Hey, everyone. First off, thanks to all those who commented on my last spec, which includes Bryan, Addie, Jess, Melonai et al. Sorry if I left anyone out!

This little spec is set just before the concert in 'The Vampire Lestat', and details cute ickle Louis's reaction to the news that the blond was alive and well. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: All characters owned by Anne Rice, Random House and whoever else has a big bank balance. Don't mean to infringe upon them, yadda yada.

Spoilers: Interview and The Vampire Lestat.


Weren't You Adored?
_____________

"The funny thing is, I sorta miss all those people I told you about. Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everyone."

-- JD Salinger, 'The Catcher in the Rye'.

"Now he's in another place and I can't reach him
And I feel as though I'm guilty of a crime;
I took all he had to give and gave him nothing
And all it would have taken was some time."

- Lutricia McNeal, 'Ain't That Just the Way?'

_______________


San Francisco, 1985

"Move out of the way, will you?!"
The sharp voice cut through his consciousness with all the alarming hurt of a knife. Apologising profusely, he stepped aside, off the pavement for a moment, allowing the woman to barge past with her pram.

As he rejoined the crowd and immersed himself in the hustle and bustle of shoppers on a warm Saturday night in San Francisco, he fought to calm his nerves. Ridiculous that he could so easily be shaken by something so trivial, so everyday!

*Call yourself a vampire?*

But he knew the real reason for his uneasiness, because the threats had started up again. They had started nearly a decade ago, in the wake of his revelations, and then simply faded away as he had wrapped himself up in a cloak of anonymity. And now, all of a sudden, they were here again. "Show yourself, you coward!", "When we find you, we'll make you suffer!", "You don't have Armand's protection now, you bastard!" Scrawled across every wall in every place where they thought he might visit; the Vampire Bars were covered in threatening graffiti.

He jumped at the slightest sound, started at the lightest touch. They hunted for him ruthlessly, and he was tiring of running. With a sigh, he thought back to that night when he had poured forward his macarbe tale to the young journalist, Daniel Molloy. His name had been mud ever since the destruction of the Theatre of the Vampires. No, tell a lie, it was before that. It was after that cowardly attempt upon *his* life. No, he wouldn't think about that. It hurt too much. No point in dragging up ghosts from the past.

So he had decided to follow *his* example and go the whole hog; if they were going to kill him, then let it be for a bigger crime than the slayiing of the spiteful Santiago and his cohorts. He had wanted to warn the world of the horrors of vampirism, of the pain he faced- to show the real horrors of immortality. Yes, even as a means of exorcising the ghosts that haunted him. The pain gripped his heart, made him shudder. *I miss you.*

He told himself it was directed at Claudia, but he knew who he really meant it for.

And so the story had come out, and passed as fiction. Critically analysed in literature essays. Scholars read into it and declared that behind his rejection of Lestat, was an inherent longing for him. it had shocked him,just how right they were.

And then the threats. He had been surprised at the heat and the anger of the reactions. Surely it was no worse than his earlier deeds? But *They* were furious. They meant to kill him. He did not know what had happened to Molloy, but he did not want to think upon it. The poor mortal probably didn't stand a chance, and it was all his fault. He had dragged the eager young reporter into it.

*Everything I touch turns to so much shit.* Armand had told him of *his* history; of how *he* had challenged an entire coven, changed the tradition of so many centuries. They had all been impressed by *him.* Eleni had carried unrequited love for that blond demon. Nothing had been able to destroy him. Nothing. Except a guilt-ridden Victorian gentleman and a child.

Feeling that familiar bitter lump rising in his throat, he wound his scarf further about his neck and walked into the nearest bar. A woman turned and nudged her friend, to see the beautiful raven-haired gentleman standing in the doorway. And if they had only known what he truly was, what he had done and what he was capable of, they would shrink away in terror and loathing.

He felt his soul swoon slightly; he sighed, low, feeling certain that he was falling all over again. Falling into the same dark abyss that had gripped him for so many years after Claudia's death, and the only thing that had prevented him from sinking into insanity and despair had been Armand.

And now Armand had left him. He roamed New Orleans now, killing others of their kind. They had left New Orleans to Armand. The former coven leader had told him that if he needed protection, money, anything, to call. Armand saw that he never wanted for anything.

*Except companionship.*

He pushed past the crowd and into the small wash-room at the side of the bar. He was losing that grip again... his sense of palpability. He staggered towards the mirrors and stood gazing into one of them, struggling to keep from crying out in horror.

He caught a glimpse of what Daniel must have seen-- the pure white skin, the 'brilliant', flaming green eyes set in a smooth white skull. Beautiful and unworldly.

His eyes *were* beautiful; jade snares of light that shone with an unearthly luminesence. But look, *look closer* -- and see them for what they were. Wolf's eyes. *Vampire eyes.* Catching so much light it was uncanny, so deep and soulful and yet glinting like knives sharpened for the victim who would be weak enough to drag down.

He turned and ran from the room. He pelted out of the bar and into the night, his breath coming in great gasping sobs as he ran until his head was clear and the stinging pain of the wind hitting him at those speeds forced him to slow to a gradual walk. He folded his arms and clasped his elbows. Ye gods, had he always felt as lost as this?

Automatically, he turned and entered the cafe he often frequented. The warm, rich aroma of coffee hit him, and he was lulled by the sense of warmth and security such familiar surroundings produced. He seated himself down in a large comfy chair, allowing his glossly black hair to spill over his face in an attempt to hide the sheer whiteness of his skin.

The waitress took his order for a cup of mocha, and he sank back into the chair, contemplating. A group of teenagers came in, talking in loud voices, until the waitress asked them to please shut up or leave. He ignored them as the memories came flooding back.

Why did it hurt to mention that name? Why did he say *him?* Why was something *his?* Say it, Louis. Say it.

"Lestat." he murmured softly.

Lestat. Lestat de Lioncourt, wanderer, rogue. Lestat lost to the ages. It had been a lie that he had told to Daniel, of seeing Lestat only that year, of his interview. He wanted to *believe*, wanted the world to *believe,* that such a creature still existed. The charismatic vampire he had both loved and loathed, did not deserve death. Somehow it did not seem fitting that he just... fade away.

Not that Louis hadn't looked. He had roamed the streets of New Orleans briefly, searched the city for him. He had searched the old house on Rue Royale, pulled off some of its boards and searched for signs of him.
Had he-- had he been here before he left?

*Left.* Come on, Louis. Stop hiding the truth with pitiful words when so many more might fit the gap.

Disappeared?

Went into the flames?

...Died?

His heart ached; that he had lost his charismatic, devil-may-care friend, that he might never, ever know what had happened to him. That Lestat had given him eternal life only to be met with betrayl, and all Louis had now was his grief. And, he acknowledged with reluctance, he mourned Lestat's demise, perhaps even more so than Claudia's death.

*How does someone like that just burn out?*

His miserable thoughts were interrupted as the waitress placed the cup of mocha down onto the table. "There we go, Sir. can I get you anything else?"

He shook his head, "no, that will be all."

She nodded and walked away, He reached forward and took the mug of steaming liquid, inhaling its heady scent, feeling the affirming warmth of it in his hands. He gazed around at the surroundings, as if seeing them for only the first time; at the low lights, the stack of that day's newspapers. He was the only customer, save for an old couple and the teenagers.

The young ones made him smile, with their free, easy speech, their fierce sense of friendship. There were three of them, dressed in scruffy clothing and talking loudly again. He did not begin to listen until the conversation moved onto music, as the girl, Gemma, told the two males, Karl an Stuart, of the group she was currently enamoured with.

"You know that band? The Goth-type thing that used to do those free gigs? 'Satan's Night Out'?" Gemma said, "they've got a new album out. It's so cool-- you should listen to it."

Stuart shrugged. "I haven't heard of them for a while. How come you have?"

"Well, now they're calling themselves 'The Vampire Lestat'. After a guy from 'Dracula' or something." said Karl.

Gemma snorted. "That's 'Interview With the Vampire', dork."

"Whatever. They've got some full-on blond guy as lead singer, now. doing the whole Jim Morrison act. Everyone reckons they're gonna be big."
As they continued to talk, Louis's heart leapt. The Vampire Lestat? A blond singer? No, it was too much to hope for. A singer?! No vampire would do such a thing! He smiled and pretended to take another sip of his drink. Nobody except Lestat, that is.

And surely, surely that would explain the current resurgence in threats? The tense air that had pervaded San Francisco for the past few weeks? He was burning with questions. He watched as Gemma picked up a paper from the table and waved it around, showing them an article on the band. *Just leave,* he thought, *put the damn thing down and let me find out the truth.*

They stayed for only another few minutes at best, before moving onto someplace else, but to Louis it seemed like hours. He had waited for years for a clue such as this, and even a few more minutes of this waiting was agony. As soon as they had left the cafe, he reached forward and snatched the paper from the table in a manner unusual to his gentleman self. His heart skipped as he scanned the page, *searching*. Could it be? After all this time...

And then there was the picture. A golden-haired, violet-eyed demon, up on stage, punching the air in angry defiance, caught up in his lyrics and his very charisma as he sang for the crowds. The caption beneath it read;

VAMPIRE LESTAT TOUR SELLS OUT IN RECORD TIME: SACRE BLEU!

"Always have to go one step further, don't we, Lestat?" he murmured, but the grin spread across his face despite himself. Trust Lestat to not only write a book in reply to 'Interview With the Vampire', due out the very next day, but to actually get up there on stage, in front of all those people!

His heart was bursting with excitement, elation, *love.* The feelings he had for this creature were unbearable.

*I have to find him. I have to talk with him. Be with him.*

The night was drawing to a close; the sky lightening already, only so much that a vampire could sense it, but it vexed louis all the same. He folded the paper and walked over to the counter, paying his bill before plunging back into the night once more.

The thick, sensual desire for Lestat clouded his senses, his all. Feelings so long-forgotten, thundered through his veins, demanding that he give himself over completely. This was it, then.

Tomorrow he would begin searching for him. He would not give up this time. *Love you, love you, love you.*

A burly man made to push him out of the way on the crowded pavement, and then he saw the flaming emerald eyes, the vampiric smile, and moved aside. Something so lost, that Louis had not had when he had risen only a few hours before, had been restored with the long-awaited news on his maker.

And the night was no longer a source of melancholy wonder, but a veritable carnival of life, and somewhere a blond demon beckoned him.

Louis knew that he must answer the call; *let the flesh instruct the mind*. How could he deny himself this love ever again? *Oh, Lestat, what are you that you fire me so? I'll come. I'll come.*

But he was going to have to think up one hell of an explanation.


The End.