This is a work of non-profit speculative fiction. No infringement on the copyrights of Anne Rice or her publishers is intended. The original characters are copyright to yours truly and shouldn't be used elsewhere without permission.

This work is not beta read or spell checked. All typos are the product of a discrepancy between my brain and my fingers. ;)

Spoilers: for Tale of the Body Thief

Night in Los Angeles.

Heat still rose in sweltering waves from the asphalt, making images shimmer, the air becoming a palpable thing that pressed in on the massed throngs of humanity. It rose from the shiny hoods of the expensive cars, from every breath of the crowds that jostled beneath the neons and bright lights. Such crowds- the tanned girls, sensual and luxuriant in their scraps of the latest fashions; bronzed youths with flashing white teeth and long, bleached blonde manes. It was for them, more then any other reason, that he came here.

The bar he sat in was small and crowded. Smoke hung heavy in the air, a hazy cloud of acrid gray that could not hide the smell of sweat and beer and blood. The bass of the sound system pounded through the walls and floor, forcing the pulses of the frail mortals to echo it. He felt it in the table top beneath his fingers and in the bones of his chest and ears. Impossible to hear over the noise.

Lestat slouched lower on the worn wood of the bench, placing his feet on the bench across from him. The socially required bottle of beer rested, untouched, near his right hand. Beads of perspiration slipped down the glass to pool at the base, staining the table top a darker color. He let his eyes look out over the bar, coming to rest on a far table. On the boy, where he sat joking with his friends, drinking and smoking. Meet his eyes for a moment as he looks up. The boy smiles, showing perfect teeth, then tosses his soft brown hair, looking away as though he hadn't noticed. But he had, oh yes...Look at me, little one. Feel my eyes on you, devouring that luscious young body with every glance.

Lestat had followed him here after seeing him on the street. For the last twenty minutes they had played this little game in the bar, Lestat watching, the boy pretending he wasn't watching Lestat watching. He would let his gaze slide away from Lestat's but he would throw out his bronzed chest, sweep back those curls, pose and preen. He knew he was being watched but he merely showed off the goods and waited for someone else to make the first move. It was beginning to bore Lestat and the smells of so many mortals, the sound of their blood pulsing through their veins, was starting to turn into that delicious agony that stoked the hunger. He could have pushed it away, forced it down, but why bother? Especially when such a tempting morsel was sitting so close, almost begging to be taken.

He had just about decided to move, invite the boy over, perhaps, when one of the bar helpers appeared at his side. Wraith thin and tanned, in baby doll dress and white gold tangled ringlets of hair, she took a glass of red wine from her tray and put it in front of him with a quick smile from deep red stained lips.

Lestat, surprised, reached out and carefully took hold of her wrist before she could bustle away in the crowd. "I didn't order this," he protested.

The girl grinned. "Somebody else ordered it for ya," she told him, jerking her shin back towards the bar. "Black haired stud at the bar. He's been watchin' ya for the last half hour." She slipped her hand out of Lestat's loose grasp and ducked away, weaving between people, burdened tray held over her head.

Stunned, Lestat regarded the wine glass dubiously. Then, looking up, he surveyed the bar. Yes, there, poised on one of the stools, dark curls pulled back into a clasp. And the arrogant creature was looking at him, a smile curving his lips. Why, the wretched mortal youth actually had the nerve to wink at him, the smile broadening to show a glimpse of white teeth!

Lestat glared. The nerve of this creature was astounding! How dare he make this kind of gesture to HIM, to Lestat? As though he, Lestat, were no better then the boy he had been watching earlier, to be bought with a drink and a few exchanged bills. Then the sheer rediculousness of the situation caught him and he began to laugh. Raising a hand, he beckoned to the young man.

The boy, for surely he couldn't be more then nineteen and no telling why they had let him in the bar at all, pushed his own drink away and rose. And as he threaded his way across the small dance floor that separated the bar from the tables a strangeness hit Lestat. The boy moved with a grace which was... almost inhuman. And the gestures were fluid and quick, almost too quick, even if the boy was a dancer. And in that sea of bodies bronzed by the sun the boy floated like a pale fleck of foam. White. His face was white, and his hands. Almost exactly the same white as the poet's shirt that hung from his frame as though it belonged there. Not an echo came from him, no sense of his presence, nothing.

The shock of the truth came to Lestat as the boy pushed through the last set of dancers, advancing on Lestat's table. Vampire. And not one that Lestat had ever seen before.

The boy inclined his head gracefully as he seated himself across from Lestat, small sharp fangs flashing beneath his smile. His voice was a rich tenor, husky and seductive. "You know, monsieur, you're poaching on my territory." His smile took all the threat from the words and, with a small laugh, he inclined his head towards the crowded bar.

Lestat was watching him, fascinated. Even this close he could feel no trace of the other's mind, they were as closed to each other as if they had been master and fledgling. Old, the thought came to him. He must be very old, or naturally have the power, to be able to block me like this. Old and powerful, to have survived Akasha's worldwide purge. But why had Lestat never met him, who was he? Why had he not joined them all when they had all come together?

The boy was watching him from beneath long lashes, pale hazel eyes that were almost an amber color reflecting his smile. Ringlets of black hair fell into those eyes, too short to be secured in the clasp at his neck. Extending a slender hand to Lestat, he spoke again, the rich French of centuries before falling naturally from his lips. Lestat realized he had spoken French the first time but Lestat had barely heard it, so natural did it sound. "My name is Dannan Eriksman, monsieur. And you are?"

"That name isn't French," Lestat responded in English.

Dannan raised a dark eyebrow. "No, it isn't," he said, switching to English. His English, unlike his French, was of the modern day, the proper British English spoken at Oxford. "But I never claimed it was. If you prefer English, then we can use that. I merely wanted to make you comfortable."

"How did you know I was French? You spoke first. You never heard my accent."

Dannan smiled. "Actually, you haven't much of one, and it's muddled with other things. But you still think in a French and English mix."

Lestat went cold. The boy could hear him, but he couldn't so much as catch a glimmer of the boy's presence. Dannan's smile faltered. "Please forgive me. I won't, if you don't want me to. But come, tell me your name."

"You don't know it?" Lestat asked cooly, trying to shield his mind as strongly as he could.

"I said I wouldn't pry and I won't. What's your name?"

A long silence followed, Lestat trying to find some clue, anything, behind those eyes. Nothing. "Lestat de Lioncourt."

Dannan took a human gasp of shock, then laughed, clapping his hands in delight. "Oh, this is marvelous! And you're being serious, aren't you, not just saying that... You really are Lestat! THE Lestat! The one who wrote the book, and made the songs..."

Lestat had to smile. "You have a better memory then most people. My brief fling with fame seems to have faded right off the pages of history."

Dannan was still laughing. "And to imagine, meeting you here. This is great. I had my suspicions when I read the book, but I wasn't sure... How utterly perfect. But tell me, monsieur, you must tell me," the gleam in his eyes was laughing at Lestat, "why, in heaven's name, did you let them cast Cruise as the part when you could have played it just as easily?"

Shuddering, Lestat covered his eyes with one hand. "Please, don't throw that in my face. I've heard it entirely too much lately. I had absolutely no control over that tawdry little bit of screen play. Not," he amended hastily, "that it was all that bad. But still..."

Chuckling, Dannan reached out and caught Lestat's hand in his own. Lestat's beginning of trust faded away instantly and he instinctively tried to jerk away.

And failed.

Dannan looked faintly shocked for a moment, his grip tightening. Lestat tensed his arm and for a moment they waged a silent war, Dannan trying to draw Lestat's hand to him, Lestat resisting. Lestat could sense the tremors of effort in the other's arm. He could break away, if he exerted his full strength. But not without making it painfully obvious to everyone in the entire room that he was doing so. Relenting, Lestat relaxed.

The other vampire smiled, though there was a hint of fear to the expression now, Lestat liked to think. His own heart was pounding and he was positive Dannan could hear it. Good God, but this other, for all he looked no older then Armand, had enough power to rival lestat's own and he was an entirely unknown quality.

Dannan twined his fingers in Lestat's his thumb gently tracing the lines of Lestat's palm. The light, tickling touch made Lestat's fingers want to twitch. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

Smiling that seemingly irrepressible smile, Dannan pressed his lips to Lestat's palm. "Relax," he whispered, his breath warm on Lestat's skin. "Try to smile." There was a calculating look to his eyes, even as he smiled, his lips tracing the lines of Lestat's fingers. His voice was low, pitched for Lestat's ears only. "As far as everyone else in here is concerned, we're flirting.

"Now, I would love to sit and talk with you. And I think you're just as curious as I am, I don't need to read your mind to see that. But this is not the best place to do so. I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Starving, actually. And the presence of all of these red blooded mortals is getting on my nerves. So, what would you say to joining me for dinner?" Dannan smiled, nipping softly at Lestat's fingertips for emphasis.

Lestat raised a gold brow, twisting his fingers out of Dannan's grasp. "Sounds fine. Where would you like to go?"

"Hmmmm..." Dannan looked thoughtful, tapping a pale finger against his lips. "There's usually a nice selection down in the coffeehouses."

Lestat flicked his fingers with a derisive snort. "Artists."

"Caffeine filled artists," Dannan replied. "I never developed a taste for coffee and now I can't abide the stuff but I do find it gives a wonderful bite to the blood."

"So you're a gourmet," Lestat said, laughing. "All right. Shall we drive? Or walk? My car is parked out front."

"I left my motorcycle at home," Dannan said, "and you'd hate taking me as a passenger. I'm a horrible back seat driver. Let's walk."

Lestat rose, heading for the door. Dannan slipped into step beside him, his arm snaking around Lestat's waist, hand sliding into Lestat's back pocket with an appreciative pat on Lestat's buttock. Lestat tried to pull away unobtrusively but couldn't. Dannan laughed at the glare Lestat shot him, ducking his head beneath Lestat's arm and pushing him towards the door. ÒDonÕt fret," he whispered, his lips brushing Lestat's ear. "I just have to keep my reputation. Play along."

Inwardly sighing, Lestat left his arm around Dannan's shoulders. The other vampire was nearly as tall as he was, his dark beauty the perfect match for Lestat's own golden glory. They made a pretty picture, to be sure, but Lestat found Dannan's presumptive, flirtatious, and self confident attitude to be vaguely irritating. He disengaged himself from the other's embrace as soon as they were outside, making a bit of a show of straightening his light cotton shirt and the cut off jeans.

Dannan pretended not to notice, walking easily along with a jaunty stride, hazel eyes shining. "So, tell me," Lestat began cautiously, "how long have you lived around here?"

Dannan shrugged. "Oh, a year or so, I think. I loose track. Not that long. What about yourself?"

"Just passing through. What about before? Where did you live before here?"

Dannan shrugged again, a boneless gesture, reaching up to retrieve a dark curl from his eyes. "Seattle. New York. Quebec. London. Rome. It's a long list. Mar- The vampire who made me liked to travel." Dannan shut his mouth with a snap, a light flush staining his high cheekbones. Looking away from Lestat, he occupied himself with kicking at the pebbled on the sidewalk.

So... interesting. Lestat walked on in silence, watching Dannan. The slip in his speech broke volumes. 'Mar-' Marius? It was the only name Lestat could think of that matched that bitten back syllable. And the rest of the sentence had been said through clenched teeth, as though Dannan did not like mentioning it, or the person it implied.

A child of Marius? Made in the year after Akasha's death? It made sense. They had all split up for awhile after the first few months of companionable living. Marius had traveled, he wasn't sure where. And Marius was old, his most recent child Armand. He would have made a powerful fledgling indeed, with so much stored power. Possibly even as strong as Dannan seemed to be. And if Dannan had had some sort of natural telepathy in his mortal life then it explained why Lestat could not read him, but he could read Lestat. The Dark Gift had merely enhanced what was already there. But why did Dannan say the name with such suppressed anger? Surely Marius would keep in touch with his child, would look after him, as he had with Armand. Dannan would have been made in love, not a sudden decision. Marius was not as impulsive as Lestat was.

But Dannan was here, and obviously angry. And Marius, to the best of Lestat's knowledge, dallied in Europe with Pandora.

Lestat chewed thoughtfully on his lip. An impulsively made child, left to fend for themselves as best they could. It did not fit Marius, and yet...

The silence between them was growing uncomfortable. Dannan, in a perfect display of teenage self absorption and sullen miserableness, walked with dragging steps and bowed head, hands thrust into his pockets, shoulders hunched. More then anything else, it spoke of his youth. For all of his incredible vampiric strength Lestat judged him to be no older then twenty-one. And only two or three of those years spent as a vampire. He was still behaving as he had as a mortal, from sheer force of overwhelming habit. In a way, it reminded Lestat of Louis and his seemingly endless empathy with humanity. Softening, he reached out to Dannan.

He saw them just before he touched Dannan's shoulder. "Don't look now," he whispered softly, "but I think we're being watched."

Dannan started, jerking his head up, eyes scanning the surrounding street. He relaxed, smiling, as his gaze followed Lestat's.

The two girls were probably from the local college. They hovered near a black convertible parked on the curb, which probably belonged to the brunette, judging from the ring of jangling keys in her hand. They were talking softly to each other, but both shot glances to the two men. The red head licked her lips, flashing them a bold smile, smoothing her short leather skirt down over her slender hips.

"Shall we?" breathed Lestat.

Dannan smiled back at the red head, his breath quickening. "Let's."

Introductions were easily and quickly exchanged. It being a Friday night, the brunette Rebecca and her roommate Melissa had gone to a party thrown by a friend.

"It got boring, you know?" Melissa said, smiling at Lestat as they climbed into the back of the car. "Not enough people or booze. I mean, I know it's midterms, but really..." In the front, Lestat could hear Rebecca's giggle and Dannan's low voice. "Come, give me the keys, love. I'll be careful, I swear..."

Lestat bent his head, stilling Melissa's chatter with his mouth. Her lips tasted heavily of strong liquor and smoke. She twined her soft arms around his neck, leaning back into the set, too drunk or stoned to notice the coldness of his flesh. He traced her jaw with his lips, letting his tongue linger over the soft skin above her pulse, feeling the hunger lunge within him with every fluttering heartbeat.

Abruptly, they were both thrown against the back of the seats. Dannan, with preternatural skill and ease, shot the little convertible into traffic and down the street, heedless of speed or the other cars. Rebecca shrieked with laughter, her dark hair whipped around by the wind. She was, Lestat realized ruefully, a good deal more stoned then her roommate and it was probably a good thing that Dannan was driving, for all that he treated the city street like the autobahn.

Melissa shouted something near his ear, which the roar of the engine and the wind carried away. Smiling, Lestat pulled her back into his arms, the hunger a delicious agony as she draped herself across his lap, showering him in kisses. He held it off, contenting himself with tasting her smooth skin, caressing the soft limbs. The thirst beat in him like a spike of pain, the scent of her sweet and alluring. He could almost taste the blood flowing so strong just beneath his lips.

Dannan must have been feeling it too because he ended the drive fairly soon, swinging the convertible neatly into the deserted parking lot behind a shopping center. Turning the car off, he pulled a laughing Rebecca into his arms.

Melissa was making small noises and moans, her hands feverishly hot on Lestat's back. Pressing her back into the seat, he kissed her. She gasped when his teeth pierced her skin, her body trembling against him. A long, low moan bubbled up from her throat; a moan that Lestat echoed as her blood poured like liquid fire across his tongue.

It was light and life and warmth, all rolled into one. Lestat drew on it like a drowning man, in great gulps, feeling the zing of it spread through his veins and out, to the very roots of his hair and the tips of his toes. It rushed through him in waves, carried by the strong beats of the girl's heart. Intoxicating and sensual, the blood revived him, drowning the thirst and filling the painful, gnawing hunger.

All too soon, it ended. Her heart, so powerful at first, weakened and faltered. Lestat held on, prepared for and reveling in the rush that her death brought, that timeless moment of ecstasy and pain. It was almost an effort to sit up afterwards, to lick the last drops of blood from his lips in the afterglow of that high.

In the front seat Rebecca was fairly writhing in Dannan's embrace. Her face was flushed, eyes closed, breathing shallow and rapid with arousal. Dannan cast a cool glance towards Lestat, taking in Melissa's still, lifeless body. Bending his head with slow deliberation, he pressed his lips to the girl's neck.

Rebecca went rigid, shuddering in erotic climax. Dannan held her close, hands clenched against her back, his own body stiffened with singular concentration as he drained her fast. Lestat watched with a kind of voyeristic fascination. The girl's head hung limply now, eyes mostly closed, whites showing beneath her long lashes. Her lips opened and closed, but no sound came. A tremor shook her body and then she went limp.

Dannan released her with a choked moan, dropping her body. His eyes were glazed, lungs sucking in long gasps of air. After a few moments his breathing slowed, the life coming back to his face, though he still looked faintly dazed.

"I hate to mention it," Lestat said, "but we'll have to do something with the bodies. This is a little too open for my liking."

Shaking his head to clear it, Dannan slowly looked at the two girls. Both vampires had been neat in their meal and the girls might have been only asleep. Taking a deep breath, Dannan reached across Rebecca to get to the glove compartment. Fishing in it, he pulled out a small plastic bag of a powdered white substance. Holding it up, he smiled, laughing rather shakily. "Looks like an overdose, don't you think?" He tossed the bag to the seat beside Rebecca's limp hand.

"Good enough." Lestat climbed from the car, stretching languidly. The heady warmth of the blood filled him wonderfully. Dannan joined him, his movements rather deliberate. Walking forward, he stumbled, falling heavily to the cement. The look of stunned amazement on his face was too much for Lestat, who began to laugh.

Dannan laughed as well, the laugh quickly turning to giggles. His face was flushed with the blood, his eyes dilated. He had to try twice to grab the hand Lestat extended to him to help him up and once up he draped himself bonelessly over Lestat, still giggling weakly.

"You're drunk," Lestat said with a wry smile.

The other vampire seemed to find this observation hysterically funny. "I'm very drunk," he managed to gasp between laughs. "Ohhh, Lestat, you shouldn't have let me do that. I don't know if I can walk. I really don't."

Lestat could feel a pleasant buzz himself from the alcohol the girl had drunk. It was obviously nothing in comparison to how high her roommate had been, judging from Dannan's condition. Wrapping his arm around the other man's waist, Lestat lifted him easily, smiling with a touch of mischief. "Then we won't walk."

Dannan's laughter changed to an astonished shriek as Lestat propelled them both into the air, shooting quickly up towards the sky. His hands clutched at Lestat's shoulders with surprising strength, his eyes wide. The cool night air helped to clear Lestat's head and seemed to revive Dannan a little. He relaxed into Lestat's grip as they rose, chuckling softly. "Sneak," he accused. "You didn't tell me you could do this."

He didn't seem frightened after the initial shock. He had seen this done before, then. And Marius could, couldn't he? Before Lestat could follow that trail of though Dannan pushed away from him, using all of his immortal strength to force Lestat away. Lestat gasped, grabbing for the younger vampire before he could fall.

Dannan didn't fall. Laughing in delight, he hovered before Lestat's amazed eyes. The clasp in his hair had fallen out somewhere and it whipped around his face in a dark cloud. Stretching out his arms to the stars, he whirled, his laughter ringing.

Stunned, Lestat hung, mouth open, watching Dannan. It was impossible. He simply shouldn't be able to do this. Unless- unless it was simply the gift of an incredibly strong master. To be born from mortal directly into the strength of one of the ancients. The thought took Lestat's breath away.

Dannan returned, wrapping his arms around Lestat's neck. His smile was broad, his eyes bright and unfocused. His voice had lost some of the polish, slurring a little, tinged with a hard accent that Lestat couldn't place. "Dance with me," he demanded, with the petchulance of a small child. "Dance with me, Lestat. Come, one waltz... You must know how to waltz." He began to hum something that might have been by Strauss, his voice rich, swaying in time with the music.

"Dannan... No, Dannan, listen to me," Lestat tried to get Dannan's attention, to no avail. The younger vampire was entirely lost to the high he was on. He probably wouldn't even understand the question right now, much less be able to answer it. Sighing, Lestat took him by the waist, swinging him deftly into the first steps of a dance he had learned close to a hundred years before. Dannan melted lightly into his lead, his steps easy, head lowering to rest on Lestat's shoulder as he hummed the lilting tune.

High in the night sky, with the sprawling lights of the city below them, the shining stars above, they danced. Lestat was acutely conscious of Dannan's warmth against him, of the soft black curls that rested so trustingly against his neck. Dannan's eyes were half closed, a contented smile curving his lips. His steps were sure, his response to Lestat's lead that of a practiced dancer. Well, he certainly had the body for it. Perhaps he had been.

Dannan hummed the last bars of the waltz, sighing softly. "Oh, that was wonderful. Thank you. He never would. Too much fun, I'm sure. Besides, I don't think he likes this little trick. It made him nervous."

No doubt of who Dannan was referring to. And that little tidbit of information fit Marius, who did, indeed, dislike flying. Somehow, the idea of Marius indulging in something like they had just done was laughable. Lestat chuckled, wrapping his arms tightly around Dannan. He hadn't failed to notice that the younger vampire was slipping lower by the minute, loosing his control. A bit of patient prodding managed to reveal the general region where Dannan lived. It was growing late in the night and Lestat carried them quickly in the direction Dannan pointed out.

Dannan had a house, a neat little one story affair in a residential neighborhood surrounded by a strip of Orientalish rock garden that struck Lestat as ridiculously sensible in an area that was almost always under draught. The neighborhood was dark and Lestat dropped them quickly, setting Dannan down gently on the steps to his home.

A quick search of Dannan's pockets provided a key. Ignoring Dannan's protests that he wasn't tired and didn't want to end their night yet, Lestat opened the door and easily guided Dannan inside.

The interior was rich, in a subdued elegance. Black leather couches and darkly stained oak furniture in the living room, with rich Indian carpets of a predominately red pattern underfoot. It spoke of wealth and a well traveled taste, judging by the exotic hangings and souvenirs that decorated the walls.

locating the bedroom, Lestat half guided, half supported Dannan to it. As he had suspected, the windows were covered with tin foil, blocking all light. The bed was a queen sized water bed in a mahogany frame, covered with a deep red satin coverlet. Lestat propped Dannan against it, using one hand to steady the man and working at his clothes with the other.

This finally seemed to draw Dannan out of the bemused trance he had been in. Lestat, swearing mildly at the knot in the laces of Dannan's shirt, had his first clue when he felt Dannan's fingers tangle in his hair.

High or not, Dannan still had enough strength to rival Lestat's Pulling up Lestat's head, he cupped his hand behind Lestat's neck and pressed his lips to Lestat's.

Surprised, Lestat let Dannan kiss him. The younger vampire murmured something, too slurred to understand. His hands were warm and firm, tugging Lestat's shirt out to slip beneath it, fingers trailing along the lines of Lestat's back. His lips traced Lestat's jaw, tongue flickering to touch the pale tracery of veins beneath white skin.

Regretfully, Lestat placed his hands on Dannan's shoulders and pushed the younger vampire back, holding his at arms length. "Dannan," he said, putting a firm tone into his voice, ÒyouÕre drunk."

Dannan's brows creased in slow puzzlement. "Didn't you already say that?"

"I'm saying it again. You're drunk. I'm going to put you to bed and you're going to sleep it off. Hear me?"

Dannan groaned. "No. 'M not tired. Really. Come on, Lestat." He caught Lestat's hand, drawing it to his mouth to press a kiss to the palm. "Mmm. You're beautiful, you know? Really hot. So beautiful... Come on, just tonight. Please? It's been a really long time..."

Lestat caught Dannan's weight easily as the other man melted limply against him, his fingers stroking through Lestat's golden hair, his lips pressed to Lestat's throat, tongue teasing the skin. The hand left his hair and dropped to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons to open them and let the hand within, caressing his chest. "What," he asked softly, "do you think you're doing?"

"Getting you into bed," Dannan mumbled. Sighing, Lestat wrestled away from his rather tenacious hold and pushed him back hard enough that Dannan collapsed limply onto the bed.

"You're pretty beautiful yourself," Lestat told him reassuringly, "but it's late. Dawn isn't far off. I need to get going."

"You could stay here," Dannan offered helpfully as Lestat pulled his shoes off and dropped them to the floor.

Lestat didn't bother to answer, just pulled the cover up and tossed it lightly over Dannan. "Get some sleep," he advised.

He was turning to leave when Dannan caught his hand. "Sorry," Dannan murmured. "Didn' mean...get like this."

Lestat smiled wryly, squeezing the fingers tangled in his own. "Don't worry about it. Next time, we'll go find some of your coffee drinking artists. I don't think cocaine agrees with you."

"I don't think so either." Dannan let his hand drop to the bed, eyes closed, breathing slow. Lestat almost though he was asleep but after a few moments he spoke again. "Lestat... see you tomorrow? Didn' get t' talk..."

Lestat hesitated before answering. "All right, Dannan. I'll meet you here tomorrow night. Now go to sleep."

The first light of dawn was creeping over the sky when Lestat returned to his hotel room. As he settled onto the bed, letting sleep claim him as the sun claimed the world outside, one line of thought kept running repeatedly through his mind.

Why had Marius abandoned Dannan, when the boy so obviously needed guidance? Why would Marius, the one who most liked to loudly reprimand Lestat for breaking the rules, do so himself? No answers presented themselves and Lestat slipped into darkness promising himself that he would find out.

The following night Lestat parked his Porsche in the driveway behind Dannan's covered motorcycle. It was several hours past sunset but the house was dark and quiet. Whistling softly, Lestat circled around to the front door and rapped on it.

There was no answer. Sighing, Lestat leaned on the doorbell. He could hear the shrill ding of the bell inside the house but nothing else. Frowning now, he listened closer, turning his senses to the house. Nothing. He couldn't tell if Dannan was there or just shielded. Frustrated, Lestat nudged the lock mechanism with a thought, the door swinging open before him.

When he approached the darkened bedroom he could hear the soft breathing and thudding heartbeat that signaled Dannan's presence. Stepping into the room, he was arrested by the other vampire's hoarse voice. "If you turn on that light, I will rip your throat out. As God is my witness, I will."

Lestat leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. "You sound like shit."

Dannan moaned, his pale face appearing from beneath the pillow he had drawn over his head. "I feel like it," he agreed. Rolling over onto his back, he gestured to the dresser. "There's some candles over there. You can light them. Justdon't turn on those damn overheads. I can't handle florescent lights right now."

Lestat glanced over, locating the three point candelabra. "Very classical." The wicks burst into flame.

Dannan swore, covering his eyes. "You could have warned me," he spat, ill tempered. "God, I'm hungover. I didn't think Icould get this way anymore."

Chuckling, Lestat strolled over to the bed. "Welcome to reality," he said with a smile.

Dannan glared at him from one blood shot eye. "You're all heart," he growled. In the flickering light of the candles he still looked flushed, a softness lingering in his skin. Blood sweat sheened across his forehead, dampening the tangled curls of hair that half obscured his face. His eyes were red and dark rimmed, almost feverish.

Struggling, Dannan levered himself upright. His face blanched paler as he did so and his hand went reflexively to his mouth. He took a few deep breaths, lowering the hand slowly. "I think I might be sick," he whispered.

"Well, lets get you to the bathroom, then," Lestat said cheerfully, reaching down to give him a hand up. "At least then you won't have to clean anything. Take a shower, change clothes, and then we'll go out. Getting something fresher and uncontaminated by recreational drugs into you will help, believe me. Come on, get up. I'm hungry. I want to go. And you really will feel better if you eat, believe me. Just think about it for awhile. Something young and strong and filled with..."

Dannan surged up from the bed with surprising strength, brushing past Lestat and disappearing out the door in a pale streak. Lestat followed more slowly, perfectly able to hear the sounds of retching coming from the bathroom.

Spitting the last of the blood into the sink, Dannan looked up to where Lestat once again stood, perfectly at his ease, in the doorway. "Bastard," he panted. "Don't say that again. I can't even begin to tell you how un-hungry I am. Starving for the next week is starting to look pretty good right now."

"Getting some of it out of your system like that should help." Dannan sank down onto the toilet, head cradled in his hands, snarling ungratefully. "It was either that, or pour something like actual juice down your throat and start it that way," Lestat pointed out. "But I didn't think you'd have any in the house. Besides, you looked queasy enough as it was."

"Thank you ever so much," Dannan growled. "And when in hell did you get your M.D.? Your bedside manner stinks."

"You're not in bed," Lestat retorted. "And I can be perfectly sympathetic, when you're not being an ungrateful wretch. Come, now, get out of those clothes. You need a shower." He stepped past Dannan, reaching for the water faucets in the tiled shower.

Dannan sighed, slowly pulling his shirt off. Pausing, he held it, a frown creasing his forehead. "Lestat..."

"Yes? Is this too hot?"

"No, it's fine. Listen, Lestat, seriously..." Dannan hesitated, a flush spreading over his cheeks and down his neck. "Um... God, this sounds lame... but... did we, ah... do anything last night?"

Lestat turned, regarding him curiously. Dannan blushed harder, refusing to meet his eyes. "I ah... can't remember," he said in a rushed whisper. "It's all jumbled up and fuzzy."

Gasping, Lestat leaned back against the far wall. "You don't remember? Dannan, I'm hurt. No, I'm crushed. I'm absolutely shattered. Mon cher, how could you not remember..."

Dannan had turned almost transparently white at Lestat's words, but not his eyes narrowed. As Lestat began to laugh an unlovely color of red crept over his cheeks. "All right," he snapped, "you've had your joke. Ha, ha."

He stood, stripping out of his jeans, heedless of the still laughing Lestat. "Brat," he said, with less anger. "You're a fiend, you know that, don't you? Fine. I'm going to assume, since I'm still wearing what I was last night, that you dumped me into bed and left. Good for you. Now, if you'd do me the curtesy of leaving again, I'm going to take a shower..."

Lestat, suddenly serious, halted him with a light hand on his shoulder. "Where did you get these?" he asked, tracing a light finger over the brown, bruise like markings that spread like a splattering of ink from Dannan's groin. Turning the other vampire around, he found more, irregular splotches beneath his arms. "What are they?"

Dannan waved a dismissive hand. "Scars. An old disease. It's nothing." Pulling away, he pushed Lestat towards the door. "Go on, get out. Let me take my shower."

By the time Dannan emerged, wrapped in a long towel, his hair dripping into his eyes, Lestat had assembled an appropriate outfit from his closet. "You have exquisite taste," Lestat remarked, holding up a pale silk shirt. "Very gothic. Don't you own anything that's not black, red, or white? Maybe I should take you shopping..."

"I like my clothes," Dannan replied, scrubbing a towel vigorously over his head.

"I didn't say I didn't like them, just that those colors get a little monotonous. No black tonight- you look sick enough. Dark colors are going to make you look like the living dead." Lestat smiled at his own joke. Brushing though the things in the closet, he sighed. "I didn't realize there were this many shades of black."

"Leave it alone," Dannan said mildly. "All right, I'm dressed. Can we go?"

Lestat surveyed him critically. Dannan still retained an unnatural flush to his skin and the cream colored slacks and matching pullover shirt accentuated the color, giving him a very human cast to his features. He was raking a comb through his curls, tucking them absently behind his ear. "Perfect," Lestat pronounced. "Very sophisticated, but casual. My car's out front."

Dannan followed him out to the car, smiling rather grimly as he climbed into the passenger side. "Try not to drive too fast," he said.

"Why? Still hung over?"

"Some."

Lestat smiled, showing sharp teeth, and twisted the key in the ignition.

Lestat kept count and by the time they had driven the twelve blocks to the bustling streetfulls of coffeehouses and shops Dannan had tried fourteen times to correct Lestat's driving, including three abortive grabs at the wheel. "I can't help it," Dannan said defensively as they entered the cafe. "I can't stand being in a moving vehicle I'm not in control of. And I swear I though you were going to hit that damn semi-truck."

"You should have more faith," Lestat told him, picking out a table and gesturing him to sit down. A pony tailed waitress appeared to take their orders and a few minutes later cups of coffee were deposited on the table.

Lestat cupped his palms over the sharp smelling steam rising from the cup. "So..."

Dannan dipped the tip of his finger into the coffee, touching it gingerly to his tongue. Making a face, he quickly picked up a napkin, spitting the taste into the paper. Seeing Lestat's amused glance, he shrugged. "Like I said last night, I never did develop a taste for coffee."

"Well, you're certainly not going to develop one now," Lestat pointed out.

"I just keep wondering what these people find so attractive in it." Pushing the cup away from him, Dannan sat back, slender fingers unconsciously shredding the napkin he held. "Tell me about the others, Lestat."

The request was abrupt and blunt. "What would you like to know?" Lestat asked. "That Gabrielle is missing and, as usual, no one knows where? That Armand and Daniel are fighting again? That Jesse is with Maharet and Mael and Santino have both vanished into different parts of Europe somewhere?" Seeing the confusion on Dannan's face, Lestat paused. "Surely you know these names. Surely he must have told you."

Slowly, Dannan shook his head. "No. Nothing. I only know your name from your book, yours and Louis'." He sat forward, eyes bright. "Tell me about Louis. Which account is right? Yours or his?"

Lestat shrugged, irritably. "Oh, neither, really, I suppose. Though Louis certainly didn't need to put quite as much slander in there as he did. He didn't suffer nearly as much as he'd like you to believe. Then again, it wasn't quite a idyllic as I like to remember it... What with Claudia..."

"Tell me," Dannan repeated, quietly. And Lestat found himself doing exactly that.

It was amazing the things he could remember if he tried. The doll-like beauty of Claudia and the clear, bell tone of her voice as she announced that she was hungry, that she wanted to hunt. The clatter of her little slippers on the stairs, the fragrance of the flower petals she had strewn on the floor, the soft, perfect weight of her in his arms as they walked, they and Louis, a family... The slow smile curving Louis' lips as they walked home from the theatre, Lestat quoting freely from the show, Louis just watching him, content, yes, and happy... The chill he had felt as he looked at Claudia, heard her voice, saw the doll in her lap- "Would you want them if you were me?" and the feeling, ah God, had it been so long? What was this girl child he held in his lap, this doll with the woman's eyes, the woman's hard voice... And the flash of light on steel, that awful knife, feeling it plunge into him, seeing Louis' stunned eyes as he stood, immobile.

He had no idea how long he talked, pouring out those memories to Dannan's waiting ears. Finally, Dannan said, "Tell me about Louis."

Reality seemed to intrude again. "What about him?" Lestat asked, suddenly aware that he had been talking for a very long time and had little memory of what he had said. "What can you say about Louis? That he's beautiful? That he's irritating and he whines and he's self pitying and so steeped in guilt over the least little thing that he wouldn't know how to enjoy life if it came up and bit him and he preaches at me and he drives me insane and I love him dearly and can't stand not having him around? Is that what you want to hear?" Bringing the flat of his hand down on the table hard enough to rattle the cups, Lestat swore. "Why in hell and I telling you all of this, anyways?"

"Because I asked. Because I'm willing to listen." Dannan regarded him calmly. Lestat felt a thread of fear and paranoia stab his soul.

"Are you pushing me? Mentally?"

Dannan looked surprised, holding up his hands in surrender. "No! I swear, I haven't . I just... listened."

Lestat opened his mouth to say what he thought of that, then stopped. "All right," he said slowly. "You're turn. Who are you?"

"No one. Certainly not as important as you or any of the others." Dannan looked away, sighing. "I'm no one, and I've done nothing, and that's pretty much the story of my life. One big, huge mistake."

Lestat regarded his skeptically. "It can't be all that bad. Marius doesn't make mistakes that big."

Dannan visibly flinched, eyes jerking quickly back to Lestat. "What did you say?"

"The vampire who make you," Lestat clarified. "He must have seen something in you, to make you one of us. So what was it? The little mental tricks? Or the soulful eyes and the 'come hither' smile?"

The instantaneous reaction was remarkable. Shuddering, Dannan clapped his hands over his ears. "Stop it," he cried, "stop it! You don't know what you're saying. Don't talk about him! Don't say his name! I don't want to hear it." He was truly frantic about it, lips drawn back over his teeth, eyes wild. "I won't hear it! I hate him. I hate him!"

"All right!" Lestat exclaimed, upset. Dannan's voice was rising, attracting attention. "I won't. I won't mention him again. Calm down."

Slowly, obviously struggling, Dannan stopped shaking. "Just don't talk to me about him," he said through clenched teeth, blood tears shining in his eyes. "He killed her. He killed her and I hate him!"

Stunned, Lestat sat in silence. Dannan retreated into himself, arms crossed, staring at the table top. He made, Lestat thought idylly, almost the perfect mirror image of Louis in the same mood. Withdrawn, sulking, and self absorbed.

But what had he meant? 'He killed her.' Marius had killed someone? Some woman? A mortal, maybe. To teach Dannan to hunt? Or to remove an obstacle to the then mortal Dannan himself? Lestat shook his head. He simply couldn't imaging Marius doing something so ruthless. Dannan's words didn't make any sense.

Glancing at his watch, Lestat was amazed at the time. Why, they had been talking for hours! Indeed, now that he noticed, the coffee had been exchanged for new cups, possibly more then once. And getting more information out of Dannan right at the moment was obviously not an option. "Would you like to leave?" he asked. "It's getting late."

Wordlessly, Dannan nodded, rising. Lestat reached into his pocket, scattering a few bills on the table to cover the price of the coffee. Dannan followed him from the cafe, still tight lipped and tense. "Where do you want to go?" the question was almost a challenge.

Lestat sighed. "I'm hungry, Dannan. Starving, actually, to quote your phrase from last night. I thought we'd go find something to eat- something drug free."

Dannan grimaced. "I'm not hungry."

"Of course you are. And you'll feel better if you eat."

"No, really, Lestat. I'm not hungry. I don't know how you can be."

"You just still feel sick," Lestat observed. "Well, I'm going to eat. You can come along or not, as you like." He began to walk away, listening as Dannan's feet fell into step with him after a few moments hesitation.

It didn't take long. The boy was walking alone, whistling, through the back streets that shot off like dark tunnels from the well lit main street. The sharp smell of his cologne, the strength as he struggled, the bitten back cry as teeth pierced flesh- it was all combined with the incomparable taste of the blood. It was over quickly and through it all Dannan stood, a few paces away, watching but not moving.

Lestat walked back to him. "Come, it really is getting late. Lets find you something and go home."

Dannan shook his head stubbornly. "I'm not hungry," he repeated, and, in truth, he didn't look as though he were. Even this late his skin retained its color, as though he had just eaten.

Lestat started to argue but Dannan cut him off. "Lets go back to your rooms," he suggested, walking back towards where they had left the Porsche. "I don't want to go home just yet."

Lestat had taken rooms at a rather luxurious hotel. "I like to watch the people," he explained as they rode the elevator up to his suite.

The rooms were made to cater to the traveler, with just about everything one could want and anything else available by phone. Dannan sank wearily down onto the bed as Lestat closed the door behind them. Laying back on it, he covered his eyes with one arm.

Lestat came to stand by the side of the bed, hands on hips, glaring at Dannan. "You should see yourself," he said scornfully.

"I'm tired. That's all."

"You can't let one bad experience turn you off eating, for Christ's sake! Starving yourself isn't going to help."

"I'm not hungry," Dannan repeated, a hint of ire in his voice. "Let it alone, Lestat."

Dropping the pose, Lestat sat down next to Dannan. "Dannan," he said seriously, "dawn is less then an hour away and you haven't had anything since last night. I know I'm starting to sound like a mother, but I mean it. You need to eat and you need to flush that tainted blood out of your system, replace it with something new." There was no reply from Dannan. Finally, Lestat unbuttoned his shirt sleeve, pushing it back. "Here. Take it. Just a little. And tomorrow you eat or I put a rat in a blender and spoon it down your throat. Understand me?"

That, at last, got a weak laugh from Dannan. "I could see you doing that, too," he said, amused. "Fur and all." Sobering, he eyed the wrist Lestat held out to him. "Do you mean it?"

"I mean I want you to be able to get home and not pass out on the way," Lestat said irritably. "Yes, I mean it."

Dannan hesitated, then sat up. Pushing aside Lestat's outstretched wrist, he took the other vampire by the shoulders. "You have no idea how much I wanted to hear you say that," he said, smiling. Leaning forward, he pressed a lingering kiss to Lestat's lips, then to his throat.

Lestat tilted his head back, closing his eyes as he felt the sharp thrill race through him as Dannan's teeth broke flesh. And then the pull on his veins, until he could have traced each and every one out in his mind's eye; the erotic sensation of being aware of every single drop of blood, all being pulled towards that one point beneath Dannan's lips and tongue. The pounding of their hearts, the echo of his own blood as it sand through the other vampire's veins in harmony to his own, was deafening. Lestat moaned, letting Dannan push him back against the bed, letting himself sink into the flood of sensations, even as he was aware that it was only sensations; that no mind touched his own and no images came between them. There was only the blood.

Slowly, agonizingly, it stopped. Dannan's tongue flickered over his skin, a sensuous feeling. It traced the shape of his ear delicately, then traveled down, dipping at the hollow of his throat. Lestat threaded his fingers through the soft ringlets of Dannan's hair, pulling his head up slightly.

Dannan's eyes were mostly closed, only the faintest hint of hazel showing beneath his dark lashes. Blood stained his lips. Cupping the boy's chin with his hand, Lestat bent to run his own tongue along those lips, tasting his own blood. Dannan sighed, returning the kiss, letting the first blend into another, and then another. Finally, he laid his head on Lestat's chest, reaching up to lightly trace the line of Lestat's mouth with one finger. "I'd almost forgotten what that was like," he whispered. "Not like mortals. Not at all. Thank you." His voice trailed off, eyes closing. "I'm just tired. So tired..."

Lestat slipped away from him, pushing Dannan gently to the bed. "Then I guess you can stay here. Sleep. We'll talk some more tomorrow."

Smiling faintly, Dannan let his eyes close. In sleep the tight expression of his face relaxed, making him look even younger. Lestat sat, looking at him for a long time before switching off the lights and laying down next to him.

The next night, Dannan did not wake.

Lestat first knew something was wrong when he woke himself, reaching past Dannan's still form to get the light. As the soft white illumination of the bed side lamp brought the room into color, he glanced down at the other vampire.

And felt his stomach twist.

Dannan had not moved during the night. He did not appear to breath. His skin, flushed the night before, was now so white that the tracery of blue veins beneath it gave it the appearance of translucence. The skin was pulled tight across his cheekbones, across the bones of his wrist and hand, where it lay flung over his chest. The tendon's stood out in sharp, unhealthy relief. His eyes were sunken and shadowed and the taut skin gave him the look of a corpse.

Tentatively, Lestat shook his shoulder. Then harder. Finally, Dannan took a breath, his eyes fluttering open for a moment. He seemed to focus on Lestat, his lips trying to form a sound, and then he lapsed back into stillness. No amount of shaking or yelling would get a response after that.

Sitting back, Lestat ran his hands through his hair, pulling at it distractedly. He had no idea what was wrong with the boy. "For the love of God," he whispered, giving voice to the first thought that came to mind, "Marius is going to kill me!"

It was not as easy to get ahold of Marius as Lestat had supposed. In fact, it was impossible. The older vampire had walled himself away from the world with Pandora so efficiently that they were unreachable by any mental cry. Lestat could not find him, could get no reaction to his continued pleas. Giving it up as lost, he turned to more mechanical means.

After a fruitless hour of placing calls over most of the known world, tracing Marius from his last known residence, Lestat had to admit that when Marius did not want to be found he could do a very good job of it indeed. Swearing, Lestat picked up the entire phone unit and hurled it at the wall, where it crashed satisfactorily against it and fell with a jangle of bells and cracked plastic to the floor.

A slight sound caught his attention. With the speed of thought he was across the room, leaning over the bed and the still form it contained.

A few hours before Dannan had looked as though he were in the beginning of starvation, skin transparent, stretched tight over his bones. Now, almost as Lestat watched, the conditioning was progressing. The tissues below the skin were shriveling for lack of blood, the skin pulling tighter, giving him a skeletal, emaciated appearance. He was laying on his side now, arms and knees drawn to his chest as ligaments and muscles shrank. Earlier, Lestat had stripped the clothes off of the limp body in an attempt to make him more comfortable and half expecting to find some gaping wound that would account for the sudden blood loss. Now, curled in on himself, the darkened patches of scars black against his deathly pallor, he reminded Lestat horribly of corpses left to rot in the stinking back streets of New Orleans when the plague had swept through that city.

Pale hazel glinted beneath the dark lashes. Dannan was awake.

His voice was the breath of a whisper, faint even to Lestat's preternatural hearing, as though drawing breath to speak was too much effort. "Lestat..."

"I'm here, Dannan." Lestat took a hand that was little more then skin stretched over bone in his own, feeling the paper fragility of the flesh. "You're going to be all right. Just rest."

"What's... wrong with me?"

Lestat opened his mouth, then stopped. He couldn't lie to the boy and he couldn't admit that he did not know. Dannan seemed to understand, his eyes closing.

Lestat thought he had succumbed to sleep when he spoke again. "It hurts," Dannan whispered, his lips barely moving. "Not like the drugs... something else. Burns inside. Eats at my veins. Starving..."

Hesitantly, Lestat reached out, brushing his fingers over the dark curls that tumbled over the pillow. They were still soft to the touch, dark and springy and unchanged. Pushing the tendrils gently back from the other vampire's face, Lestat cupped his hand beneath the limp neck, raising Dannan's head. Raising his wrist to his own lips he made the gash, tasting the sweet tang of the blood. And then, holding it to Dannan, letting that red fount splash over dry, parched lips.

It wasn't the sweet pleasure of the night before. It held nothing of that sensuous sharing. Dannan's mouth locked to his wrist with all of the desperate hunger of the new born, drawing hard, emptying veins. Lestat gasped with the pain that swept through him in waves, plucking at his very heart.

Dannan changed as he watched, the life pouring back into him from Lestat's veins to his own. The flesh filled out, gaining a more solid appearance, reshaping around his bones. The emaciated look left, replaced by the smooth, white splendor of health. As each second passed he grew stronger.

Finally, as Lestat felt his own heart grow slower, the pain becoming a constant thing that preyed on him, Dannan thrust his wrist away. Lestat had to catch himself against the side of the bed as the room whirled for a moment, weakness sweeping over him.

Light fingers touched his cheek. Focusing, Lestat looked down to Dannan, who watched him with wide, surprised eyes. He looked entirely like himself, exactly as Lestat had seen him that first night. No hint of emaciation remained.

Lestat smiled, a mixture of relief and pleasure. Dannan echoed the expression, reaching up to stroke his fingers along the lines of Lestat's cheek. A tremor passed through him, making his fingers tremble. Concerned, Lestat caught him in his own, feeling the sudden jerk as Dannan tensed, face contorted.

The vampire shook his head, a stiff, controlled gesture. Just as suddenly, he relaxed. "It's nothing," he assured Lestat, sounding breathless. "Truly. Just a small pain." But even as he said it he tensed again, pain and frightened confusion showing in his eyes.

Lestat held him as the tremors shook him, building in intensity until Dannan was doubled over, arms pressed tight to his stomach, small sounds of pain escaping his clenched teeth. His skin was slick with sweat, shining in the light, and Lestat stared at it, amazed. The moisture was clear, like water, with no hint of blood in it. Like a mortal's sweat. It beaded on his back as he shook from the pain, glistening, and was just as quickly reabsorbed into his skin.

Dannan was frightened, small mewls of pain and fear coming from him, his eyes wide and white rimmed. Lestat tried to sooth him as best he could, holding him, stroking his back and hair. "Relax," he whispered, trying to keep the rising panic from his own voice. "Try to relax. It will pass. This is like your death, Dannan, think back to then, remember it? It will pass." He had no idea if he was right but it was the only thing he could think of.

Dannan shook his head, uncomprehending. Another wave of cramps passed over him and suddenly the sweat on his back turned red, blood staining his white skin. It poured in rivulets from him, like hundreds of small wounds, flowing over Lestat's hand and soaking the sheets. Dannan cried out in pain, fingernails raking at his own skin as though he would tear it from his body. Blood trickled from the corners of his tightly squeezed shut eyes, from his nostrils and ears. Dannan's voice rose in a shriek of pain as the rivulets became actual streams, tearing open rents in his skin, his body bathed in red. Lestat slapped his hands over his own ears as Dannan's shriek pierced his sensitive hearing, spiraling up above the range that mortals could hear. Across the room the mirror exploded in a crystalline shower of light.

Abruptly, it ended. Dannan collapsed, panting, still crying softly. The streams of blood ceased, the skin already closing until no trace remained but the smears of red on his body and the growing stain of it on the bed. His skin was turning transparent again, the tracery of veins beneath it clearly visible to the naked eye.

Slowly, Lestat lowered his hands. He was shaking almost as much as Dannan, his heart pounding in his chest until he feared it might burst. Reluctantly, fearing the worst, he reached out to lay a hand on Dannan's back.

He could feel the thud of the other's heart through his rib cage, like a counterpoint to his own. Lifting Dannan's trembling body he held him, just taking comfort from the other's heartbeat and ragged breathing. Dannan clung to him weakly, crying, the sobs racking his weakened body.

Lestat stroked Dannan's hair, kissing his forehead gently. Tasting the blood there he frowned, puzzled. It tasted strange- like his own blood, as though it had been poured from his own veins instead of Dannan's.

They sat for a long time, just holding each other, until Dannan's sobs ceased and he lay, too exhausted to do more then gasp softly. Lestat stood, lifting Dannan with him. The other vampire made a startled noise, clutching at Lestat's shoulder.

"It's all right," Lestat assured him. "But that blood is drying, we need to wash it off you."

Dannan relaxed. Lestat carried him to the adjoining bath, twisting the faucets with a mental nudge as they entered the room. Dannan insisted on bathing himself. "I can manage, Lestat, truly," he said, though his hands trembled and he scarcely had the strength to sit upright. "Please. I just... let me sit here for a bit, by myself. Please?"

Though he didn't like it Lestat relented, retreating back into the bedroom. To busy himself he stripped the stained bottom sheet from the bed, dumping it in a heap in the corner. He would have to dispose of it later. He smoothed the rest of the covers back down, then went to retrieve the cracked casing of the phone. Surprisingly, it still produced a dial tone when he picked it up. He set it carefully on the dresser.

The soft sounds of splashing coming from the bath bad ceased. Going to the door, Lestat peered inside.

Dannan lay limply across the side of the tub, head pillowed on his crossed arms. Steam still rose from the pink tinged water, obscuring the glass of the mirror and beading in droplets on the metal fixtures. Dannan stirred when the door opened, looking up.

The bones of his face stood out in sharp relief. His skin was drawn tight over his bones again, the tendons in his arms and hands clearly visible. Dannan slowly held out those hands to Lestat's view, displaying the skeletal fingers. "It didn't work," he said softly, exhaustion evident in his voice. "It's eating me from the inside out, like cancer. I can feel it. It gnaws at my veins and my heart, snatching my breath and sucking at my life." He looked as though he would cry again but only a slight bit of dampness trembled in his eyes. He wiped at it, looking at it wonderingly. "Tears. Real tears. There's no blood left."

Lestat looked at him silently, feeling a type of helplessness that he did not feel often and not liking it. Dannan plucked listlessly at a lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes. "Lestat... what do you think is wrong with me?"

All right. It was time for the truth. "I don't know."

"Neither do I." Dannan leaned his head on his hands, not looking up. "Can we catch diseases?"

"Of course not."

"Of course not," Dannan echoed. "Of course. But what if we could?" He shivered suddenly, rubbing bone thin fingers over his arms, over the scars on the underside of his arms. "What if there was some new disease, some plague, that we could catch? Maybe something based in the blood? God knows, we kill indiscriminately. Old, young, diseased, healthy... it's never mattered. But what if it does matter now? Maybe it doesn't kill humans... Or maybe it does. I don't keep track of such things. Do you? And what if those diseased blood cells can't be taken in by our bodies, what if they mutate, attacking the vampiric cells, what then? It would eat us from the inside out, cell by cell."

"Stop it!" Lestat cried, aghast. "You're just panicking. Talking nonsense. Diseases don't hurt us! I've drunken from plague victims..."

"But what if this were a new plague?" Dannan's voice, for all it's softness, cracked across Lestat's like a whip. "The idea scares you, doesn't it? Don't deny it! I can hear the fear in your voice, see it in your eyes." He subsided, almost panting for breath, clinging weakly to the porcelain side of the tub. "We have to consider the idea, Lestat. If we don't it might kill us all."

He held out a trembling hand to Lestat. "Just think about it. I'm probably wrong. I hope I am." Gathering a deep breath, he attempted a slight smile. "Could you help me up, please? I don't seem to be able to manage it myself."

Lestat pulled him out of the tub, drying him off and helping him back to the bed where Dannan collapsed, shaking with fatigue. In the brief period they had talked his appearance had worsened, the tissues visibly shrinking. He lay on his side, covers drawn up over his shoulders, barely breathing.

Lestat lay next to him, gently combing his fingers through Dannan's tangled curls. After a few minutes Dannan drew a deep breath, speaking softly.

"Lestat, have you ever heard of an organization called the Talamasca?"

Lestat froze. It was a word he had never expected to hear from Dannan's lips. Of course, Marius knew of the Talamasca and might have told Dannan just enough to warn him away from them. But of all the vampires excepting one Lestat knew the most about the Talamasca. And that one exception...

Dannan continued, not noticing Lestat's sudden tenseness. "The Talamasca are an order of scholars. They specialize in the paranormal- not the crack cases, but the real thing. They have files on everything- witches, hauntings, reincarnation, ESP... and vampires. They have files on me, and probably on you. Oh, don't worry- they never do anything with them. Never publish their findings or use them. They just collect them. Perfectly harmless, really. But they've existed for hundreds of years. They probably remember things about you that you don't remember yourself. And I was just thinking... If any vampire, anywhere, had ever gone through what I'm going though, they would know about it. If there were any historical precedence or similar cases they probably have it neatly jotted down and cross referenced. Contact them, Lestat. Ask them. If nothing else, they're probably the only mortals in the world I'd trust to examine me and keep their mouths shut about what they found."

The long speech seemed to have exhausted his waning reserves of strength and he fell silent. Lestat sat up, looking at him. It seemed incredible that Dannan would know so much about the Talamasca or would think to contact them. It was almost funny, remembering Marius' loud objections to Lestat's association with the organization and thinking of what the older vampire would say if he knew his fledgling were now suggesting the very same thing. Still, it made sense, in a way. And it was better then doing nothing.

He stood up, walking towards the phone. Dannan's quiet voice halted him. "They've a Motherhouse... In London. Just tell them who you are. The number... the number is..."

"I know the number, Dannan," Lestat assured him. He thought he saw Dannan smile.

"Should have known. Thank you." Dannan closed his eyes, his breathing slowing.

Lestat waited a bit, until he was fairly sure Dannan was asleep. Then he went to the phone, picking it up. He did know the number of the Motherhouse in London. But he also knew a better number. Who needed the Talamasca when you could pick the mind of the former Superior General? He should have thought of calling David earlier. If David did not know what was wrong with Dannan then he would know how to find out.

He dialed the long distance number, listening to the phone ring across electronic highways on the other side of the continent.

The flat in Rue Royal was quiet, still with the sleepiness of a long night and the approaching dawn. Louis was startled from his doze by the jangling ring of the phone, bolting up from his place on the couch, the book resting on his chest slipping to the floor with a soft thud. He stooped, picking up the book and gently uncreasing the fragile pages before rising and crossing the room in quick, cat-like steps to pick up the phone before it could ring again.

"Hello?"

In Los Angeles Lestat could have cried at the aching familiarity of that beloved voice. He had not realized how much he had missed the sound of Louis' voice or the presence of the other man. "Louis!"

There was a long pause. When Louis spoke again there was no mistaking the angry coldness in his voice. "Lestat."

Oh, just to picture him there, so perfectly, just from the tone of that one spoken word. He would be standing, holding the phone as though he would rather be holding a flaming brand, his entire body radiating that so carefully controlled anger, his face set into disapproving lines. And he had reason, this time, didn't he? But there was no time for this, no time at all.

"Louis, please, mon cher, just listed to me. I know you're angry, but this just isn't the time. Please, Louis, I need to talk to David. Is David there?"

His voice was so cold in reply and Lestat did not need to see him to know what Louis was thinking: You leave for a month, no warning, no word, leave us to wonder where you gone and why you went, and then you call and ask for David? Lestat could have bit his tongue, realizing how callous he must have sounded. But this was an emergency and if Louis would just let him explain then he would understand. "Yes. David's here. He's asleep. It's only a few hours until dawn here, Lestat."

He had forgotten the time zones. How many were there? Three? Four? He couldn't remember. "Can you wake him? You have to. It's an emergency, Louis. With the Talamasca. I have to talk to David!"

No hesitation this time and the coldness had left his voice, replaced by shocked irritation and anger. "The Talamasca? Lestat, what in God's name have you done now?"

"I haven't done anything! Oh, mon dieu, it's too much to explain. Please, Louis, just go get David. Tell him I have to talk to him. Hurry!"

A small hesitation. "All right. I'll go get him." There was a rustle and a thud as Louis set the phone down on the table.

Lestat waited, drumming his fingers with impatience. It seemed to take forever. Finally, the phone was picked up, a second familiar voice sounding in his ear. "Lestat? Is that you? What have you done with the Talamasca now?" David sounded tired, the clipped rush of his British speech conveying new depths of irritation. "I can't really help you, you know. I'm not the Superior General anymore. That David Talbot is dead and they all know it."

"No, no, David, I haven't done anything. Just listen to me. I need information, information from the Talamasca's files. Are there any records of a vampire catching or suffering from a disease? And disease?"

A pause on the other side of the line. When David spoke he sounded stunned. "A disease? Or course not! What kind of joke is this, Lestat?"

"Think, David! You have to think! Are you sure? Are you absolutely one hundred percent positive? I need to know?"

"Yes, yes I'm positive! You should know that as well as I do! What in the name of Heaven made you think of such a crazy thing?"

Quickly, as rapidly and simply as he could, Lestat described the past two nights and what was wrong with Dannan. "He's Marius' child, David. And he's dying. It nearly killed him when I tried to give him my blood and we don't know why. He's withering, like he had lost huge amounts of blood. I don't know what to do."

David listened without interrupting and when Lestat was done, finally admitting that he simple didn't know that to do, David reacted without hesitation. "I'll come, or course. I don't know that I can be of any help- I've never heard of anything like this. But I'll come, and Louis with me. You said you tried to contact Marius?"

"Yes. I can't find him."

"All right. Stay there with him and try to keep the condition from getting any worse. Don't give him any more of your blood-"

"Oh, brilliant deduction," Lestat snapped sarcastically. "I figured that much out myself, thank you."

"I mean it, Lestat. You might kill him next time. Bring him something else- a cat, a dog, something. Try to get him to drink that. It might help. We'll be there as soon as we can. It's nearly dawn here, there's no time tonight, but we'll be on the first flight tomorrow night. Just keep him stable until then."

"All right. And David..."

"Yes?"

"Give my love to Louis."

He could feel David's smile through the phone. "I will. Just stay put until tomorrow night, all right?"

Lestat hung up the phone. Walking back to the bed, he looked down at Dannan. "Well, that's that. And if David doesn't know what to do then we really are in trouble." Sitting on the edge of the bed, he gently shook Dannan's shoulder.

Dannan's eyes opened. "Did you call?" he breathed.

"Yes. There will be someone here tomorrow night to help you." Lestat paused, eyeing Dannan face. He was as skeletal as he had been before but it didn't seem to be any worse. "How do you feel?"

Dannan tried to smile, failing utterly. "Like shit. I hurt all over, inside and out. But it isn't getting any worse, either."

"Would you like me to bring you something? An animal? It might help-"

Dannan grimaced, his entire body jerking slightly. "And it might do the same thing. No. I don't want to risk it."

"You're starving..."

Dannan just looked at him, lips pressed tight, and Lestat remembered his face as he had screamed in agony, blood streaming from his skin. "No. I understand. Will you be all right until tomorrow?"

Wearily, Dannan nodded his head slightly. His eyes closed again. "You can go hunt," he whispered. "You don't have to stay here."

"I'm fine," Lestat answered, though the hunger did pulse in him. He had given a lot of blood to Dannan. "I'll stay with you."

"Thank you." The whisper was so soft as to be almost inaudible. Lestat went to the other side of the bed, laying down, preparing to wait out the long hours until David and Louis would arrive.

The phone rang. Lestat was up and beside it in the space of a heartbeat, picking it up. "Hello?

"Oh, thank God. I've been waiting. No, he's still the same. Yes. Yes. I'll be here."

He hung up the phone, turning to look at Dannan. The sun had been down barely an hour on this side of the coast. Dannan was still asleep, curled tightly into a ball of pain, twitching every so often. He had been that way since late the night before.

It was close to an hour before there was a soft tap at the door. Lestat was positive he had never been happier to see two people in all the years he had lived as he was to see them there- David, ever the stylish Englishman, in a light cotton suit of a tan color that complemented his golden skin, and Louis, in a soft grey sweater, his dark hair pulled back from his face, more beautiful then Lestat remembered him.

"Come in, come in. You had no problem getting here?" He drew them into the suite, unable to keep himself from touching them, just to feel their solidity, to know that they were there.

David was smiling at him slightly, but was almost instantly all business. Lestat was not to be granted forgiveness so easily. "Where is the boy? What did you say his name was?"

"Dannan. Dannan Eriksman. He's in the bedroom, still asleep." Lestat had already turned to go back there and did not notice the way David suddenly stiffened.

Louis followed Lestat slowly. "What's wrong with him?" His green eyes were cool, betraying an inner hurt. He, also, was not going to let Lestat off lightly.

"I don't know. That's the problem." Lestat paused, realizing that he must look rather harried, that Louis was still angry over his sudden leave taking and continued absence. "Please, Louis, I know we need to talk. And we will, I promise, but Dannan needs help now."

Louis snorted. "Promise. Oh, you and your promises! You, you're a fine one to promise anything." His face reflected the all too human hurt that he felt. "You promise not to have dealings with the Talamasca. You promise not to reveal our secrets to mortals. You promise not to go charging off without leaving some sort of word. You promise not to work the Dark Gift..." Louis gestured as he spoke, long, graceful sweeps of his pale hands. His expression was bitter.

Lestat tried to bite back a sharp retort, feeling his temper rise. "That's hardly fair! And at least one of those is like the pot calling the kettle black, or did you forget that, Monsieur 'Interview with the Vampire'?"

"And what about the Talamasca?" Louis retorted. "What about Raglan James? What about last month? What about David? And now, as it that weren't enough, as though anything will ever be enough for you and your damn whims, now there's this boy! What else? WHO else? Shall we greet another Claudia into our midst next, just to keep you satisfied? Lestat, this is past all bounds!"

It took Lestat a moment to piece together what Louis had said and when he did he began to laugh. "What? You think I did this? Oh Louis, my dear, precious Louis, what would I do if I didn't have you here to misunderstand me so completely? Didn't David tell you what I said? Dannan is Marius' child!"

Louis shook his head, mouth tight, disbelieving. "Marius wouldn't..."

"Marius did!" Lestat retorted sharply. "And left the boy on his own, like a baby on a step. But it doesn't matter now and it won't matter at all in the near future if we don't find some way of stopping whatever is happening to him! In the name of mercy, Louis, that word you like to preach about so much, can you just believe me this once? And stop arguing," he added, dropping his voice lower then normal. "I don't want to disturb Dannan."

Linking his arm though Louis', Lestat all but hauled the other man with him into the next room. And though Louis glared impotently at him he did not raise his voice again. Lestat firmly drew him to the bedside, ignoring Louis' horrified gasp as he saw Dannan's still form.

Leaving Louis' side, Lestat went to bend over Dannan, gently shaking him. "Dannan?"

Eyelids slitted open. Dry lips cracked, letting an equally parched tongue flicker across them. His voice was a papery whisper, drawn from a dry throat. "Lestat?"

It had started just before dawn the former night, the drawing of all moisture from his flesh until the skin cracked and flaked. Lestat picked up the damp washcloth he had left on the bedside table, wiping it lightly over Dannan's face. "We have guests," he told the boy.

"Talamasca?" Dannan looked over to Louis, seeming to have trouble focusing his eyes. Then he slowly smiled, a tentative expression and one that looked ghastly on his ravaged face. "Louis?"

Reluctantly, Louis stepped forward until he stood next to the bed. His expression held a deep sympathy and pity. Dannan looked up to him, obviously pleased. "You are Louis, aren't you?" he asked, the whisper breaking. "You must be. Lestat's told me all about you." Again, that small, strained smile. "You're one of his favorite subjects."

Louis took the hand that Dannan extended to him gently between his own. "Yes. I'm Louis." He seemed almost fascinated by the skeletal figure before him.

"And now that he and David are here," Lestat declared grandly, then paused, looking about the room. "Where did David go?"

Lestat found his friend outside of the suite, leaning against the hallway some five doors down. "What are you doing out here?" Lestat demanded, irritated. "Why didn't you come in with us?"

David opened his eyes, gesturing for Lestat to step to other side of him. "What?" Lestat said, unmoving. "Why?"

"I'm standing just outside the limit of Dannan's mortal telepathic range," David said mildly. "I'm not sure it's enough, now, but it will do. I'd prefer you were a bit farther from him as well."

Lestat was openly puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

David ignored him. "That was a good story, the one you told Louis. You'll have to tell him the truth, of course, before he tries to question Marius about it. Why did you pick Marius? Because he's been gone for a few months? Why not Armand, or Daniel? They would do just as well, I'd think."

"Just as well for what? David, you're not making any sense. Stop speaking in riddles."

"For Dannan's supposed 'parent', of course," David replied, as though Lestat should have every idea of what he was talking about. Sighing, he rubbed a hand across his eyes. "That was a nasty trick to play on me, Lestat. You could have just told me you knew Dannan, not made up that whole gruesome story about the possible disease..."

"I didn't make anything up! David, you sound as if you know Dannan. If you do, how can you just stand there like nothing is happening? He's dying!"

"Oh please, Lestat, stop with the melodramatics. Did you tell him all of it? All about Raglan? If not, he's in for a nasty shock. This body takes a bit of getting used to for someone familiar with the old me."

That, at least, made sense to Lestat. "You... knew Dannan. You used to know him, when you were mortal! David, why didn't you ever tell me?"

"You didn't ask," David said rather sharply, then sighed. "No, forget I said that. You wouldn't have know what to ask. God, Lestat, this really does top just about anything else you've ever done, you know that, don't you? I hate to think of what the Talamasca is doing. In a panic, I imagine."

"About what?" Lestat grabbed David's shoulder, his fingers hard enough that David winced. "Why didn't you tell me about Dannan? We had a right to know! Marius' child..."

David met Lestat's eyes, puzzled realization working it's way into his expression. "You really believe that, don't you," he whispered, shocked. "What in God's name gave you that idea, that he was Marius' child?"

"He said..."

"He said that? He actually said that? Think, Lestat! Did he actually say that Marius made him?"

It was Lestat's turn to look puzzled, taking a step back. "Yes! Well... that it... I think..." He grimaced, looking angry. "All right, damn it. He didn't actually say Marius' full name, now that I think about it. But I asked him about Marius once and he went off in a fit. He recognized the name. Isn't that enough for you?"

David pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. "Lestat, how much do you actually know about Dannan? Do you know how old he is? Where he comes from? Anything like that?" He watched Lestat stammer for a moment, thrown off balance by his inability to answer David's questions. Finally, he laid his hands on Lestat's shoulders. "One of these days, Lestat, that habit you have of jumping to conclusions is going to get you into deeper trouble then we can pull you out of." He hesitated, licking his lips. "If I was still with the Talamasca, I would tell you to stay far away from Dannan, I would tell you it was dangerous to associate with him, I would do everything in my power to discourage you from talking to him. And I'd end up driving you right into his arms, wouldn't I? So I'm not going to do that. I am going to say that everything you've assumed about him is wrong. No, don't interrupt! The files in the Talamasca will verify everything I'm telling you. Dannan is not Marius' child and he is older then you are. Are you listening? Anything else you want to know, you will have to ask him. It isn't my story to tell."

Releasing Lestat, David ran his fingers through his hair, dislodging a soft curl that fell forward over his forehead. "And that is all I'm going to say. I'm washing my hands of this entire mess, Lestat, so don't come crying to me and don't say I didn't warn you. And now, if you don't mind, I'm going out. I haven't eaten yet." David turned to walk down the hallway and found his way blocked by a pale arm that would no more move from his path then a concrete wall would.

"You're going back to the room with me and talking to Dannan," Lestat said cooly, his eyes hard.

David could not resist putting his own hand against that forearm, giving it a little push. It did no good, of course. "Lestat, don't be foolish. Please, I don't want to argue with you over this, but I am not going in there. I am not going to face Dannan right now. You talk to him first. Ask him about himself. I think you'll see why I don't particularly care to speak to him. Especially not now."

"Well, I don't understand," Lestat said, "and I really don't care. Dannan is in no shape to talk about anything and I'm loosing my patience. I don't care what kind of history you have with him in your mortal life. Now, are you going to turn around and walk back there, or do I carry you?"

David smiled slightly, lips pressed thin. "You would, wouldn't you?" Seeing the look in Lestat's eyes, he nodded his head graciously and turned back around, heading towards the suite. "On your own head be it," he said. "I warned you, you can't say I didn't!"

Lestat felt a strong sense of vindication as David stopped, rocking back on his heels with a sharp exclamation of dismay at his first sight of Dannan. "Dear God," he whispered, eyes wide. "Oh, dear God..."

"I may jump to the wrong conclusions sometimes," Lestat said, "but I do not lie about what I have seen with my own eyes."

David swallowed convulsively, his eyes glued to the form on the bed. Louis, who now sat beside Dannan and had looked up as they entered, rose and came to stand with them.

"He's exhausted," he said in a soft whisper. "He hasn't slept in close to three nights, Lestat. The pain keeps him awake. He just can't do anything but lay there. It's horrible." Louis glanced back to Dannan, concern etched in his darkened eyes and pinched expression. Unconsciously he rubbed his fingers together, twisting them slightly in worry.

Lestat gave David a push, propelling him forward. Still dazed, David approached the bed. Dannan peered up at his blurrily. "Talamasca?" he whispered. "No, you aren't Talamasca... But I thought..."

David cleared his throat, slowly kneeling until he was on a level with the bed. "Hello, Dannan. It's me. David."

For a long minute there was no sound in the room but for the beating of four hearts and the sound of breath being passed through four sets of lungs. Then Dannan reached out, catching David's chin. He held it for a moment, hazel eyes wide and staring in that decaying face. His lips pulled back over his teeth in a horrible snarl and, against all possibility, he rose; rearing up in the bed, a corpse risen from the coffin, face frozen in incredulous anger. David flinched, falling back with a cry.

"Betrayer!" Dannan hissed. "Liar! Fiend! I wasn't good enough for you, was I? Traitor! And you dare to come here, like that, with his scent all over you, his blood running in your veins, when you wouldn't take it from me? Come to gloat? Come to twist the knife? Oh, you are the devil's spawn! Bastard! Whore!" He was sobbing now, shaking, unable to force tears from his dry eyes. A wind rushed through the room, touching their hair, their clothes, the drapes. On the dresser the phone rattled, quivering, papers lifting into the wind, a book falling to the floor with a crash. Louis clutched at Lestat's arm with frightened strength as smaller things, unattached, spun into the whirl of air that had worked itself into a fury, whipping around David.

It ended almost as soon as it had begun. As though someone had pulled the plug the wind stopped, objects falling to the floor with thuds where they were dropped. Dannan, gasping for breath, collapsed to the bed. David was at his side instantly, drawing the limp body into his arms. "I loved you," Dannan sobbed, burying his face against David's shoulder. "I loved you..."

David, the red streaks of tears mingling with the beads of blood welling from a cut across his cheek inflicted by the storm, held the boy close. He murmured to him, stroking his hair, kissing his forehead. "Shh, Dannan. God, I knew this would hurt you, I knew... You have to believe I didn't do it to hurt you. You have to."

"I loved you," Dannan cried. "I offered it to you and you wouldn't take it. You make me leave, you made me promise never to come back, you were so angry... And now you take if from him? Why, David? Why? What did he offer that I couldn't have given you?"

"Dannan... Dannan, look at me." David gently forced the boy's head up, stroking the dark ringlets back from his ravaged face. "Dannan, that was close to twenty-three years ago. Do you hear me? Do you know what that means? It's more then your entire mortal lifetime, Dannan. Look at me. What do you see?"

"A young man," Dannan whispered. "An old vampire. I don't know. I don't understand!"

"I was nearly fifty, Dannan. Growing old. Do you remember? Do you remember what I looked like then?" David was looking into Dannan's face with such force, as though he would force the other vampire to remember. "I hadn't seen you in years, and you acted as though it had been weeks. You were beautiful and young and just exactly the same as when I first saw you... Dannan, I had to send you away. I couldn't bear to see you, to know what you must see in me. Knowing what I had to look forward to in the years ahead. I couldn't bear it, so I sent you away from me. Do you understand?"

"You wouldn't take it..." Dannan whispered brokenly.

David closed his eyes. "No. No, I wouldn't. Oh, Dannan, you have to understand. I refused you. And twenty years later, when that blonde fiend over there came and made me the same offer I refused him as well. Tell him, Lestat. I told you no, I told you that repeatedly. I said it right up to my dying breath, I swear I did..."

"Close enough," Lestat said, "but don't lay the blame at my door." He came to sit on the bed, Louis close behind him. "You never said you knew other vampires," he added accusingly.

"No, I didn't," David said slowly. He drew a deep breath, letting it back out again. "I said I had never spoken to another of your kind, and I told the truth. I spoke to Dannan. And he is not your kind, as you are not his."

It was nearly dawn by the time the story had been told, all of it, in all of its parts. David spent the better part of two hours calming Dannan down and explaining to him, with tireless patience, all that had transpired to bring him to his current state of immortality in a different body. Throughout it all Dannan clung to him, pale eyes burning with fury as he stared at Lestat, as though daring the other vampire to make any sort of move towards David. Finally, exasperated, Lestat told Dannan to read his mind if he didn't believe their words. "Go on, do it! You can, I know you can. Just stop glaring at me like that!"

At that, Dannan had broken into soft sobs again. "I can't, I can't read you! I haven't been able to since this all started! I don't know if you're lying to me or not! And David, you're blocking me out, I don't have the strength right now... God, you're cruel, I never realized..." Nothing David said after that would comfort him and finally even he lost all patience, declaring that enough time had passed with this foolishness already and Dannan would simply have to cope with it own his own. There was history the others needed to know, questions that needed to be answered.

This roused Dannan, who protested, claiming that he did not want to know, that it didn't matter, that he didn't want to speak of it. In the end, it was exhaustion that quieted him and not any of their arguments. The rage he had thrown against David at first seeing him had used up what strength Dannan had and finally he lay back down, eyes closed, breathing slow, only the faint twitch of his fingers giving any indication that an alert mind still hovered within that withered husk. At times, during David's narration, he would speak, startling them all. Only once, in the very beginning, did he rouse himself to any great length and on that point David capitulated, rather then argue with him.

They had ranged themselves about the bed, Louis and Lestat in chairs, David sitting beside Dannan's curled form on the bed. David sighed, seeming almost at a loss for words. "There is so much to tell, so much that lies in the Talamasca's files- I can't remember it all. But it's Dannan's story that you need to hear, so I'll start there.

"It begins before the Talamasca, really. In the days of your Akasha, Lestat, or maybe even before her, no one really knows and we've never been certain..."

"No," Dannan said, quite suddenly. Nothing moved but his lips, the words issuing in a soft hiss that bore steel beneath it. "I was born in 1276, David, that is when it starts. Before that is his life and we will not speak of it."

David did not press the subject. He merely continued, picking up the thread in a new place, as though he had meant to do so all along.

"1276. Dannan was born in that year, according to the oldest of the Talamasca's files. Born to a peasant farmer's family in England, one child among many. In his fifteenth year he was taken as a servant by a traveling knight, a man of the nobility who traveled in foreign lands and took the boy with him. When Dannan was nearly twenty they were passing through England again and Dannan fell victim to the plague that was so viriluent in those days. It was written that he died a few days later."

Lestat made a small noise in his throat. "The scars," he said, making the connection. "The plague scars. From the boils."

"Yes." David leaned back against the headboard, one ankle crossed over the other, hands folded in his lap. Now he raised one of those hands, making a dismissive gesture. "That was all written after the fact, of course. Members of our order had watched Dannan's master for a few years but Dannan, up til that point, was of little interest. One of a number of servant boys employed over the years. They all left eventually, dismissed or run away, and each and every one refused to speak a word of their time with their employer ever again. But not Dannan. Dannan died.

"And not three days later a member of our order recorded having seen Marcus leaving London at night, with a boy who matched Dannan's description."

Dannan, breaking his silence, hissed between his teeth. David laid a placating hand on his hair, stroking it as one might stroke the fur of a wild animal to quiet it. Louis leaned forward, eyes alight with the hunger for knowledge and the answer to a mystery. "Then the vampire who made Dannan was named Marcus? Not Marius?"

"Yes, Marcus. It's not his original name but it is the one he uses most frequently. You can hear the similarity to Marius, especially the way it's pronounced. Small wonder you misheard it, Lestat. Pure Egyptian, a priest of Ra, as near as we can tell. In looks, quite like Khayman, I would say." David smiled a little. "Though, of course, I've only seen pictures of Marcus from the files.

"The files after that point are as erratic as any kept on the two of you. There will be scores of things in one year, then nothing for years at a time as the vampires in question drop in and out of sight. Quite impossible to track them all the time and we don't try. Too dangerous. It is known that Dannan parted company with Marcus soon after he became a vampire, yet the two kept in close contact, meeting frequently in the years following. It is recorded in the late 1600's that they both spent time together in China, during which time Marcus made a sister for Dannan, an oriental girl by the name of Kim Ling who traveled quite comfortably with Dannan for a time after that, learning the ways of the Western world. Eventually, they all took separate paths, Kim Ling to America, Marcus to the Mediteranean, Dannan to northern Europe.

"It was there, in Scotland, a few decades before the turn of the century, the Dannan met a young woman by the name of Caitlin McLowry."

Dannan made a low sound in his throat, half sob, half moan. David looked upset himself but he continued to speak, pausing only now and again to wet his lips, his voice betraying only the tiniest tremble. "They lived together for several years until Caitlin fell ill. The doctors said it was consumption and gave her half a year to live, if that. Dannan appealed to Marcus for help and received no answer. So he took it upon himself to do for her what Marcus had done for him some six hundred years before- work the Dark Gift, giving her immortality.

"All the recording Talamasca member knew at the time was that something went wrong. When it was done Caitlin lay in a coma, unmoving, unthinking, neither dead nor alive, nor yet unalive. And Dannan, frantic with grief and drained of all strength himself, called on Marcus to help him. Marcus came, looked on Caitlin, and refused.

"What followed was the type of argument that breaks families apart. And in the end, after the bitter words were spoken, Marcus could not refuse his firstborn child. He reworked the Gift, creating Caitlin anew with his own ancient strength.

"It was a disaster. The first attempt, and to lay for days in a coma, it had broken her mind. She was mad, her humanity completely lost, a newborn vampire with no memory, no self control. She delighted in destruction for its own sake, glutting herself on her victims, leaving their bodies where she found them, heedless of the need for secrecy. Marcus, seeing the monster she had become, took it upon himself to end her ill begun life. He walled her from her refuge when the dawn came, chased her into the steppes and left her. And she, poor thing, out in the bare open, too mad and too weak to find shelter in the ground, died beneath the rising sun.

"The next night, when Dannan found her remains, he flew to Marcus. If they had argue before it had only been a prelude to what they said now; to the words that were flung and could never be taken back, until neither could find it in his heart to forgive the other. Dannan did not have the strength to do the harm to Marcus that he wished and Marcus, for the love he once bore Dannan, would not raise a hand against him. When all was said and done Marcus left, Dannan screaming after him, and the two have never spoken since that night."

David sighed, looking down to where Dannan lay, silent. "What I have told you is all in the Talamasca files. The affair between Dannan and Marcus and the way in which they parted company was documented primarily after the fact, through the testimonies of servant who witnessed at least part of it. The files continue after that point, following Dannan's travels through Europe and eventually to America. What I am going to tell you, though, takes place many years later and is, for the most part, not in the Talamasca's records." He smiled, mirthlessly. "Quite simply because it was none of their business and better for everyone, all around, that they did not know. I suppose I felt guilt ridden about it for years afterwards, but I could never seem to make myself change the records.

"I was thirty-eight. I had been working with the Talamasca for some time, by then, been on several cases. Rather successful and thrilled with it still, the love of the new, the unexplored. So you can imagine my excitement when they brought this new case to me, told me I was to be assigned to it if I liked, that it was in America. And yes, it was dangerous, I must read all of the files, understand it all, decide if I truly wanted to do this. No one would think the less of me if I refused.

"And those files! Dear God, to explain what it felt like, seeing that word vampire printed on the cover as though it were the most natural thing in the world. To read all those old manuscripts and papers, smell the old ink and parchment, enter into the vaults and see all of the old things, the things described in the records- and to know, to realize, that these things are real! Immortal, unchanging vampires! This was after the war, of course, this was the new age, the age of mechanical wonders and scientific breakthroughs. Things like vampires simply didn't exist, it was laughable. Yet here was the proof, in the Talamasca vaults, and I was to be sent to America to watch one of these creatures, to see it for myself! Well, I tell you, nothing could have stopped me from going at that point, nothing at all. I had to do this. I had to see this undead creature for myself.

"They gave me all of the warnings, of course. Don't ever get too close. Don't, above all, let them know that you are there. Better to loose track of the subject for a few years then loose a member, yes, of course! And I was to be on my guard at all times, these creatures had powers, they could bind your mind over time, or pounce and kill with all the ferocity of a great cat. Most importantly, alert the Motherhouse if he ever makes contact with a vampire other then his immediate family. And I nodded and agreed, not really listening, my mind focused on the future.

"So I came to America, to New York, and I delighted in the different styles and speeches and people around me. I was in heaven, exploring a whole new world among these brash American's. Yes, it was just another city, not unlike any other modern city, but I had come into it with a purpose and that changed everything.

"As quick as I could, as soon as it could be arranged, I tracked down my prey. I found this immortal creature and I set myself to watch him and learn everything about him that I could, record it, send it back to reside in the Motherhouse with all of those other records. I knew the history, of course, I could have recited it backwards at that point, I had read it so often. I knew, in my head, what to expect. But nothing prepared me for the reality."

David laughed a little, self consciously. "I was a fool, I guess. But there he was, and he was nothing like I had expected. I guess I don't know what I expected, really. A charming monster, like Dracula, aristocratic but horrible. Or some ancient being trapped in a dead body, like a ghoul. A thin layer of everlasting youth laid over the stench of death and decay. And Dannan was none of those things."

David's eyes had grown distant, his words calling back that time in the past, his voice carrying some of the vigor and singlemindedness of that age. "He was, quite simply, the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Breathtaking. Younger then myself, it appeared, and exuding a vitality and a charisma, and a... yes, a sensuality that drew people to him, male and female, young and old alike. He was charming and thoughtful and pleasant and none of it was an act. There was nothing false about him. He was known to take many lovers, from both sexes, but no hint of slander ever touched him. No whisper of any mysterious killings ever came near him. He was above all that. He lead a social life, albeit at night only, and was much thought of among his circle of acquaintances. He had wealth and he had beauty and charm, and no one, in that day or any other, failed to fall beneath those spells.

"And I knowing the truth of it, knowing how many years lay behind those eyes and what lurked in that smile, was nigh to being hypnotized. I couldn't help it. I was powerfully attracted to this creature and it suddenly seemed impossible to me, to continue like this for a year, catching only glimpses and snippets of other people's stories. I desperately wanted to talk to this creature, to hear his account from his own lips. I wanted this so badly I could think of almost nothing else, I dreamed of it, I would forget to eat or sleep. I wanted to sit and talk with this being, as the people who thought they were his friends did, I wanted to reach out and touch that pale skin, to know what it felt like. I wanted to know, intimately, what went on behind those hazel eyes. I was obsessed, and I knew it, and I hid, for if the Talamasca had known they would have taken me off the case at once, called me home, as I later did with Jesse. That kind of fixation can never be healthy.

"I never imagined that Dannan was watching me. It never crossed my mind. So you can imagine my complete shock when, some three months after I had begun, I can home early one evening intending to transcribe my notes and sent them to London and found this creature sitting in the living room of my little apartment, as though he belonged there and had every right to be there.

"I was stunned and frightened, perhaps more so then I had ever been. And he just looked up from leafing through my notes, as calm as you please, and asked me to please come in, to sit down, as though this were his house and not mine! 'Sit, you must sit,' he said, 'come, there is a bottle of scotch on the table, the kind that you like, drink some, I brought it for you. You must sit and talk to me, you must explain these notes... I know of the Talamasca, of course I do, little scholars in robes, forever spying and collecting the scraps we leave behind. But this century had changed you, it must have, it's changed the whole world, and you must tell me what you are now, what the Talamasca is. What will you do with these notes? Where do they go?'

"I found myself sitting, much against my will, and answering his questions. No sooner had I answered one then he would ask another, wringing me for information about the Talamasca as thoroughly as we had ever researched him. And he was polite about it all, never threatening, keeping his distance, very charming and nice. He would urge me to drink, to relax, he wasn't going to harm me, he just wanted to talk. He had had to read all of my notes, of course, and even my personal journals, the ones in which I had jotted down some of the crazy things I had thought about him, the dreams. I blushed and was angry but he laughed it away, undisturbed. 'These things are normal, don't let it upset you,' he said. 'If you like, we can pretend I never read then, or that you never wrote them.' He was so calm about it all that I couldn't stay angry.

"We talked that entire night and by dawn I felt as though nothing could be more natural or sensible. I was tired and drunk and entirely in love with this beautiful, enchanting creature. He left me before dawn, of course, even helping me to my bed since by that time I couldn't walk. And he promised to come again, to continue our conversation. Before I fell asleep if occurred to me, after he had left, that I had just destroyed myself. The Talamasca would never understand. The would take me from Dannan's case, expel me from the order, and there was not a shred of evidence I could bring forth in self defence. I had willingly and knowingly broken just about every rule there was.

"The next night, when Dannan came back, I was in a panic. He sat me down and listened to me, just listened while I poured out all of the terrible things going through my head, of how angry my superiors in the order would be. And then, when I had run out of things to say, he looked at me and said 'But who will tell then if you don't?'

"Such a simple sentence, but it seemed like the commandment of God. It wasn't lying, Dannan explained, not at all. The Talamasca had sent me to watch Dannan and record his doings in the world and I would continue to do that, sending back regular reports. And what I did in my free time, in my personal life, was my own business and no one had ever ordered me to make a record of that, now had they? It just wasn't any of the Talamasca's business. I latched onto that idea eagerly, desperate as I was to stay there, to be able to converse with him again, to know him. And so we did just that. Dannan went about his life and I about mine and the Talamasca received regular reports and for a night or two every week we would meet and talk. In this way I learned most of his life in his own words and he learned mine. We became friends and within the month we were lovers."

David paused, almost waiting, and Lestat stepped in. "You mean you let him drink from you."

Brown eyes met blue, never flinching. "Yes. But more then that. We were lovers in that sense, certainly, but also in the physical sense. As mortals are."

Lestat openly gasped for a moment, caught by surprise. "What? But that's impossible, David, you know that."

David looked down to the body laying next to him. "Dannan?'

"It's true," Dannan said softly. "I don't know what significance it has, but it's true."

Looking up, David caught and held Lestat's gaze, though his words were directed at Dannan. "The significance, love, is that you're the only one in this room capable of that. Oh, not of having children, to be sure, but capable of simulating the act and finding it enjoyable. I can't anymore, and neither can Lestat or Louis, or any of the others."

Dannan cracked his eyes open for a moment, surveying David's solemn face and the disbelieving stares of the others. "Explain that," he whispered. "Marcus was surely capable, and Kim Ling. What's the difference?"

David never took his eyes from the other two sitting vampires. "Have you ever heard of Akasha? Of the Ones Who Must Be Kept?"

"Fiction," Dannan breathed. "I read it in Lestat's book. A pretty piece of fiction to confuse the mortals from the truth. He is that old, and he never told me any of it." His voice trailed off, as though speaking was growing too difficult.

"Lestat?"

"It was true," Lestat said, "every word of it was true. I know it, you both know it. Maharet or Khayman, they could tell you. They were there."

David waited while what they had said began to sink in. "In the Talamasca," he told them, "there are two sets of files, both labeled vampires. One file is huge, a virtual cornucopia of information on dozens of beings, sadly whittled away in the last years to a bare handful or so. The other is smaller and has never had more then perhaps twenty names in it at one time. It was discovered some centuries ago, when we began to research in depth, that our filing to that date had been incorrect. There were differences between these creatures, more so then could be accounted for by age. Different customs, different powers, different needs and weaknesses. A study was done and the files separated appropriately, Dannan's to one pile, Lestat's to another, if you see my meaning. The Talamasca has discovered that the beings themselves did not know- there were two distinct and separate types of vampires in this world."

He held up his hands before he could be interrupted. "No, wait! Hear me out! There is proof. The matter we just discussed, for one. Dannan can simulate the act of physical sex. We can not. Louis, you're over two hundred and you drain your victims when you hunt. Dannan, at the same age, drank that amount every two days and was satisfied. Now, a small amount, less then a cup, taken every other day would suffice. Any more then that will make him ill. It must be from a human, though- unlike us they cannot survive on animals for any length of time without substantial weakening.

"The tricks of the mind, like Lestat does, those come with age to both of our kinds. Bursting things into flame, though, this is very rare for Dannan; only if the mortal had some power even before the Dark Gift will pyrokinesis or long range telepathy develop. Dannan and Marcus can hear each other as we cannot, but only in a few city block radius. Nothing like the globe spanning range we can manage if we try.

"Daylight brings on sleep for us, nothing will wake us once the sun is up. And I tell you I once spent a day with Dannan during that year we were together, a day sitting and talking to him, safe behind doors and covered windows. He did it to prove to me that he could, just to prove it. He was tired and irritable for it, but entirely lucid the whole day. I couldn't do that if I tried, Lestat, and don't you dare say you could! I know you can't.

"Even the matter of our birth into this life is different. Oh, the means are the same- draining unto death and giving back the blood from the master's veins. But our deaths happen in a matter of hours and we are awake for it, we watch it happen. Dannan and Kim Ling died after the blood exchange, died and were clinically dead for twenty-four hours before waking as vampires. And they can't make fledglings until they have the strength for it, until they survive six-hundred years or so. Dannan was nearly six hundred when he tried to make Caitlin, but he wasn't strong enough to bring her back, even though he nearly bled himself dry. He could have done it to me when he offered, he was positive of it, but look at the difference! You, Lestat, you made Gabrielle when you were only a few months old yourself. Dannan's kind couldn't even attempt it, much less succeed so well. And Marcus is unusual, he had made three children, two of whom survive. Most never live that long, or don't make more then one child when they do. I haven't looked at the files recently but I would wager that our kind are about equal in numbers, now.

"Which is why the Talamasca made it something of a mission to ensure that the vampires themselves never figured out the truth. It was too dangerous for Dannan's kind, they would have been overwhelmed by numbers alone, before Akasha woke." David smiled. "It was a kind of society for the preservation of an endangered species. We took careful note every time two vampires from the different families crossed paths. Most times, they could speak for awhile and continue on, never realizing it was not another member of their own kind they were talking to. Sometimes, a fight would ensue and someone would die. Dannan's kind are frequently rather fiercely territorial. And on those rare occasions when it looked as though two vampires might actually exchange enough information to discover the differences the Talamasca has, the Talamasca might actually step in and try to find some way of separating the two. And now, in all that time, you three are the first to know the truth."

Silence greeted this end. It was some time before Lestat gathered himself to speak, some of the animation coming back to his expression as he talked. "All right. All right, suppose, for a moment, that all of this is true, not that I think it is. I'm not accusing you of lying, David, calm down, but maybe the Talamasca was wrong, maybe someone misinterpreted the facts somehow, who knows? Fine. But supposing that all of this is true, what then? What does it mean? And what does it have to do with Dannan's illness?"

"When did you fall ill, Dannan?" David asked quietly, looking at Lestat.

"Two nights ago," came the reply. "Two and a half days ago, rather. I remember waking during the day feeling ill and thirsty. But it's harder to wake up once you're asleep... I just thought it was the drug and glutting myself like that, so I ignored it. By that evening I was in pain."

"During that day," David echoed. "Hours after you had shared Lestat's blood."

Stunned shock. And then Lestat was on his feet, angry, nearly shouting. "It is not my fault!"

It was Louis who grabbed his arm, trying to push him back to his chair. Lestat shook him off without even noticing. Louis grabbed at him again, hooking his fingers into Lestat's shirt sleeve. "Lestat! Calm down, that's not what he's saying! No one's accusing you of anything!"

"I'm not blaming you," David agreed calmly. "There's no one really at fault here. But if my guess is right our blood isn't compatible. Dannan's rejecting it like a mortal would a transplanted organ."

Lestat shook his head angrily. "Doesn't hold, David. He expelled all of the blood the night I called you. It didn't help."

David shrugged. "So he didn't expel it all. What he had the night before was less then what you tried to give him the second time, right? It didn't make him so dramatically ill. His body absorbed it, then discovered its mistake and is trying to correct it."

"Pretty damn far fetched," Lestat snarled, sitting back down with bad grace. "Dannan's getting worse, not better. You'll have to do better then that, David."

David ignored Lestat's mocking tone. "There's a simple way of finding out," he said.

"What?"

"One of us could drink a little of Dannan's blood. If it affects us adversely, then my theory holds. Whatever is in our blood that separated us is unpalatable to the other type."

"Fine," Lestat said, affecting an uncaring attitude. "Go ahead, David. Knock yourself out. We'll be watching."

Dannan stirred. "No. David, it might be a disease. I don't let you expose yourself to it."

"We don't get sick," David said firmly.

"Just like we aren't supposed to have two types of vampires?" Lestat asked sweetly. David started to respond to this when Louis spoke up. "I'll do it."

There was silence for a moment and Louis jumped into it, taking advantage of having caught the others by surprise. "I'm the least powerful here. Lestat, you and David would have to take a lot from Dannan to have it effect you, whether it's from incompatable blood or a disease or whatever. I won't have to, and Dannan can't spare much. Let me."

The response was instantaneous. "NO!" Lestat yelled, grabbing ahold of Louis physically as though he would restrain the other man. "Louis, you can't! It's too dangerous!" He was echoed by David and Dannan.

"I will do this," David said, decisively. "I have an idea of the risk and I'm willing to take it, if it will tell us what's wrong with Dannan." He softened, glancing at Dannan, who lay curled beside him. "That is, if you will let me?"

Dannan closed his eyes, sighing. "You know I could never say no to you, David. Go ahead, if you can find any blood near the surface. I'm not sure you can. I can't really feel my skin anymore. But promise me you'll stop if you feel anything, if it tastes wrong."

"Did you feel anything when you drank from Lestat?"

"Not really... but it didn't taste right. There was something different from sharing with him. It wasn't the same."

"I remember you saying that," Lestat said quietly.

David nodded, solemn. "Then I promise. I won't take much, Dannan. Louis is right, you can't spare it."

Dannan lay, as still as death, as David lifted his bone thin wrist. Lestat and Louis watched, every muscle tensed, as David gently broke the thin skin above the vein with his teeth.

Dannan moaned, a shudder convulsing his body. His fingers tightened on David's, arm shaking. David stayed still for long moments, the only movement in his body the convulsive muscle contractions in his throat as he swallowed. Suddenly, a panic seemed to grip him. He released Dannan's wrist with a gasp, eyes springing wide, thrusting the still bleeding wound away from him. A gagging sound issued from his throat, blood trickling over his wet lips as he sucked in great gasps of air. Lestat and Louis were beside him instantly but he thrust them away, running into the bathroom. Bending over the sink, he expelled the blood he had taken from Dannan simply by letting it come back up. He continued to gag afterwards, rinsing his mouth with the tap water repeatedly.

"It tasted wrong?" Lestat asked. His tone was cool but he fetched a towel for David to wipe his face with.

David shook his head, then suddenly looked up, concerned. "Dannan?"

"Is fine. Louis is with him. What was wrong with the blood?"

David laughed a little, running his fingers through his hair. "Based on taste alone, nothing. I couldn't tell the difference between his blood and yours. But the minute it hit my stomach it all went wrong. Came straight back up." He spat, disgusted, pressing the towel to his tongue in a vain attempt to get rid of the taste. "Tasted like sugar water coming back up. Or tea. Or any other sweet liquid that I can't drink anymore, I'm not sure. Had about the same effect, too. I couldn't have kept it down if I'd wanted to."

Lestat sighed, covering his face with his hands. "Damn. You know, I think I could have handled it better if it was a disease. I wouldn't feel so guilty."

"Not your fault. You didn't know." David sighed. "But now comes the hard part."

"What?"

David pointed towards the bedroom. "If anyone would know how to heal him, it would be the vampire who made him. And Dannan and Marcus haven't spoken in over a hundred years."

Lestat thought about it. "Can you contact Marcus? Would he come?"

"I think so, yes."

"Then go. Do it. Take Louis with you, you both need to hunt. I'll deal with Dannan."

David nodded gratefully, slipping past Lestat to go and speak with Louis.

It was perhaps an hour until dawn when David stopped at a pay phone, picking it up with some trepidation. "Marcus had always known about the Talmasca," he had told Louis. "As much as Dannan did. He'll believe me."

The tiny, clear voice of the operator sounded in his ear. "Yes, operator, I need to place a call to Athens, Greece. To a Marcus Dhamaysca, I'm not sure of the number. Yes. I'll hold."

Long minutes of waiting. Then- "Yes, thank you. Collect, please. From David Talbot, the Superior General of the Talmasca. Yes, exactly like that. Thank you."

More long moments, listening to the tiny ring at the other end of the phone going on and one. And then a sleep slurred answer, the operator's voice, repeating his name. Repeating it several times before the other voice responded. A long pause. And then the answering voice, deep and richly accented English, an educated man's voice, sounding irritable. "Yes, I accept the charges."

The operator clicked out. The voice continued, half growling. "Now, sir, you may tell me who you are. The Superior General of the Talmasca named David Talbot has, to the best of my knowledge, been dead for the last year."

Not startling, really, to know that he knew that. This being had watched the Talmasca for as lone as the Talmasca had watched him. "I am who I said I was, sir, and I am no more dead then you are yourself. I need you to listen to me closely, I can't stay on long. Dawn is approaching."

"It is the middle of the afternoon, here," the voice half grumbled. "Alright, Mr. Talbot, tell me why you called me."

"I am in Los Angeles, sir, in America. You must come here as quickly as you can. I cam calling on behalf of your son, sir, of Dannan Eriksman. He is dying, sir, do you understand me? You must come as soon as you can. Don't delay. Meet us at the Los Angeles Hilton. Dannan is there. If you do not come, he will die." With shaking hands, David hung up the phone. It was done. Left with such an ambiguous message, Marcus would have no choice but to come.

Louis took his arm, drawing him away. False dawn already lightened the horizon. "We have to get back," he said.

"Yes, David agreed. "Let's go."

Night in Los Angeles.

Lestat stood before the windows of the suite, hands pressed to the cool glass, watching the lights below. He had risen before the others, as he normally did, and left to go outside and watch the last dwindling rays of the sunset. It had seemed impossible to him that he had done the same thing only four nights ago, too much had happened in the time between then and now. On impulse he had gone and walked among the crowds on the streets below, enjoying an hour to himself. A young hooker who had made the mistake of approaching him had provided the blood that now softened his white skin just a bit and sent refreshing energy pulsing through his veins. In a much better mood, he had returned to the suite to find the others now awake.

David and Louis had taken a room near his own the night before but, by unspoken agreement, they all gathered in Lestat's suite. David had gone to hunt, claiming that the blood he had taken from Dannan the night before was still making him a bit ill. It didn't seem to have any adverse effect on him physically, though, besides making him want to drown the very memory of the taste out of his mind. Not at all like Dannan's reaction to Lestat's blood.

The bedside lamp was on. By watching the reflections on the darkened window Lestat could see Louis, his dark hair still damp from the shower and clinging to his neck, seated in a chair beside the bed. Dannan had moved since the last time Lestat had looked, rolling over to his other side so that his back faced Louis and burying his face in the pillows so that he didn't need to see Lestat. He had been ignoring their presence since the night before, when Lestat had told him that they had sent for Marcus. Dannan's complete and total abhorrence for the vampire who made him reached almost childlike heights. Lestat had, based on Dannan's prior reaction to things, expected a screaming semi-hysterical outburst when he had told him. Instead, Dannan had simply turned away, refusing to speak to Lestat again. Since then he had ignored every word spoken to him, done his best to avoid looking at them or acknowledging them in any way, and generally pretended that they didn't exist. The knowledge that he did this because he didn't have the strength to so anything else was the only thing that kept Lestat from yelling at him or striking him, anything to get a response from the boy.

Louis rose from his chair, coming to stand beside Lestat. They stood for awhile in silence, looking out at the city. "He has to come," Louis finally said, quietly.

Lestat snorted. "I should hope so, after David's pathetic little attempt to sound like a bad ransom threat... If he remembers it at all, what with it being the middle of the afternoon over there... It's a puzzle and he'll come to wring the answers out of us, if nothing else. I would."

"He'll come," Louis answered, "because Dannan needs him." Abruptly, he turned to Lestat. "What will you do? After Marcus comes and you don't need to be here with Dannan anymore? Where will you go?"

Lestat shrugged. "I don't know. I hadn't thought about it. Wherever I feel like, I should imagine." From the corner of his eye he watched Louis' expression fade, his green eyes darkening with inner emotion. A smile tugged at Lestat's lips. "Maybe back to New Orleans. I find I rather miss it."

Louis sighed, a relieved sound. Leaning back against the window, he relaxed, regarding Lestat with a kind of hopeful expectancy. "That would be fine. We want you to come back." He hesitated, his voice lowering, as though he found the words embarrassing. "I would like you to come back. To come home."

"Is that a request, Louis?" Lestat teased. "Do you actually miss my brilliant presence and my cutting conversation so much that you're begging me to come back?"

"Oh, you..." Louis sighed ruefully, acknowledging the tease. Then, seriously, he leaned towards Lestat, expression intense. "You don't need to tell me why you left. I don't really expect you to..."

"Oh, but I want to," Lestat interrupted. "Come, Louis, you know how I like to stew in my guilt once I actually admit that I have anything to be guilty of! And I did promise you that I wouldn't take off without warning on any 'hare brained schemes', as David put it. And only a few months later off I go, and I freely admit that it never crossed my mind that I might be making you worry, or hurting you. I just had to get out of that house for awhile, it was the only thing I could think of. It isn't easy, we all knew it wasn't going to be, and sometime I would just get so angry... I meant to come back, after I had cooled down a little. I meant to call. But one thing lead to another and I just never seemed to find the time... The king of self centerdness, that's me. The ill mannered brat prince to out do them all. I really don't know how either of you put up with me."

"We love you," Louis said simply. "It makes us more understanding of your flaws, I suppose. No, don't start up again. You only put those labels on yourself because you like being outrageous, you have to admit you do. Listen to me, Lestat. David was very sorry after you left, he was afraid he had made you angry..."

"He did make me angry," Lestat said, "you both did."

"But angry enough to go away, to leave us. And when you didn't come back we both worried. We need you there, Lestat. That house is empty without you. You bring a life to it that David and I can't duplicate. Even when we're railing against your impulsiveness, we love you for it. You must know that."

Smiling, Lestat turned to face Louis, reaching out to gently comb back the damp locks of dark hair that had fallen forward. "You know," he said softly, "I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me. Maybe I should take off for a few months more often, if this is the kind of reception I'll get when I come back."

"Lestat!" Louis gasped, outraged. "Don't you dare!" Chuckling, Lestat laid a finger across Louis' lips.

"I'm kidding, mon cher, you know I am. And of course I'll come back with you, though maybe we could all three stay here for awhile, or travel, something like that. Paris, maybe, I'd like to see Paris again. Or someplace exotic, someplace we haven't been. Traveling together was good, like when we went to Rio, do you remember? But it's up to you and David. If you want to go home, then we'll go home. And I promise to behave myself when we get there, at least for awhile."

"I'll hold you to that," Louis told him, pushing his hand away. Lestat twined his fingers in Louis', raising the hand to press his lips to the knuckles. Louis made a noise in his throat and tried to pull away, but he didn't try very hard and he didn't resist when Lestat slipped an arm around his waist. They stood like that for awhile, content just to enjoy a companionable silence. A sharp knock at the door finally intruded, bringing back reality like a slap in the face.

"David," Louis said with a little laugh, disentangling himself from Lestat.

Lestat growled, stalking across the suite to get the door. "His timing sucks," he grumbled, and Louis laughed softly.

David was in a fine state, face flushed, hair tousled. He brushed past Lestat the minute the lock was opened, with a single minded urgency. "He's here," he announced, and there was no mistaking who he was speaking of. "I just spoke to him downstairs. He's arranging for a room, he wants Dannan moved there. He'll be up shortly."

"Well, that's that, then," Lestat declared. He called back to the bedroom "Did you hear, Dannan?" There was no response and Lestat hadn't really expected one.

They didn't have to wait long. Within a few mintues there was another knock at the door. Lestat opened it with a bit of a flourish, allowing their guest to enter.

Marcus was not what they had expected. Mentally, Lestat still thought of the elder vampire as a mirror image of Marius, stern and serious, a sort of father figure. In reality the man that faced them now, though he had obviously been made at a later point in his life then any other in the room, could easily have passed for early thirties in age. His skin, though slightly pale, held a burnished gold tinge to it that gave it a more normal look and must have been a bronzed tan when he was mortal. Straight black hair fell to below his ears, a good portion of it caught up into small braids and thread wrapped locks, each tipped with an antique coin that made small chiming noises as he moved. He was dressed casually, in a tank top and shorts that befitted the sweltering heat outside.

Poised at the door, he appeared almost as a statue, unmoving. But the moment Lestat stepped aside he entered the room and the movement destroyed the illusion utterly. In motion he appeared completely human, even to the utterly human wariness that played across his features. His skin held and maintained a light flush, much as Dannan's had, which only made him appear all the more human. His movement alone gave him away- they had a studied quality to them, as though he had practiced so long to keep his gestures within the acceptable range of mortals that he no longer needed to think about it but did it by habit, constraining himself unnaturally. It was almost perfect, but something of that constraint showed through in a bit of stiltedness, like a mortal with stiffened joints.

It was not until he walked past Lestat that Lestat realized, with a type of shock, that the top of Marcus' head reached only to his shoulder. The sheer presence of the older vampire, which filled the room he was in, made such things as his lack of physical height unnoticeable.

Though he surveyed the others, Marcus' attention was focused instantly upon David. He turned his back on Lestat with only a passing glance and strode into the center of the room , stopping abruptly, again assuming the unnatural stillness that made him appear to suddenly become inanimate, a maniquin frozen in place. Only his eyes moved in a suddenly mask like face, training on David, who stood beside Louis. "Talmasca," he said, his voice carrying a slight reverberation, as though of an echo. It was a commanding voice, one that expected obedience. Lestat felt the fine hairs along the back of his neck rise.

Marcus took no notice of him, or of Louis. "Dannan?" He made the word into a query, biting off the end as though he would refuse to say more. David, eyes wide with a type of fascination, nodded towards the door that lead to the bedroom.

The older vampire jerked his head around and strode to the door, going from statue to animate movement so abruptly that is was startling. He flung open the door, walked through it, and the door slammed itself shut behind him.

They stood, stunned, for a moment. Then Lestat exploded.

"Well, how in hell do you like that! Of all the rude, overbearing..."

"He's worried," David protested.

"You mean he's worse then Marius on a bad day!" Lestat snapped. "Did you see what he did? Took one look at us and checked us off, as though we weren't even enough to notice! As though we were bugs, and he couldn't be bothered to step on us! And Dannan spent centuries under his heel? Mon Dieu, no wonder he's not right in the head!"

"And someone nominated you to the king of sanity and stability?" David queried, raising an eyebrow. "Listen, Lestat, stop reacting and think about it for a minute. That man is at least as old as Akasha, if half of the things we've found out about him are true. If he wanted you to explode from the inside out, you'd do it, and all he'd have to do it glance at you! We're all children to him, infants. I, for one, am not going to get upset if he ignores me. I'm going to thank my stars and hope to God that he never has reason to be angry with me!"

"If he's lived that long you'd think he'd have learned some manners along the way," Lestat growled. "Do what you like, David. I don't like the idea of him in there with Dannan, not in the state Dannan's in. What if he decides Dannan's no more worthy to live then that girl? What then? No, don't say it! I'm going in there, and don't you dare try and stop me!" So saying, he stalked to the door and jerked it open with enough force to set it banging against the wall.

Marcus stood to just one side of the door, facing the bed. He glanced up briefly as Lestat entered, then away again, reaching up to pass a hand over his eyes. The gesture was not quick enough, though, and before he turned away Lestat caught a glimpse of what might have been the gleam of blood tears in his eyes.

If it had been, Marcus gave no outwards sign of it as Lestat walked forward, planting himself between Marcus and the bed, arms folded. The mask was perfectly in place again, even his amber eyes unreadable. They stood and regarded each other for a long moment, Lestat taking a certain amount of perverse pleasure from the fact that at such close range Marcus had to crane his head back to meet Lestat's gaze.

It was the older vampire who broke the stillness. "The queen. The first one. She made you?"

The question set Lestat back on his heels. There was no question of who Marcus meant. Akasha. "No," he answered, voice cold, trying not to show the apprehension that seized him as that steady golden gaze surveyed him.

Marcus shrugged, the gesture quick, then immediately lapsed back into that unnatural stillness. "Remade you, then. It amounts to the same. Did you try to remake Dannan?" There was no malice in the question, just a need for knowledge.

Surprise forced an answer from Lestat before he could think better of it. "No. No, I didn't. It was..." Caught by the older vampire's gaze, Lestat felt the anger drain out of him. There was a lifetime of grief in that gaze, more years and more suffering then Lestat could imagine enduring. He could no more read Marcus then he could Dannan but he had the impression of incalculable ages, surmounted by a will for survival more primal then anything he had ever known. For a brief moment grief pushed at his mind, grief and worry and sadness, guilt, remorse. It pulsed, overwhelming, and then it was gone. Lestat took a deep breath, unable, for a moment, to recall what he had been saying. "It was an accident."

Marcus nodded, thoughtfully. "You didn't know. Talbot said as much, downstairs. I didn't want to believe..." He closed his eyes for a moment, lips tightening. Recovering, he stepped past Lestat, advancing to the bed. Lestat let him go.

Dannan had turned to face them. Curled into the farthest corner of the bed against the headboard, little more then a tangle of bones covered in skin, he watched them. Hard hazel eyes, sunken deep into their sockets, glared in mute fury from a skeletal skull. Even the cartilage had begun to crumble from within, flattening the lines of nose and ears. His hair, still black and full, if unwashed, tumbled in a tangled mass about his head, straggling into his eyes. If there had not been light behind those eyes he could have been a corpse, dead for some time and left to rot.

Marcus lowered himself to the bed, reaching out hesitantly. A rattling hiss from Dannan made him pause, drawing his hand back. "Dannan?" he said softly, gently. "It's Marcus, Dannan."

The ghastly hiss continued until Dannan had emptied his lungs. He did not speak, possibly could not, but his eyes burned with fury. Marcus flinched back from that gaze, half raising his hands as though he would cover his ears to block out a voice that only he could hear. "Stop it," he whispered, closing his eyes. Dannan continued to glare. Marcus caught his breath in what might have been a sob, shaking his head stiffly. "Stop it!" he cried, louder. Tears, blood red, slipped from beneath his eyelids, sliding slowly down his cheeks.

Lestat realized with a start that Marcus was responding to whatever Dannan was projecting into his mind. The two could hear each other as Lestat could never hope to hear Louis or David. And insane surge of jealousy stabbed through him. Marcus, now thoroughly agitated, had half risen from the bed. "Stop it!" he repeated, his voice reverberating until it echoed in the ears, harsh and unignorable. "I had to, Dannan, you know I did. I didn't want to, I swear... I didn't want to!"

Louis was at Lestat's side suddenly, eyes wide, attention focused on Marcus. Glancing aside, Lestat could see David framed in the doorway. Louis placed a hand on his arm, his voice low and urgent. "Caitlin," he whispered. "Dannan's lover, the one Marcus killed."

Marcus' words suddenly fell into place. Lestat turned back, alarmed, in time to see Marcus, teeth bared in a snarl, leap back from the bed. His hands were clenched at his sides, trembling, as though he would physically strike the impertinent child that dared to accuse him. Lestat had little doubt that such a blow would shatter Dannan like so much glass.

"You dare," Marcus spat, angry now. Tears still slid from his eyes but his expression had hardened as he took refuge in anger. "You dare! No, don't place the blame on me! If you had listened, if you had looked at all, you would have known! She could never had survived as one of us, even if you hadn't broken her mind first! She had to die! But you hadn't the courage for that, did you? No, you left it to me, you begged me to deal with her because you didn't have the strength! Don't you dare to twist that, don't you dare accuse me for doing what you could not!"

Dannan's eyes flashed in triumph, lips parting in mockery of a smile. Marcus snarled, lifting a hand, fingers clenched. The air fell still, heavy and leaden, the force of Marcus' anger burning like a static charge through the room.

"NO!" Lestat sprang forward, grabbing that arm as it stabbed forward, finger pointing like a sign of doom at Dannan. Marcus twisted, flinging him off like a large dog would fling a kitten, a quick movement of his arm sending Lestat across the room. Lestat hit the wall and fell to the floor, breathless and stunned.

David leapt to Lestat's side but Louis was faster, interposing himself between Marcus and Dannan, arms spread wide as though he would physically shield the wounded vampire from any assault. Lestat felt his heart contract painfully as Marcus turned on Louis, eyes blazing. Gasping, he tried to rise, tried to muster enough strength to throw himself at the ancient vampire, to strike him, to do anything but watch as Marcus raised a hand, preparing to strike his beloved Louis.

Louis never flinched as that hand rose, though Marcus could easily crush his head like an eggshell. He stood his ground, face serene, like a protective angel. Green eyes met gold and in the end it was the gold that looked away. With a soft cry Marcus lowered his hand, spinning away.

The air in the room suddenly lightened. Lestat sucked in a great gasp of it, filling bruised lungs. David helped him up, solicitous, but Lestat pushed him away. He would have rushed forward but Louis waved him away. The younger vampire stood near Marcus, hand on the man's shoulder, head bent towards him as he spoke rapidly. Marcus, hands covering his face, shook his head suddenly, hunching his shoulders. Louis continued to whisper to him urgently. Slowly, Marcus relaxed, slumping. Louis beckoned Lestat closer.

Marcus looked up as he approached, tears streaming from his eyes, expression haggard. "Forgive me," he whispered, brokenly. He reached up to Louis' hand, clasping it gently before pushing it away. Turning, he stepped towards the bed.

Lestat reached for him but Louis intercepted his hand. "It's all right," Louis said softly.

Dannan hissed, a wet sound deep in his chest, shrinking back as Marcus sat down next to him. His eyes flared and for a moment Marcus' expression hardened, but then he shook his head. "No, my little one," he said. "I know what you're trying to do and I won't be baited. I won't watch you kill yourself and I won't end it for you. I love you too well for that. I loved you those seven hundred years ago and, no matter what you say, I love you now." Reaching out, he picked up Dannan with effortless ease. Skeletal hands scrabbled along his arms, trying to push him away, but Marcus paid it no heed. His eyes were half closed, grief etched sharply into his expression. Holding Dannan with one hand, he reached up with the other and scratched a great tear in the skin of his throat with his nails.

For Lestat, it was as though time had suddenly rolled backwards, as though he were now a spectator of the events he had once lived. Dannan struggled in his master's grasp, sharp little breaths whining in his throat, twisting his head aside, frantic, lips clenched tight across his teeth. In Lestat's memory Magnus' voice whispered, dry and crackling. "This is my Body, this is my Blood," and his own voice, so brash, so young, "No! Damn you, no!"

Marcus gently forced Dannan's head down, pressing his face to the bleeding wound. All sound in the room suddenly ceased as instinct conquered any objection and Dannan latched onto the wound with all of the fierce desperation of a newborn babe.

A hand on his startled Lestat. Glancing down he saw Louis' fingers entwined with his own, his expressive face withdrawn into memory. David came to stand on his other side, eyes drawn to the bed. Lestat slipped an arm around his shoulders, feeling a flood of love for these, his children, his lovers.

The process was incredibly swift. Marcus leaned back, head hanging loose, eyes closed as Dannan drained him in great gulps. His skin took on a glassy, transparent texture as the blood was sucked from it and a moan, of pain or pleasure, escaped his limply parted lips.

The young vampire was neither neat nor caring in his greed. He had ripped the wound wider with his teeth, cutting the artery. Carried by Marcus' strong heart, the blood came in spurts too fast for Dannan to catch it all and it spilled from beneath his lips, soaking Marcus' shirt and dripping down his chest. Bone-thin arms wrapped, spider like, about Marcus but even as they watched the blood flowed into the tissues.

Muscle and ligament filled, gaining solidity. Dead and cracked skin sloughed away in great strips, peeling away from Dannan's body. Beneath it alabaster skin showed, as smooth as porcelain. Moment by moment Dannan's body regained its form, filling out with preternatural speed, regaining at least a semblance of normal health even as Marcus faded.

With an effort Marcus clasped hands to Dannan's shoulders, forcing him back. An incredible wail broke from Dannan's red soaked lips, fingers reaching out to claw the fount of blood back to his mouth in blind need. Marcus, breathing in great gasps, flung an arm out in the direction of the door. "Get OUT!" he bellowed. Without waiting to see if they did as ordered he dragged Dannan towards him, silencing the ongoing wail with his own mouth against Dannan's. His fingers tangled in the black curls, yanking the younger vampire's head back. Dannan, eyes closed, body taut, cried out in sheer pleasure as Marcus' teeth tore through his throat.

Louis, with as much dignity as he could muster for a person's who's cheeks were brightly flushed, hooked his arms through Lestat's and walked them both out of the room after David, closing the door with a firm click behind them.

It was close to three hours later when Marcus sought then out in David and Louis' room. He looked tired and pale, his hair still wet from the shower, half lost in an overly loose shirt and shorts of Lestat's. He apologized for borrowing the items of clothing, a slightly embarrassed smile tugging at his lips as he explained that his own were rather ruined.

He accepted the chair they offered him with a small sigh, collapsing into it limply. "Dannan will recover," he assured their worried queries. "He should be fine by this time tomorrow. He'll sleep until then. I'd like to keep him in the room, if I may," he added, glancing towards Lestat.

"Of course," Lestat responded. "You'll be staying for the night, then?"

Marcus nodded. "Yes. And... perhaps afterwards, as well." He smiled slightly, the expression warming his face. "I... haven't seen this America yet, though both of my children seem fond of it. And Dannan and I have a lot to speak of, now. I think I will be staying for awhile."

"He forgave you, then?" Louis asked quietly.

Marcus tilted his head, as though regarding the question. "Let us say that we now have an understanding," he said. "I love him, even as you love that brash golden haired imp who sits beside you." Lestat smiled ruefully but Marcus continued. "He drives me crazy at times, but I never stop loving him. And Dannan, though he is quick to anger and can hold a grievance for years, is willing to talk sense now. I think everything will be all right, given time."

He rose, stretching slowly. "I have to get back to him. It's not comfortable, leaving him, at this stage." He fixed the other three with a steady gaze. "I want to thank you. All of you. For taking care of Dannan and helping him- helping us. Thank you."

Lestat made a negating gesture. "If I hadn't..."

"You I should thank most of all, Monsieur de Lioncourt," Marcus said, cutting him off. His smile was sincere. "If you had not instigated this entire 'accident', I would have spent the next several centuries estranged from Dannan. Though," the smile took on a sense of humor, "I would ask you not to do it again anytime soon. Even at my age remaking a child is tiring."

Lestat laughed, caught by surprise. Marcus took his hand in a surprisingly warm grip of gratitude, the texture of his flesh not unlike Lestat's own. He shook David's hand as well, slightly amused, addressing him as 'Superior General'. Louis, however, he took by the shoulders and embraced, whispering something briefly to his before releasing him.

"I hope to see you all on the morrow," he said, walking to the door. "And I know Dannan would wish to speak with you."

Lestat spoke out just as he reached the door, halting him with his hand on the handle. "Marcus," he called. The ancient vampire paused, turning.

Lestat hurried on, ignoring David's look of reproach. "You knew Akasha, didn't you?"

Marcus hesitated before responding. "I... saw her once," he admitted. "From a distance. I was very young, then. She was... quite memorable." Nodding to them all, he slipped out to the hallway, closing the door behind him.

In the early evening of the next night, as they checked out of the hotel, Dannan approached them. He was hale and heathy, pale but otherwise exactly as Lestat had first seen him, the picture of youthful beauty and enigma. He trembled a little as he embraced Lestat and cried openly when David took him into his arms. "Thank you," he told them, repeatedly. "Thank you so much. I'm going to miss you, Lestat, Louis... and David, I just found you again, David, it seems like I'm always leaving you because you tell me to..."

David kissed him gently and pushed him away. "It's better, Dannan. We can't be together, not now. You know that."

Dannan smiled a little, ruefully. "I do now, and you're right of course, you always are." Hazel eyes twinkled. "You can take the blood out of the man, but you can't take the Talmasca out of the blood, I suppose. And you know the Talamasca's motto- 'We watch, and we are always right'."

Lestat laughed and even David chuckled, after looking rather affronted. "Marcus will stay with you, then?" Lestat asked.

Dannan's eyes darkened and the humor left his face, but he nodded easily enough. "Yes. For awhile. To make sure that I'm really better. And... to talk. We need to talk."

He hugged them all again, Lestat last of all. Holding him, Lestat felt all of the doubt and fears and angers of the last week fade away. Dannan was well, and healed, and that was all that mattered, really. The other vampire had come to mean a great deal to him in the short time they had been together.

"I'll miss you, Lestat," Dannan whispered, his warm breath brushing Lestat's cheek. His hands slipped down from Lestat's back to brush his hips and thighs and Lestat could hear the laughter in Dannan's voice. "It's a pity you're already taken. I was going to enjoy seducing you."

Lestat laughed, pushing him away. "Brat. I'll miss you too. You'd better get going, Marcus is over there."

Dannan looked up, catching sight of the other vampire just coming in to the lobby from the elevators. "Yes. I guess I should." He turned to them all again, eyes shining. "Thank you again. I... hope I see you again. All of you." Turning swiftly, he left. They watched as he walked quickly towards Marcus, who slipped an arm about Dannan's shoulders as the younger vampire fell into step beside him. Neither of them turned to look back as they left the hotel.

David put a hand on Lestat's shoulder. Louis put him arm around Lestat's waist, resting his head lightly on Lestat's other shoulder. "Lest's go home," he said.

Lestat took a deep breath, returning the embrace. "Yes," he echoed, slowly, as though savoring the words. "Let's go home."

END