"Yes, of course."
"But don't you see," said Teskhamen, "even when Amel gained a purpose and started to incite the Burnings, and even when he incited Rhoshamandes to kill Maharet, you still assumed he was a spirit who had never lived on the earth before in any bodily form, a spirit evolving towards some sort of purposeful activity."
"Do you really not understand what's involved here?" asked Gremt. "Lestat, Amel has lived before. He is not a spirit evolving, he is a spirit with an identity, a personality, nourished in flesh and blood that can be restored to him."
"Amel was the leader in that city," said Arion. "Rhoshamandes saw evidence of this, and that he controlled a technology which is beyond our present dreams."
"I see," I said. And I was beginning to see. "If Amel could do what he did when he did not know who he was, think what he might do if he remembered his entire history."
"That's it, exactly," said Fareed. "And Amel is in you and in all of us and we are inextricably dependent upon him."
"Gremt, what do you know of this ancient city?" I asked.
Gremt was quiet for a long moment, and then he spoke. "I have no knowledge of it," he answered. "But as I told you, there was a time in the airy Heavens in which I lived when Amel was not there. Then there was the coming of Amel and wars in Heaven, so to speak, with his tempestuous challenges to other spirits and his wild courtship of the red-haired human witches Mekare and Maharet."
"Red hair," said Armand, "and red hair is what I saw in the blood of Garekyn Brovotkin. A red-haired male, a male with pale skin, and red hair and green eyes."
"Was it that simple," I mused, "that he warmed to the witches for their red hair? And not their power?"
"It was both!" said Teskhamen. "The Talamasca has studied for centuries the link between red hair and psychic power. We have files and files on witches with red hair from our earliest days."
The room went silent. It seemed they were all watching me, but I couldn't help but believe they were searching for some outward sign of him, and there never was any outward sign. There was only the pressure on the back of my neck, the pressure that I could feel and something else like a chill passing through me.
"Lestat, listen to me," said Marius. "There is no stopping Amel from finding out anything he wants to know from these creatures. Let it be through us and not through Rhoshamandes."
A terrible foreboding gripped me. It had nothing to do with executing Rhosh. It was all-powerful, this foreboding. " 'Out, out, brief candle,' " I whispered.
I heard my mother laugh. But no one else laughed.
"So," she said, laughing still, "these otherworldly scientists have come for Amel, have they? And was it a body they were making in their laboratories at Collingsworth Pharmaceuticals? A body for Amel? Tell him, Fareed, about the crates. Was there a body in one of those crates, prepared for Amel, should he want to escape the vampires once and for all?"
No one answered.
I bowed my head. I stared at the glossy surface of the mahogany table. "Amel, why don't you speak?" I asked aloud. "You're listening. You are hearing everything. Why don't you speak? Are these your friends from a former time and do you know their language?"
I heard his answer loud and clear and I was certain the others heard it too. If Louis and my mother could not hear it from me, they heard it from all the others who had heard it in my mind.
I would never do harm to you. You love me. You loved me when no one else did.
"That's true," I said. "I gave you my body willingly. But who are these people? Are they your people?"
I don't know. I don't know who they are. And I don't know what I am, but they know what I am, don't they? Let them come.
Silence once more.
"Well, then," I said. "Go on the radio and give them a number by which they can reach us now."
Armand rose at once and went off, presumably to find Benji in his studio.
"There is one thing more that must be done immediately," said Marius.
"And what's that?" I asked.
Allesandra began to weep again. But Marius ignored her.
"Rhoshamandes cannot be allowed to live," said Marius. "We all know this and we knew it last year after he slew Maharet. You must proscribe him now! And let those who wish destroy him."
"Become a virtual Sulla is what you mean! Proscribe! Is that what I'm to be in the time I have left, a dictator who proscribes! I won't. The voice of Amel misled Rhoshamandes! The voice of Amel drove him to kill Maharet. And I will not go back on my word to him. Listen, we can get these creatures to come to us. It's simple. I don't care how many human elves or apprentices Rhosh has in this world, he doesn't control the radio phone line."
"Gregory, Seth, Teskhamen, and I can do it," Marius said. "We can overpower him and destroy him."
"No," I said. I sat back. I shook my head. "No! It's wrong. Rhoshamandes is thousands of years old. He's seen things, he knows things....You don't do it with my blessing, and if you do it, you don't want a prince in me, you want a figurehead. And frankly, I think that's what you've always wanted. And you would be the ruler here, Marius, not me. You do this and you become the Prince. You begin your reign when he dies."
Spasm in my neck. Spasm in my temples. My right hand cramped suddenly. Amel was trying to make it jump. I looked down as if I were in my thoughts but I wasn't. I was trying to defeat his move to control my hand. And when I looked up again, I saw the eyes of all at the table were fixed on me. But only Gregory, Fareed, Seth, and Marius seemed aware of what was going on. Seth was staring at my hand. Add Gremt to that. Gremt was staring at my hand as well.
"Rhoshamandes's people have already searched Garekyn Brovotkin's house in London," said Teskhamen. "They frightened off his staff. They are no doubt tracking any and all banking connections they can find for this woman Kapetria."
Enough. I looked at Arion.
"I'm going to go on the air and invite them here," I said. I rose. "But before I do, I must talk to Arion here. It's about a personal matter. And then I need to go down to the village and make sure everything is done to protect the village and the Chateau, that the sprinkling systems are functioning in case Rhoshamandes does attack."
"That's all done, taken care of," said Marius. He too was on his feet. "But think what he could do if he sought to burn us out."
Thorne spoke up for the first time. "If Rhoshamandes attacks, we have to be able to attack back," he said. I knew how thoroughly he hated Rhoshamandes for killing Maharet.
There was a murmur of assent from those at the table.
"Of course," I said. "If he attacks, if he attempts to burn the Chateau, or the village, yes, of course, but he likely knows full well this will bring down the wrath of everyone on him. Yes, if he dares do any of this, burn him. Burn him with everything you've got. But he won't be so stupid."
"He can attack and withdraw very fast," said Gregory. "All of us, we must be on alert from the time you go on the air until morning." They were rising to their feet, pushing back their chairs. "We must make a plan for guarding the grounds."
A long miserable sigh came from Sevraine. She'd risen to her feet. "I'll stand guard with you," she said.
This was what they wanted, obviously, and they were right and there was no stopping them anyway. I hoped and prayed Rhoshamandes would stay away, but then if he were foolish enough to attack, well, he would get what he deserved.
I looked to Arion again. He was already moving towards me. And we went out of the Council Chamber together.
14
Rhoshamandes
HE HAD NEVER been in such a rage, not ever in his entire existence. Not even the night Benedict had left him did he know a rage such as this. His beloved Benedicta had just been found drifting off the coast of Northern Ireland with one life raft missing, and his poor feeble mortal caretakers had been in tears for having been duped by the supposed "guests" right after daybreak. Who had rescued that miserable Derek? How had the rescuer found him!
And what was t
he meaning of the strange description of the pair on the part of the old people, that they looked like twins except for the hair of one being filled with rampant streaks of gold? Otherwise they'd been identical!
"It's inconceivable, what you're thinking," said Roland.
They stood together in the huge drawing room of the Tudor-style house on Redington Road in London that belonged to the non-human Garekyn Brovotkin. It was silent and empty around them, just as it had been when they arrived.
"What do you mean 'inconceivable'?" said Rhoshamandes. He was growing weary of Roland, dim-witted Roland who'd kept the secret of the otherworldly Derek for a decade. "If I can conceive of it, it is conceivable, my friend. The arm grew into a duplicate being!"
"But if the creature could multiply in that way, surely he would have done it a long time ago."
"Not if he hadn't known how to do it," said Rhoshamandes. "Did you think he was a genius of his kind? He was a child, a pawn, a foot soldier at his best. He would have cracked easily if I hadn't had so much interference."
"You have to tell the Court," said Roland. "You have to tell them to turn off the radio broadcast. You have to go to them now."
"The Hell I do," said Rhoshamandes. He was humiliated, angry. The words of his frightened old caretaker echoed in his ears. "We thought they were guests. We provided them with food, wine...."
When he thought of the sight of Benedict's old room, in chaos with clothing and money and documents strewn all over the floor, he knew a rage he couldn't contain any longer.
"The creature is not coming back to this house," said Roland. "Whatever these things are, they're too smart to do that."
When Rhosh didn't answer him, Roland pressed again:
"Tell the Court you want to come in," he said. "I'll go with you. They won't dare to harm you at a time like this. They'll need you, want your cooperation and assistance."
For a brief second, only a second, it seemed possible--a future in which Rhosh would be welcomed, in which Benedict would be there, pleading perhaps for his acceptance, and then he would confer with the Prince, and he would see Sevraine again, Sevraine who had refused to receive him in her own compound, and he would be with Gregory, Gregory who'd been brought into this realm of darkness six thousand years ago. But it vanished, this brief flash of possibility, as if it were the flare from the guttering of a dying candle.
Before he'd even decided, the heat had gone out of him, blasting the heavy draperies that flanked the windows of this room, causing them to explode in flame.
Roland was startled, Roland who would do well to stop talking altogether, Roland turning around and around as all the draperies of this great room went up in flames, as the dark oak paneling began to blister and smoke.
Oh, it was a most convenient power, and in some ways the most delicious of powers, though in truth, Rhosh had discovered it only very late in his long journey through time, and seldom if ever used it as he was using it now, reserving it for the most mundane things--the lighting of fires on hearths, the lighting of tapers in chandeliers. But it felt wondrous all right, the invisible muscle tightening and releasing behind his forehead and the sudden spectacle of smoke roaring towards the ceiling from the synthetic fabrics all round him.
With an intake of breath, he blew out the double doors, and walked over the broken glass into the stillness of the night, ignoring the electronic wail of a fire alarm. Roland was right beside him like a faithful dog, and how he detested him suddenly. But remember, this is your only ally in all the world! All the world! Allesandra has deserted you. And Arion, that duplicitous and worthless soul, had gone with her as well, straight to the Prince.
The telepathic voices of the vampiric world were laughing at him, laughing at Rhoshamandes as his fledglings deserted him. Only Roland remained, Roland who had welcomed Rhosh into the house, Roland who had given him the gift of Derek, the non-human with the thick, delicious blood.
Rhosh turned and sent the fire blast against the upstairs windows, one after another from left to right, blowing the shattered glass in all directions, incinerating the rooms that lay within. And now the air was filled with the sound of sirens. The lowering clouds were the color of blood.
Oh, if only Rhosh had known of this power centuries ago. He would have destroyed that Satanic coven under Les Innocents, destroyed Armand, and taken back the fledglings the Children of Satan had stolen from him. But he hadn't known. No, it was the great Lestat in his books who had become the first real schoolteacher of the Undead, and Marius their professor. How he loathed them all.
He turned his back on the house, seeing his own long shadow thrown out across the wet grass in front of him, and the shadow of Roland like a hovering angel beside him.
"Let's go back to Northern Ireland," said Roland. "Let's keep searching, searching minds until someone throws up the image of the pair of them."
"They're gone from there by now," Rhoshamandes said. "It's been too long since that sniveling little boy-thing called the radio station and told them where he was."
"But they have no identification, and they can't travel in this world without it."
Oh, ye of little faith and little knowledge!
They moved fast through the dark and with all the speed at their command until they found a quiet street far away from the inferno of Garekyn's house, and the fire engines gathering around it.
Roland was talking again. Roland almost never stopped talking. Roland was saying something about the broadcast, and Rhosh was thinking how good it had felt to burn that house, how good it had felt to melt to cinders anything that belonged to the comrade of that despicable weak little Derek, who had so reminded him of Benedict at times, an eternal boy, an immortal boy, a miserable combination of a man's rage and a child's helplessness.
Yes, put that little earbud in your ear and listen to the program. What do I care about the program? What do I care about anything?
It seemed a great void had opened beneath him the night Benedict had left; it seemed he had seen to the depths of that void, and he'd confronted the most awful truth of his existence, that without Benedict, nothing really meant anything to him, that it had been Benedict, poor sweet Benedict, who kept him alive, not human blood and the power of Amel forever changing his cells from human to immortal--just Benedict, Benedict's need and Benedict's love, and all the other passions of Rhoshamandes had gone up in flames, just as surely as if Benedict had used the Fire Gift as he left Rhoshamandes's life forever.
He thought of the Prince. He saw his smiling face; he saw his brilliant, flashing eyes; he heard the timbre of his voice. Had Rhoshamandes ever had such passion for living as the Prince had, the Prince who had already died and risen again in his short pampered vampiric life, the Prince who fed off the love around him as surely as he fed off blood, the Prince who declared love for that demon thing Amel that had brought Rhoshamandes to this ruin!--the Prince who was untouchable as long as Amel remained inside of him.
He could have turned the Fire Gift on the whole world! He could have burned these houses all around him, these trees. He could have blasted the very clouds above and brought down a storm of rain on fires that nothing could quench. He could have burned the city of London! The growing sense of his power vaguely thrilled him, warming his hard cold heart as if it might truly feel again.
Roland came striding towards him.
"The Prince is broadcasting now," said Roland. "The Prince is inviting them to call in. The Prince says he will invite them all to come to the Chateau. The Prince will arrange everything."
Roland held out the little cell phone for him to listen. How Rhosh was tempted to grind the little phone into sand, sand twinkling with tiny particles of glass. Or to turn the Fire Gift, so new, so deliciously powerful, on this one, Roland, to see just how long it took for one so old and so powerful to burn.
Something in Roland changed. His eyes fixed on those of Rhosh as if Rhosh's thoughts had leapt out of his mind and pinched at Roland's heart though Rhosh had never inten
ded such a thing.
Rhosh smiled. He reached out and laid his hand on Roland's shoulder.
" 'Get thee behind me, Satan,' " said Rhosh. "Follow or go away." And turning, Rhosh went up fast towards the broken clouds and the faint stars above them.
15
Lestat
THE LITTLE CHURCH was dark and empty. Only ten years ago, my beloved architect had rebuilt it from the ground up, according to what historical records he could find, and my own remembrances. And it looked very like the old church of my times, when it had seemed vast to me as a child, and the Masses said on the distant altar had held the only connection with the Divine ever offered me.
I sat in the first pew, gazing at that altar, at the polished silver tabernacle and the crucifix above it, and beyond the great oval portrait of Saint Louis of France, in all his royal splendor riding off to fight the Crusades on his white charger.
My beloved architect and chief of staff had just left me, after assuring me that all firefighting systems in the village and in the castle on the hill were as they should be. And yes, the inn was prepared for the guests who would arrive sometime after sunrise, and yes, they'd be brought up to the castle right before nightfall.
Only Arion remained with me.
I stared at the altar and Arion looked at me, Arion who had his own sorrow to impart, his own story of those under the spell of the Voice who'd burnt his villa to the ground, and left his orchards and gardens in a blackened ruin.
"I saw her die," he had said. He had told the whole tale to me and now the chapel no longer echoed with the sound of his soft voice.
"I am certain it was Mona. I saw her red hair. I saw her die but it seemed she went in an instant, that she didn't suffer. And as for Quinn, I don't know if he was there, but if he was not there, then where is Quinn and why did he never come back? For three nights I waited in those miserable ruins, burnt and in agony, waiting for him. I never heard from him again. If he were alive, surely, he would have come back, or he would have gone to you. Or he would have gone to the Talamasca."
"She's dead," I said quietly. " 'Would she had died hereafter...when there might have been time to mourn for her.' " My voice was no fair reflection of what I really felt, this pain for which there is no remedy, not even the passage of time. This ache that will never go away. This grief for all the mistakes I'd made and all those I'd lost.