. The entire little island had gone down into the sea, b
ut this island would not, Uncle Lestan said. She was safe with him here. He'd find her people in America. He gave her a beautiful doll with long blond hair and a pink dress and bare feet. It was made of vinyl and would never break.
This was in a beautiful house with rounded windows and big balconies over the sea, and two very gentle ladies took care of Rose though she couldn't understand a word they said. Uncle Lestan explained they were Greek ladies, but he wanted Rose to remember: What was her last name? What was her mother's name?
Rose said her mother's name was Morningstar Fisher. She had no father. Her grandparents didn't like her because they didn't know who her father was and they wouldn't give money anymore to Morningstar. Rose remembered seeing her grandmother and grandfather in Athens, Texas. "We don't know who her father is," the old man had said. Rose's mom had given up, and carried Rose out of the little brick house and across a big field, and they'd hitched a ride to the airport in Dallas and flown away with Mom's new friend, JRock, who had money from his band to live in Greece for at least a year.
"They don't want me," Rose said. "Can't I stay with you?"
Uncle Lestan was so kind to Rose. He had darkly tanned skin and the most beautiful blue eyes Rose had ever seen. When he smiled, Rose loved him.
Uncle Lestan said, "I'll be with you, Rose, as long as you need me."
She woke in the night crying for her mother. He held her in his arms. He felt so strong, so powerful. They stood on the edge of the patio, looking up at the cloudy sky. He told her that she was sweet and good and beautiful, and he wanted her to be happy.
"When you grow up, Rose, you can be anything you want," Uncle Lestan said. "Remember that. This is a magnificent world. And we are blessed with the gift of life in it." He sang to her in a low voice. He told her this was "Serenade" from an operetta called The Student Prince. The song made her cry, it was so beautiful.
"Remember always," he said, "that nothing is as precious to us as the magnificent gift of life. Let the moon and the stars always remind you of this--that though we are tiny creatures in this universe, we are filled with life."
Rose felt she knew what magnificent was as she looked out over the shining waters below, and then up once more at those stars twinkling beyond the mist. Uncle Lestan's left fingers touched the flowering vines that covered the railing, and he tore off a small handful of petals for Rose, and said that she was as soft and precious as these petals, a "precious living thing."
When Rose thought back on it, she remembered seeing him several times before the night the island sank into the sea. He'd been roaming around on that island. He was a tall man with beautiful blond hair, just the most beautiful hair. It was long and full and he wore it back, tied at the back of his neck with a little black string. He always wore a velvet coat, just like Rose's best velvet dress which had been in her suitcase. He had walked around the island looking at things. He wore shiny black boots, very smooth without buckles. Not cowboy boots. And whenever he happened to pass Rose, he smiled at her and he winked.
Rose hated Athens, Texas. But he took her there, though she could not clearly remember the trip. Just waking up in the Dallas airport with a nice lady to take care of her, and a porter collecting their bags. Uncle Lestan showed up the next night.
The old woman and the old man didn't want her. They sat in a lawyer's office on "the town square" at night, and the old man said that they didn't have to make this appointment after dark, that he didn't like to drive at night when he didn't have to, that this was "disruptive" and he and his wife could have explained all this on the telephone. The old woman just shook her head as the old man explained: "We didn't have anything to do with Morningstar, you see, what with the musicians and the drugs. We don't know this child."
The lawyers talked on and on, but Uncle Lestan became angry. "Look, I want to adopt her," he said. "Make it happen!"
That was the first time Rose had ever heard someone say, "Make it happen." And it was the first and last time she ever saw Uncle Lestan angry. He'd dropped his angry voice to a whisper but he'd made everybody in the room jump, especially Rose, and when he saw this, he took Rose in his arms and carried her outside the building, for a walk around the little town.
"I'll always take care of you, Rose," he said. "You're my responsibility now and I'm glad of it. I want you to have everything, Rose, and I'll see to it that you do. I don't know what's wrong with those people that they don't love you. I love you."
Rose went to live in Florida with Aunt Julie and Aunt Marge in a beautiful house blocks from the sea. The sand on the beach was as white and fine as sugar. Rose had her own room with flowered wallpaper and a canopy bed, and dolls and books that Uncle Lestan sent to her. Uncle Lestan wrote her letters in the most beautiful handwriting and black ink on pink paper.
Aunt Marge drove Rose to a private school called the Country Lane Academy. The school was a wonderland of games to play and projects to do, and computers on which to write words, and bright-faced eager teachers. There were only fifty students in the whole school and Rose was reading Dr. Seuss in no time. On Tuesdays, the whole school spoke Spanish and only Spanish. And they went on trips to museums and zoos and Rose loved all this.
At home Aunt Marge and Aunt Julie helped Rose with her homework, and they baked cakes and cookies, and when the weather was cool, they cooked barbecue outdoors and drank lemonade mixed with iced tea with lots of sugar. Rose loved swimming in the gulf. For her sixth birthday, Aunt Marge and Aunt Julie gave a party and invited the whole school to come, even the older kids, and it was the best picnic ever.
By the time Rose was ten, she understood that Aunt Julie and Aunt Marge were paid to take care of her. Uncle Lestan was her legal guardian. But she never doubted that her aunts loved her, and she loved them. They were retired schoolteachers, Aunt Julie and Aunt Marge, and they talked all the time about how good Uncle Lestan was to all of them. And they were all happy together when Uncle Lestan came to visit.
It was always late in the evening when he arrived, and he brought presents for everyone--books, clothes, laptop computers, and wonderful gadgets. Sometimes he came in a big black car. Other times he just appeared, and Rose laughed to herself when she saw how mussed his hair was, because she knew he'd been flying, flying like that first time, when the little island had sunk into the sea and he had carried her up into the Heavens.
But Rose never told anyone about that, and as she got older she came to think that it just couldn't have happened.
She'd gone from the Country Lane Academy to the Willmont School some fifty miles farther away, and there she was really getting into the most fascinating subjects. She loved literature and history best of all, and after that music, and art appreciation and French. But she did all right in science and math because she felt she had to. Everybody would be so disappointed if she did not do well. But what she really wanted was to read all the time, and her happiest times at school were in the library.
When Uncle Lestan called, she told him all about it, and they talked of books he loved and that she loved, and he reminded her: "Rose, when you grow up, remember, you can be anything you want. You can be a writer, a poet, a singer, a dancer, a teacher, anything."
When Rose turned thirteen, she and her aunts went on a tour of Europe. Uncle Lestan wasn't with them but he had paid for everything. This was the greatest time of Rose's life. They spent three whole months traveling together, and went to all the great cities of the world in what Uncle Lestan called "the Grand Tour." And they visited Russia too, spending five days in Saint Petersburg and five days in Moscow.
For Rose it was all about the most beautiful old buildings, palaces, castles, cathedrals, ancient towns, and the museums filled with the paintings she'd read about and saw now with her own eyes. Above all else, Rose loved Rome, Florence, and Venice. But everywhere she turned, Rose was enchanted by new discoveries.
Uncle Lestan surprised her when they were in Amsterdam. He had a secret key to the Rijksmuseum because he was a patron and he took Rose
through it in the evening hours so they could be alone and linger as long as they wanted before the great Rembrandt paintings.
He arranged after-hours showings like that for them in many cities. But Amsterdam had a place in Rose's heart, because there, Uncle Lestan had been with her.
When Rose was fifteen, she got into trouble. She took the family car without permission. She didn't have a driver's license yet, and it was her plan to get the car back before either Aunt Julie or Aunt Marge woke up. She'd only wanted to drive for a few hours with her new friends, Betty and Charlotte, and none of them thought anything bad would happen. But they got into a fender bender on the highway, and Rose ended up in juvenile court.
Aunt Julie and Aunt Marge sent word to Uncle Lestan, but he was traveling and no one could find him. Rose was glad. She was so shamed, so miserable, so afraid that he would be disappointed in her.
The judge who heard the case shocked everyone. He let off Betty and Charlotte because they had not stolen the car, but he sentenced Rose to Amazing Grace Home for Girls for the period of one year due to her criminal behavior. He gave a dire warning to Rose that if she did not behave well at Amazing Grace, he would extend her stay till she was eighteen and possibly even longer. He said Rose had been in danger of becoming an addict with her antisocial behavior and possibly even a street person.
Aunt Marge and Aunt Julie were frantic, begging the judge not to do this. Again and again, they argued, as did the lawyers, that they were not pressing charges against Rose for stealing the car, that this had been a prank and nothing more, that the child's uncle must be contacted.
It did no good. Rose was handcuffed and taken as a prisoner to the Amazing Grace Home for Girls somewhere in southern Florida.
All the way there, she sat quiet, numb with fear, while the men and women in the car talked of a "good Christian environment" where Rose would learn the Bible, and learn how to be "a good girl" and come back to her aunts "an obedient Christian child."
The "home" exceeded Rose's worst fears.
She was met by the minister Dr. Hays and his wife, Mrs. Hays, both of whom were well dressed and smiling and gracious.