Actions and Words 1/12 A Vampire Chronicles Speculative Story by R. Julia F. Rudden, jrudden@eskimo.com c. 1995 Disclaimer: This story is an amateur creation, written only for entertainment and not for profit. No copyright violations are intended. Author's note: This story takes place about a year after TotBT, and about 6 months after "Change of Pace" (available at http://www.eskimo.com/~ash in the finished specs directory). You don't need to have read that one to enjoy this one, but it may help. I started this story back in May, when MtD was still but a glimmer in our eyes. Thus, for the purposes of this story, MtD does not exist. Many of the places in this story are fictitious, though some are based on real places. The placement of Jesse in New York is AprilMist (Cathy)'s idea and is used with permission. Other than that similarity, there is no relation between this spec and "Letters from Jesse" and "Walking through Fire". There are SPOILERS for all four of the VC. The narration changes between the characters. Change of narrator is noted as such: Statements preceded by ':' are mentally transmitted. ********************* I was running late. I'd promised Lestat and David I'd meet them at Lestat's favourite jazz bar, Le Coeur d'Ami. I had been 10 pages from the end of a very compelling novel, and while I wanted to join them, I had to finish it. That was half an hour ago Now, if I didn't arrive at the bar within ten minutes, Lestat would surely fly back and get me. Since we returned from Seattle, he's been unusually attentive, seldom going out alone. He buys me flowers, and novels he thinks I might enjoy, and actually lets me choose some of our evening activities. Although I love the attention, it's become almost oppressive. I hurried into the bedroom to change. I was wearing my usual about home clothes--old, soft black jeans, a worn black shirt and a ragged black wool pullover. If I showed up in those clothes, Lestat would drag me to the nearest clothing store and buy me a new outfit. The idea made me shudder. Better to take an extra minute or two than face a shopping trip. I opened the closet we now shared, and chose a pair of newer jeans and a long-sleeved green silk shirt that I knew would please Lestat. I reached in the back of the closet to find a jacket, as the night air was a little chilly. I pulled out a black suit jacket that I hadn't seen for months. As I folded it over my arm, a little spiral-bound notebook slipped out and fell to the floor. I picked it up and flipped through the pages. It was filled with Lestat's elegant scrawl and my eyes caught my name, written numerous times on most of the pages. I was intrigued, and without really thinking about it, I slipped the notebook under some sweaters in my drawer, hung the jacket back in the closet, and, pushing through the crowds of tourists, made my way to the Coeur d'Ami. *** My eyes scanned the room for Lestat and David. When I found them, I could tell by Lestat's stiff posture that he was very close to leaping up and flying to find me. I often wish he could simply tell me aloud that he loves me, rather than trying to skirt the issue of with his oppressive attentions. He met me halfway to the table, and took my arm. I let him lead me to the table and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, to let him know I was sorry for being late. "Hello David, are you enjoying the music?" I asked. "Yes, actually, although of course, it is not my usual choice." "Your usual choice would be deadly boring, for it would be the same thing every time!" said Lestat, petulantly. Apparently, his irritation at my late arrival had not yet faded. I kicked him, gently, under the table. David, who had become accustomed to Lestat from their friendship in David's mortal life, only smiled and said to me, "How did you like the ending? Was it what you expected?" "Yes, and no, respectively," I replied with a smile. David had suggested the book which had caused me to be late. I was actually anxious to discuss it with him, but now was not the time. Despite Lestat's interest in the music, I didn't want him to feel excluded from the conversation. The whole purpose of this outing was for the three of us to spend time together. I'd been concerned about David. Although he'd seemed to take to his new vampire nature enthusiastically at first, recently he'd been, well, not depressed, but, obviously unhappy. I liked his company and enjoyed sharing my love of literature and "dusty books" with him. But although I'd tried to discuss his state of mind, he'd been very reluctant to share his true feelings with me. I longed for him to trust me, to know that I would listen to him without passing judgment or mocking him as Lestat might. Perhaps that would come with time. Time, it seemed was the answer to most of my problems. The music was classic New Orleans jazz, surprisingly difficult to find in New Orleans these days. The group played regularly at this cafe, which was one that the tourists had not yet discovered. Lestat loved the atmosphere, David seemed to be tolerating it, and I enjoyed it, but more because it pleased my lover than from. Lestat was enjoying himself, nodding his head to the music, and holding a drink, his eyes focused on the musicians. David seemed a little distracted, a glass of his old favourite scotch in front of him. They'd ordered a drink for me, and I tentatively sniffed it. Bourbon and water. Appropriate for the venue, but not really my favourite. I set it down, and sat back in my chair. Lestat put his arm around my shoulders, oblivious to the looks his action generated from nearby tables. Despite New Orleans' wild reputation, it was still rare to see men express intimate affection in public, other than on Bourbon Street. It embarrassed me, and Lestat knew that it did. Thus, I was glad when the set ended, and the musicians took their break, as I knew that Lestat had a habit of going up and chatting with them. I also wanted to talk with David, alone, and this might be our only chance for a while. Just as I had expected, Lestat excused himself, and went to discuss whatever it is that he likes to discuss with the musicians. He'd sponsored more than one little band, and although this one was quite successful without his help, he'd mentioned something about a CD. I turned to David and smiled, saying, "How are you? Really, I mean." He sighed, and glanced towards Lestat, whose back was to us. "It's difficult, Louis. I don't really know how to understand the feelings I have. It is as though there is another layer, another depth to everything." "Maybe," I started, "Maybe if you let me help you, let me listen, some clarity could come..." "I..." He never finished. Lestat came bounding back, turned his chair around and straddled it, and proceeded to tell us the latest adventures of the band. Something about police, a missing tourist and an inspired new song. I don't really think I understood any of it, and I soon stopped listening. A small kernel of anger formed in me. David was clearly not happy, and all Lestat could do was to think about himself and his interests. "Lestat, Louis, will you excuse me?" said David, "I'm feeling rather tired. I think I'll go home, rest a little." "David!" I started, then held my tongue. Now was neither the time nor the place to have this discussion. I would simply have to try harder to get some time alone with David. I knew that once he let his British reserve fall, I could help. I've been praised for my listening skills, and I'm immodest enough to believe it. I let my mind open, and, with my limited skill, I let him know that I cared, and would he please consider my offer. His gentle thoughts of gratitude washed over me, his mental powers being much greater than my own, and I smiled softly at him. After David had left, my anger returned. I forced it down, for there was no point in chastising Lestat. He would only be hurt or take offense, rather than really understand why I was mad at him. I decided to try to discuss the issue itself. "Lestat...I think David may not be very happy." "Whatever makes you think that, Louis? He has everything he could want, why would he not be happy?" "I'm not sure, but he seems, I don't know, melancholy lately." "If he does, it's probably just a phase. You stayed at the melancholy stage for about a century, as I recall!" He softened his words with a smile, and put his right arm around my shoulders again. "Let's not worry about David now, cher. Enjoy the music, enjoy my company..." He let his leg press gently against mine beneath the table, and covered my hand with his free one. I tried to resist the feelings that wanted to course through me, but Lestat, as usual, won me over. I let myself fall under his spell, and when he stood, whispering, "Let's find a hotel, cher, shall we?", I let him lead me out of the club. His spell broke as soon as the night air hit my face. I pulled my arm away and crossed my arms over my chest, in a consciously protective gesture. "What is it?" he asked, not yet angry, but not happy either. "I can't do it. Not tonight, not now. How can you even ask me to when David is sitting at home, miserable? Wasn't tonight supposed to be for all of us, not just you?" He looked shocked, then hurt, and then, inevitably, angry. Before he could say anything, though, I said, "Lestat, for once in your life don't let the anger control you! I don't mean to criticize, but David is hurting, and he needs to talk, I know he does, but he won't." "And I suppose you're the one to pry his troubles from him! I'm his friend, not you. He wouldn't be here today without me!" "That's right, Lestat. He wouldn't. He'd be in Barbados enjoying his new youth, or better still, back at Talbot Manor, living out his days in peace. You've done far too much to him already. Some friend you are, raping him into darkness as you did!" His face blanched beneath the residue of the Gobi tan, and lost all expression. A cold gleam came into his eyes, and I suddenly feared that I had gone too far. He turned away from me, silent still. I didn't move. The rain started to fall and I could see the droplets falling on Lestat's golden hair. They glistened like little diamonds in the light of the street lamp which glowed above our heads. "Louis...", he started softly, "I think I'll go away for a little while. That would be best, don't you think?" "Lestat, no I don't. Please, can't we talk, like we did in Seattle. Can't the three of us sit together and just...talk?" He didn't answer, but turned towards me. I saw what he had been hiding, the gleam of red in his eyes. That told me how he really felt, more than his words could have. He did care, and he wasn't angry, at least not with me. But, as usual, he didn't know how or simply couldn't let himself express the feelings that his tears revealed. "Louis, I think David does want to talk, but I am not the one to listen this time. You are. The only way he'll open up is if I'm not there. Besides, I need some new clothes! Maybe I'll go to Paris and go shopping." He gave a little, cynical laugh, and turned to leave. I reached out and grabbed his arm, holding it with what little strength I possessed. "I love you", I told him, and kissed him. He returned my kiss, and deepened it. For once, I didn't worry about what passersby might think. But he didn't say what I really wanted to hear, and that saddened me. I watched him leave, waved a short, sad wave, and walked home. The rain fell on my hair and eyelashes, and soaked my thin silk shirt. I didn't care. Louis returned to the flat, but without Lestat. He was also soaked to the skin. My first thought was that they had had a spat. I had actually been expecting one. Lestat had been almost oppressive with his attentions in the past few months, and I could see that Louis was tiring of it. I was also tiring of it. Each gift, each caress was a vivid reminder that I was a third wheel, a mere witness to a happy union. Plato, in his Symposium, said through Aristophanes that one should find the person who is one's heart's delight-the love of a lifetime. Each time I see Lestat with Louis, I see two halves of a whole. They, lucky pair, have found perfect love. I have found only emptiness... "David, let me change, and then I'll join you in the sitting room," Louis said as he came in, dripping onto the Aubusson carpet in the hall. "Please do," I said, " Do you want any help?" "No, I'll just throw something on", he said, his voice fading as he headed down the hall to the rooms he shared with Lestat. Lestat's absence raised a hope in me, that perhaps I could talk with Louis. I knew he would be a sympathetic listener, and more importantly, listen without judging me. No matter how his books portray him, Lestat is *not* a passive audience. He's constantly interrupting, and asking questions, and then making comments on what has been confided to him. What I really needed was someone to reassure me, to tell me I was not the only one with these feelings. I felt that Louis was that person. The question was, where was Lestat? I really didn't want him to come bounding in right when I opened my heart and mind to Louis. After considering a moment, I discarded the idea of a fight. Louis's face held none of the signs. No sorrow or distress marred his perfect features. He seemed, if anything, happy. He returned to the central room, the room where the three of us usually found ourselves in the evenings. He was clad in old jeans and a soft, worn black sweater. He was rubbing a towel through his hair, and then he shook it out so it fell over his shoulders, a deep pure silky black. It was easy to see why Lestat called him "beautiful one". No model, no film actor could hold a candle to Louis. He sat on the couch and I went to take my usual armchair. But as I was about to sit down he said, "David, sit over here, by me. Please?" I did as I was asked, not seeing any reason to refuse. After a moment, I asked, "Where is Lestat?" "He'll be away for a couple of days. I believe he mentioned shopping." "Oh", was all I could say, not sure what else I could politely ask. "David", he said, turning to face me and tucking one leg beneath him on the couch, "David, you know you can tell me anything. I hate to see you unhappy. And even if I can't help, I can listen. Won't you tell me what is wrong?" I'd actually been anticipating his offer, from his remarks in the club earlier that evening. But now that it was being made, I didn't know where to start. So much had gone wrong and then right and then wrong again in the past year. I started to realize how the weight of it all had been oppressing me. And then, as I looked into Louis's sympathetic eyes, it all began to pour out. My joy at my amazing transfer into the young body I now occupied, my horror when Lestat took me into darkness. How I, against my morals, began to revel in my new power and strength. My joy and disappointment at Lestat's re-kindling of the old relationship between himself and ... Here I stopped. My guilt and natural politeness overcame my need to share my heart and I dropped my eyes, unable to keep that contact with Louis's any longer. I felt Louis's hand on my shoulder. "I'm so sorry", he said, and the anguish in his voice told me he meant it. "No! You have nothing for which to be sorry. It is only my silly, juvenile delusions which are sorry." I tried to stand, to leave. I couldn't bear to look at his face after what I'd said. "David, please ... ", he kept his hand on my shoulder, a silent request that I stay. He couldn't have held me, I'm physically stronger than him. But I let him. If nothing else, I craved the contact. Nothing like that raw, electric contact I hadn't felt since that night in Barbados, when Lestat took all of me, and gave me all he had. Louis let his arm move to circle my shoulders, and he pulled me against him, holding me close. "Cher, it isn't always like that. Not so ... violent. There can be gentleness with that same electricity. Let me show you David. Let me show you all of *me*." He was almost whispering, his voice was so low, and I heard a shyness in it, as though he were a little afraid of what he was offering. "But, ... Lestat?" I was tempted beyond words, but I had no desire to come between them. So seldom is that perfect love found- it shouldn't be disturbed. Not to mention the fact that having been on the receiving end of one of Lestat's rages, I never want to experience that again! "Lestat knows that it is important to share oneself when a friend needs love and closeness. Let me show you how much I have come to love you, my friend." He stood up, and I let him pull me gently to my feet, and I followed him. I wasn't really sure what was about to happen. Certainly, I'd had rendez-vous before--with many different lovers and friends in fact. But never with another vampire. I was actually apprehensive. I didn't really know Louis that well-what his experiences had been-and on constant replay in my mind was that night, that awful-wonderful night in Barbados when I became so much more and so much less. My thoughts were so chaotic, I couldn't control them properly and I knew Louis could tell what was running through my mind. "It's not always like that, cher," he said again. We'd reached the bedroom Louis shared with Lestat. None of us slept in coffins. Beds were much more comfortable, and it was so easy to shutter the windows against the sun. It was to the bed that he led me, and I, no control no thought no intentions let him do what he would. "David, I must know--do you want this? Do you? I want to share myself you with but only if you want to. I could never do anything with force." I shook myself from my reverie, and realized what he was really offering-himself, his soul, and to me! "Yes, please let me truly know you Louis, let me ... understand." "Then I will, and with pleasure", was his reply. He reached over to me, and began to unfasten the mother- of-pearl buttons of my shirt. He loosened, and then removed my tie, and then slowly pulled the shirt tails from my trousers. I remained still, not sure, for the first time in a romantic encounter, what I should do. Suddenly, he stopped what he was doing with my shirt and smiled at me. "David, didn't you ever, just for fun, spend the night with a friend? Just for the experience, for a change of pace?" "Well, yes, certainly. At school, we did that constantly. An incestuous lot our dorm was!" "Then bring that experience to mind. We're friends and I want to share a new experience with you. Relax. You know you can trust me." "I do. I do trust you, Louis." I reached out and went to work on the buttons of his green silk shirt. Soon, we'd dispatched every button, zipper and tie and suddenly I was on my back on the bed, and he was kneeling by my side. "You're so beautiful! Such luck to live in such a body," he said, and as if to lend credence to his words, he let his fingers gently brush my chest. I gasped involuntarily--his hands were so cold! "Sorry," he said, sheepishly, "I forgot about that. Lestat is used to my, well, frigidity?" We both laughed, and I sat up and put my hands on his shoulders. My hands looked so dark against his pale skin. I let my hands make their way down his arms and when I reached his hands, I turned them palms up, and reached to kiss the center of each one. He smiled, and his eyes fell closed. He let his fingers explore my chest again, and this time, I was ready for their coolness. Once I knew it was coming, the chill was welcome, a moving sensation. He let his hands roam, and they traced the muscles of my back, and slowly moved down to my buttocks. He slipped his hands beneath the firm globes and squeezed gently. I gasped, loving the sensations, the intimate feeling. And so much depth to each little movement. My vampiric senses separated each touch into a million fragments, and I was filled with wonder. I couldn't resist--I copied his actions, and soon we were lying on the bed, hands roaming over each other's bodies and stroking and caressing. Louis was a surprisingly accomplished lover. I'd been under the impression that he was somewhat of a prude, from the way Lestat had described him in those damn books and of course, he blushed if Lestat so much as bussed his cheek. I realized that those blushes were more the product of a deep, romantic love than a general shy nature. Louis was so deeply in love with Lestat that any touch, any move captivated him. Oh, to feel that joy! Louis was raining little kisses on my chest and neck and I could feel his cool breath against my skin. "May I drink from you?" he asked. "Yes, please, do whatever you like. You know that I trust you." He continued kissing my neck, and then slowly and gently, he sank his teeth into me. I gasped as they entered my neck, piercing the artery and I could feel my blood being sucked out. He sipped more than drank, pulling a little then releasing his hold. I reached over with my hand and ran my fingers through his hair. Such silky hair. I knew he was seeing my life, all my deepest thoughts, but all I could focus on was the pure sensation. So much more intense than any orgasm I'd had in my mortal life. My whole body was suffused-all the way from my toes to the roots of my hair. Every bit of me was alive, jumping with an electricity. Louis broke his hold on me then, and for a moment I was disoriented. I felt bereft, like I had lost something dear when his teeth left my neck. "Now, you must drink, please David, drink from me." His lips had faint touches of blood, my blood, and, greedily, I kissed him, longing for the taste of myself on his tongue. I wasn't disappointed. The taste was familiar, but alive as if the blood recognized its owner, and I sucked his tongue and licked around his teeth for more. I heard and felt him moan into my mouth, and then I broke the kiss-a soul searing one unlike any other-and, as gently and slowly as he had, I let my teeth enter the cool, white skin of his neck. He gasped as my teeth broke the surface of his skin, and he wrapped his arms around me as I drew, little by little as he had done. I felt images enter my mind-images of a time long past. Louis, mortal, in his plantation house, mourning the death of his young, visionary brother. Louis, drunk and mad with grief, on the arm of a cheap prostitute, stumbling along an old New Orleans banquette. Louis in his bedroom, tempted and taunted by a blonde demon, a man who was not a man and who stirred Louis as no one ever had. He pushed me away then, as gently as all his actions had been so that I felt no rejection. He sighed and then, less urgently than I had, kissed me, tasting himself on my lips, my tongue, my teeth. "Dear God, Louis, that was ... well, I have no words." "No words, David? You don't need words, not with me. Just open your mind to me, and show me." I did. I let him see the emotions he'd called up in me with the images I'd seen in his blood. I showed him the pleasure I'd felt and my love for him, my dear friend, my trusted friend. I realized that I'd learned to trust again. Perhaps now was when the healing from Barbados would really begin. He climbed under the covers and held them open for me to join him. I felt a little awkward, as we were in the bed he shared with Lestat. "Don't worry. Just relax and let's talk." He smiled to take any possible reprimand from his words, and took my hand. I was growing used to the feel of his cold skin. He held my hand with both of this and looked into my in the eyes. Then, he said, "David, you will find your perfect half. That person is there. You have to look, or you won't be whole, you won't be able to really live. Remember, there are many other vampires you haven't yet met--Eric, Santino, Armand (though he and Daniel are inseparable), Mael, Gabrielle, Pandora, Marius. Maybe we should have a party. We could call it a house-warming party, in honour of the remodel! I'm sure Lestat would like that idea." He smiled at the thought. "Will ... will it be like that, like what we shared just now?" "No", he said, and watched my face fall, "It will be better. Intimacy is always better when you're in love, David. Surely an experienced man such as yourself knows that." He smiled, to show me he was teasing. It was very odd for Louis to tease. He is usually such a restrained, sedate person. In fact, this whole evening seemed uncharacteristic for him. I began to wonder if there was something else, something besides me and my problems, that was motivating him. Louis and I talked for a long time. He told me some rather intimate details of his life with Lestat. He was trying to tell me what Lestat himself should have, as my maker, but didn't seem able to, for whatever reason. Perhaps he felt guilt still for taking me in violence. But I had long since forgiven him and told him so. Or perhaps he was afraid of the intimacy that vampires can have, afraid of knowing me now that I am that 'other'. To bare one's soul, as Louis had done when he let me take from him, is not an easy thing. And as that thought passed through my mind, I regretted my earlier doubts with regard to Louis's actions. Rather, my respect, and yes, love for Louis grew as I realized the significance of his actions. And I was still a little concerned about Lestat's reaction. Louis had admitted to me that while he loved me as a dear friend, he didn't actually feel a, shall we say, sexual, attraction for me. This I knew already, as I had felt it when his fangs sank into me. I was glad of that, really. For, despite the appeal of Louis's ethereal beauty, we were better suited as friends. Suddenly, our reverie was disrupted. "David, let me handle this, won't you?" Before I could answer, the bedroom door crashed open, and that familiar golden-haired fiend stood silhouetted in the doorway. He flicked the lights on, and I could see his eyes narrow as they swept the room. "Ah", he said, the familiar, biting sarcasm in his voice, "This seems to be a new definition of 'talk', n'est-ce pas?" "Lestat, don't..." started Louis. He'd slipped out of bed, his back to Lestat, and pulled on a robe, then turned to face Lestat. He looked very vulnerable, and, without shoes, for once he was shorter than Lestat, who had on his customary heeled boots. "Don't what? I don't seem to be the one who is _doing_ anything!" "Lestat", Louis said again, "please, just for once in your life listen first before you..." "I don't think listening is necessary, _lover_," he said, spitting out the endearment, "What you see is, so very often, what you get. And my vision is quite sharp, thank you." :David, perhaps you should go.: I heard Louis' voice in my mind. He was still facing Lestat and his eyes never left his lover's face. Although I desperately wanted to intercede, to play the mediator, I knew this was not the time. I'd experienced Lestat in this mood before, and it wasn't pleasant. He was able to focus on himself to the point where he was no longer capable of listening. Louis had an impossible task ahead of him, and any attempt to help on my part would do more harm than good. I slipped out of the bed and following Louis' example, pulled on a robe. "Good evening, Lestat", was my only comment as I walked out of the room. He didn't try to stop me. He was so focused on Louis that I had become irrelevant and Louis could reach me if he needed to. It was better this way. At least, I hoped it was. I couldn't believe what I'd seen, Louis in bed, naked, and with David! The faint bloodstains on the sheets left no doubts as to their activities. I couldn't help my words, who could, upon seeing one's lover in bed with one's best friend. I couldn't answer David when he left the room. I was just glad he left. It was Louis I wanted to deal with. "So, you don't think of David in 'that way', eh?" "Lestat, please, I'll discuss this with you but I will not argue." "What is there to discuss? You, my lover, fucked David, my best friend. Looks straightforward to me!" He cringed at my word choice, and of course I had used that word to make him cringe. I smiled at him, my feral smile that shows my fangs. I could feel the anger grow within me, and soon it would be unstoppable. "It wasn't like that, and you know it. You know I care for David as a friend, and only as a friend. That's all." "Then, what is that I see on the sheets, on _our_ sheets? I don't give a shit about your stupid friendships! I want to know what the Hell was going on here, and I want to know now!" I started raising my voice and by the end of the last sentence, I was yelling. I couldn't help myself! "Lestat, if you will not let me try to talk to you, if you won't listen, then I'm going to leave." Louis' voice was so steady, I paused. The thought crossed my mind that he might be serious, that he might leave. But, what the hell was going on?! I'd been suspicious before, when I left for Seattle, and Louis had convinced me that my suspicions were unfounded. But now, wasn't the evidence in front of me? What else could I believe? I knew that David found Louis compelling. Was it possible that he had seduced Louis? Was that at the root of his supposed melancholy--was he pining for my lover? That didn't seem like the David I knew, but how could I know anymore? He'd changed so much. Did I really know David? Louis was standing before me, arms at his sides. I glanced away from him, towards the bed where the sight of the blood stains on _our_ sheets brought the bulk of my anger flowing back. "So, you think you're going to just leave? Monsieur 'let us discuss this' is going to leave. Well, go! Take that Talamasca bastard with you and get out!" Louis just kept staring at me. Why wouldn't he say something, give me some clue, some hint of what was really happening? Of course, I would just cut him off, but his silence was tormenting me, provoking me. I had no idea what thoughts were running through his beautiful head. And his face, usually a mirror of his moods, was strangely blank. He turned away, and moved toward the closet. He reached in and came out with the black bag he used when we traveled. Then, he started opening his drawers and tossing items in. When the bag was full, he closed it and pulled on the black jeans, shirt and sweater he must have discarded earlier. I stood against the door frame all this while, watching. He wouldn't actually leave, would he? "Good bye, Lestat. I'll be back when you're willing to have a discussion and listen to me." He hesitated, and then quickly kissed my cheek and left. I was too stunned to run after him, and his kiss had shocked me. What the Hell was happening? I sank down on the floor and took my head in my hands. I could feel the inevitable tears start to flow and I felt their wetness against my fingers. I heard David's footsteps coming down the hall. They stopped and I looked through my fingers to see his feet, encased in his heavy, English shoes. He was dressed to travel. He too was leaving me. "Have a nice trip," I said, putting all my store of sarcasm into my voice. "Lestat, did you talk with Louis?" he asked, his voice full of unusually intense emotion. "Talk? Hmm ... I seem to not be familiar with the concept, at least according to some people!" "I'm leaving. I'll be back, but I don't know when. I have some thinking to do, and it's best done alone." I thought of a couple of snappy replies, but I didn't give voice to them. What I really wanted to do was to jump up and beg him not to leave. Had this been the old David, the mortal David, I would have. But now there was a tension and of course that awful silence between us. I couldn't know what he was thinking. The changes I had worked on him had stolen our easy intimacy. I heard the door close. I didn't move. I wanted to run after them both, but I didn't do so. I wanted to scream and yell, but I didn't do that either. The Gobi flashed briefly and painfully through my mind. But all I did was to sit there in the hallway, legs crossed, head in my arms. And the tears never did stop. When dawn approached, I went into David's room, crawled into the bed, and pulled the covers over my head. The death sleep was a blessed mercy, and I did not dream. When I awoke the next evening, I still felt the despair that had filled me the previous night. But it was blended with a good amount of anger, and that gave me the will to get up. I'd been abandoned and I'd been betrayed, by both my lover and my best friend. I quickly shucked off my clothes and showered. Then I dressed carefully in black to match my mood. Black denim, a black turtleneck shirt, and a black leather jacket. I put on my little violet-lensed glasses, and, without looking at the bed with its blood-stained sheets, I headed out into the night. I wanted to kill, my mood feeding the hunger within me. I wanted to feel a mortal's fear. I wanted to drown my anger in hot blood. I headed for the Quarter, towards the seedy section near the St. Louis Cemetary where tourists are warned not to go. They usually obey the warnings, unless they're really drunk. Or very foolish. The first attacker almost had his knife to my throat when I grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head back to bare his neck. I sank my fangs into him, tasting the saltiness of his sweat before the rich blood hit the roof of my mouth and I drew on him, drinking his rich essence in, until his heart finally thudded to a halt. I dropped him, casually, and walked on. I took two more before satiety hit, though I hadn't yet fulfilled my need for violence, and the anger, while at a simmer, had not died entirely. I headed back to the flat. I had no plan, no scheme was brewing within me. Because I didn't know if I wanted to scheme. I didn't know if I wanted them back. Either of them. If I had seen what I thought I had, perhaps they didn't want to come back. And my ego was tired and fragile suddenly. I was weary of being abandoned by my chosen companions. And now, to have grown so close, at long last, to my Louis, my favourite fledgling, only to see him with another. He resists me for years, finally lets me get close to him, only to jump into bed with my best friend, and newest fledgling. I was suddenly forced to doubt every word Louis had spoken to me, every caress, every declaration of love. All of a sudden a plan came to me--Paris. I would go to Paris, as I had mentioned to Louis outside the bar in the rain, and maybe Amsterdam. I would roam the streets, and watch the people and wander through the museums. I would not follow Louis or David--despite the silence between our minds, I could find them if I really wanted to. I would enjoy my own company, and enjoy the works of humans which have fascinated me for so many years. I wouldn't let myself wallow in despair. Not this time. I wasn't going to let that happen. At the flat, I gathered up a few items-some cash, and a little plastic ID card, as well as my passport and credit cards. I resisted the fleeting temptation to tear the room apart. I opened the closet I'd shared with Louis, reaching into the back for an old black jacket, one I'd worn on my last trip. I wanted that little notebook that I'd used when I'd traveled to Seattle. I felt in the pockets--it wasn't there. Could I have left it somewhere else? Hmmm...no matter, I'd find another one. I didn't want to take the time to search now, once I made a plan, I liked to implement it right away. I locked the door, left a quick note with my elderly neighbor to please care for Mojo, and quickly rose into the night sky. I headed eastward, and was soon over the Atlantic, bound for the city of my mortal dreams. I'd been saving the letter for a quiet moment. One had never come, and now I was opening it to distract myself from the terrifying noise of the metal box in which I was traveling. I'd left the flat and jumped into the first cab I saw. He hadn't wanted to take me to the airport, but a few large bills quickly changed his mind. I sat back in the worn seat, my grip at my side. I slit the envelope with my fingernail, and, holding the letter so that the streetlights hit in, began to read. "Dearest Louis, Thank you for the lovely letter. You know I treasure your letters, and all the encouragement you send me. I have the most exciting news! I'm going to sing Marguerite in Faust! We open in 3 weeks, very quickly, but the set and costumes are already made and we only need to finish the blocking. Rehearsals have been going well and the cast is very supportive. I've made friends and everyone has been full of advice on where to go and what to do here in New York. When I'm not in rehearsal, I spend my time exploring the City-so full of life and excitement. The museums! I could spend my lifetime just wandering their halls. And thank goodness, the coffee craze has hit here, and I'm able to get my Americano 'fix'. You know, I thank that coffee habit for our friendship. If I hadn't been studying that night in the B & O cafe, I'd never have met Lestat, and thus never met you. And Louis, you have become of my most treasured friends! I would very much like you and Lestat to come to the premiere. It would mean so much to have you both there, to help me celebrate my NY debut. I feel that you are my charm, ever since that lucky night in Seattle when at the last performance I had the chance to sing the lead, instead of being stuck in the chorus. Please, let me know if you will come! write soon, much love Nicole" Nicole and I had exchanged letters since Lestat and I had returned from Seattle. I'd forgotten to get her address, so I had written to her care of the Seattle Opera. I'd written almost as soon as we'd returned. She'd been so exciting to talk to! She actually cared about such things as who sang the lead in which production of which opera, and she could argue intensely about the relative merits of different versions of scores. Our letters were filled with reviews of opera CDs and we dissected the arias almost note by note. She had written to Lestat as well, but he never answered in writing. He did ask me to enclose a fairly large check in one of my letters. I'd done as he asked, but, as I expected, she returned it in her next letter, with a kind note for him saying that she appreciated the sentiment, but she really wanted to make it on her own. He'd laughed when I read it to him. He'd played a role in Nicole's elevation from chorus- singer and understudy to lead soprano, but of course she had no idea that the reason the lead singer had fallen ill on the day of that last performance was Lestat and his fangs. She had made it on her own after that. Not a month after her lead performance, she'd been accepted as a chorus member at the New York Metropolitan Opera. The opportunity of a lifetime. Lestat had sent her dozens of roses, which she accepted gracefully, and she sent him the program in which her name first appeared. I was re-folding the letter, and placing it back in its envelope when we pulled up in front of the airport. When I'd left the flat, I'd had no idea where I would go. Away, that was my only thought as I ran out the door. Now, I knew. I would go to New York. I got out of the cab, and entered the terminal. I went to each airline counter until I found one with a flight leaving for New York within the hour. I paid with the credit card Lestat had arranged for me, hoping that he hadn't contacted the company to terminate it. He hadn't, yet, and I reminded myself to obtain some cash as soon as practicable. I didn't like to steal from my victims, but surely I could find a wealthy drug dealer in New York whose money would be better used treating Nicole to a celebratory dinner than spent on whatever indulgences drug dealers preferred. When the flight was called, I boarded and settled gingerly into the seat. 'Coach' was all that was available, or so they'd said, and the seat was narrow and very close to the others in the row. It took much effort not to let the blood thirst overcome me. I closed my eyes, so that no one would try to strike up a casual conversation with me, and tried to prepare for the feelings of pressure and disorientation that accompany airplane flights. Despite, or actually, perhaps because of my vampire nature, I seem to feel every little air pocket, every change in pressure. I don't like airplanes, but it really is the safest way for me to travel, and it is certainly fast. So far, I'd avoided thinking about that last conversation with Lestat. Unlike the last time we'd parted on bad terms, I felt no guilt now. Sadness, frustration, yes. But no guilt. For once, I suppose, I'd done the right thing. The good, moral, loving thing. An act of friendship, companionship, and caring. I refused to feel guilt. And in that refusal, my soul felt light and free. Guilt I would always carry, for my nature, my nightly acts, my two centuries of amoral existence. But my time with David, the window I had opened for him into the depths and unimagined wonders of his vampire nature-that was not a creator of guilt. I felt only joy and love when I thought of what we'd shared. And I felt a great sadness, that Lestat had not had the courage to share himself with David in love. Three painfully long, nerve-racking hours later, the aircraft landed in New York. I arrived with enough time before dawn to take an inside room at the Plaza, which I had heard was the most expensive hotel in New York. I asked them to charge 2 weeks worth of fees right away. I felt like spending as much of Lestat's money as I could, even though I knew he would never feel it. The hotel was luxurious. Antiques furnished the large suite, and there were all the amenities of a five star hotel. I checked the time, and decided against calling Nicole. Instead, I unpacked my pathetically small valise. I didn't even remember what I had packed, so focused had I been on keeping my composure in the face of Lestat's anger, and I was not surprised to find a dozen pairs of black socks, and three black wool sweaters, in various degrees of disintegration. As I removed the sweaters to place them in one of the dresser drawers, something fell to the floor. It was the little notebook that I had found in the closet back in New Orleans. I picked it up, and opened the cover. I began to read the first page ... until a wave of guilt washed over me, and I snapped the cover shut. I dropped it into the drawer with the sweaters, and I quickly left the room. I wandered the streets around the hotel until close to dawn. I kept to the shadows, the eternal observer, and took in the sights of the city at night. The rich and poor mingling in the garbage-strewn, brightly lit streets. The shop windows holding all manner of goods, the restaurants spewing the last late-night trickle of patrons, sated and intoxicated as they rivaled each other for the few taxi-cabs that were available at that hour. Finally, exhausted by the emotional upheaval of the day and my unpleasant journey, I returned to the hotel, closed the curtains tightly, and hung the "Do not disturb" sign on the door. I had of course left instructions that my room was not to be touched until after 7 p.m. each night. The desk clerk had very graciously accepted the $100 bill I gave him as I made my request. One of the few useful things I had learned from Lestat--tip well, and tip frequently. Not entirely trusting the curtains, I lay on the floor, behind the bed and away from the windows. I cocooned myself in the blankets and let my body relax in anticipation of the death sleep. I hoped that I wouldn't dream. When I woke the next evening, I was momentarily disoriented. Then, all the event of the previous day came rushing back in a cliched flash, and I was suddenly overwhelmed. I put my head back down, and waited for my thoughts to clear. I realized that I was in New York, and that there was someone here who just might understand. I unwrapped myself from the shell of blankets, and showered. I had a difficult time dressing. Thanks to my wonderfully inept packing, my socks were clean, but little else. I had no choice but to pull on the jeans and shirt I'd worn the night before. I debated a moment when I saw Lestat's little book. I still hadn't decided what to do about it. I desperately wanted to read it, but I didn't think I could stomach being the perpetrator of such an extreme invasion of privacy. So, I left it where it was, in the hotel drawer, and made my way to the lobby. I caught a cab, and told the driver to take me to West 88th street. I didn't pay attention during the trip. The fight with Lestat was too fresh in my mind, and I wasn't feeling very sociable. The night scenery of New York passed by, and I barely noticed it. Finally, the driver pulled up, and announced our arrival with an unintelligible grunt. I paid him, tipping too much, and not caring, and climbed out. The building was much as I remembered it from my last visit. Perhaps a little more grime covered the surface, but it was blessedly familiar. At the door, I pressed the intercom button, and dialed the number I had written in my address book. I'm not much good at remembering numbers, for all my old skill at accounting on the Plantation. A familiar voice crackled though the speaker. "Yes? Who is it?" "It's Louis, may I come up?" "Louis?!? Of course, let me buzz you in." A loud buzzer sounded and the door unlocked with an electronic click. I took the stairs up the five flights. She was waiting at the doorway when I rounded the last bend, and when she saw me, she ran, red hair flying about her face, and grabbed me in a hug. "Oh, Louis, what a surprise to see you!" "It's not a bad time is it? I should have called," I said as she led me inside. "No, nothing is going on. I just never expected you to drop in. Armand and Daniel maybe..." She was right. I never would just drop in, even on Jesse. We had gotten to know each other very well during the time the whole coven was living on the Night Island. But now I needed her help. Jesse listens to me, and offers her opinion only when asked. She never lectures and never judges. Well, she seldom lectures. She was just the person to talk to. Once we had sat down though, I became suddenly shy. I slipped off my shoes, and tucked my legs beneath me on the black leather couch. I found I couldn't meet her eyes, and I rested my elbows on my knees and covered my face with my hands. I felt the couch move as she got up, and then her footsteps as she moved around the apartment. I didn't move, couldn't seem to, and Jesse seemed to know that I needed time. She hadn't touched my mind, and I was glad of that. She was powerful enough to read all that my mind held and no shields that I attempted to raise could keep her out. But she wouldn't do that, and that was one of the reasons I had come to her. Then, I recognized the smell of coffee, and I raised my head in time to see Jesse bringing two steaming cups into the main room from the small kitchen. Like Lestat, Jesse loved to sip coffee. Suddenly, the image of Lestat filled my thoughts, and I could feel the tears begin to well up behind my eyelids. I had to sit up to reach a handkerchief, and when I did, my eyes met Jesse's. She had such a look of concern on her face that I found that I couldn't keep silent any longer. She sat down, and handed me one of the cups. I didn't really want to drink any, but I put my hands around it and let the hot coffee warm them. Then, slowly, I told her what had happened in New Orleans. She had known that David and I had become friends, so she wasn't surprised that I had sensed his melancholy. What did surprise her was my method of dealing with it. I could tell by her face how proud she was that I had taken the initiative, and acted. That I had had the courage to open myself up so fully. Such expressive actions are not really in character for me, or so say the others. I went on to tell her of Lestat's untimely arrival and his very characteristic rage. Finally, I fell silent, and leaned back and closed my eyes again. I felt emotionally drained, but telling Jesse what had happened reinforced my feeling of, well, rightness. I had done the right thing, and knowing that in my heart gave me an inner peace, a feeling I had not had since that night in Seattle, when Lestat had apologized to me and told me a little of his feelings for me. Louis looked totally exhausted. I'd never seen him like that before. He's a very emotional person, well, vampire I mean, gentle and thoughtful. He's become one of my closest friends, and I was really touched that he had come to me first. The story he'd told was amazing. I had a hard time at first picturing Louis and David together, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Lestat could no longer share his mind with David, and for a first encounter with vampiric sex, an existing mental contact could certainly ease the shock of the experience. Louis could communicate with David mentally throughout the encounter. I was really proud of Louis for doing that-for loving David, David who had come so close to displacing Louis in Lestat's arms. Such maturity and kindness. My feelings were so strong I'm sure they showed on my face, if the thoughts themselves didn't pass right out of my mind. Louis' face was paler than usual and the reddish remains of tears were on his chiseled cheeks. He'd closed his eyes again, and didn't open them even when I moved closer to him on the couch and put my arm around his shoulders. I stroked his hair, and took the handkerchief from his hand and wiped the tears from his cheeks. "Louis, what you did for David is one of the most beautiful things I have ever heard." He opened his eyes, their brilliant green startling me, as usual. "Thank you for understanding. I hoped you would. He was so sad, Jesse, so alone even though he was living with Lestat and I. I've come to really care for him. Lestat couldn't have known that he was bringing me a friend when he brought David to the flat." He laughed a short, ironic laugh, and fell silent again. He closed his eyes again, and leaned his head back against the couch. I waited, knowing he would speak again when he was ready. "I ... I wish Lestat would have listened. A while back, when he went to Seattle you remember, I wrote to you about it, he thought I was having an affair with David. And now, he thinks he was right. Why is he so suspicious? How many times do I have to tell him that I love him. He's everything to me, Jesse, and he drives me crazy!" He sat up suddenly, and slammed his fist onto his leg. He stood up, and began to pace around the small living room. "Lestat hasn't had much luck with lovers," I said, "He's been hurt so many times, he has a hard time with trust." "Jesse, I know that. I was one of those who betrayed him, and more than once. But I hoped that things would be different now. Especially after that time in Seattle. We talked more than we ever had before, and I know he believed me. I made sure of it." He smiled, a sweet knowing smile that made me wonder exactly how he had made sure that Lestat understood the depth of his love. But Louis' deep sigh pulled me from distraction. "So, what should I do? Should I go back and try to talk to him again? Should I write to him? I don't know what to do, how to handle this, and I am so afraid of making a mistake. I don't want to lose him, Jesse, I don't think I could go on without him. Not again." He sat beside me again, and his face was a picture of anguish. The tears started to flow again, and I took him in my arms. He started to sob aloud, letting out all the emotion that he'd been trying so hard to hold in. I rocked him, stroking his hair and back with my hands. I could have shaken Lestat for being so obtuse, but, knowing Lestat, he was probably as miserable as Louis right now. I could only wonder how he was coping with his feelings. I didn't come back for almost two weeks. And when I did return, ragged and dirty, the flat was still empty. But, in the letter box, amongst the bills and advertisements, was a letter. From my Louis. Heedless of my state of dishevelment, I carried it like a chalice into the living room, sank onto the floor and carefully slit it open. "Dearest Lestat" it began. My heart began to beat a little faster. I quickly read on. "I can only hope you will receive this. I don't know if you stayed in New Orleans or not. First, I want you to know how deeply I love you. I've always loved you, but this last year we've been together has only shown me how deep that love runs in my soul. You mean everything to me and I'm miserable without you. You are my other half, my destined companion. I long for us to be content together." I had to stop reading. My eyes were over-flowing with tears, and my heart was burning. Why does he love me when I do such an excellent job of hurting him? When I do so much to tear us apart? But, despite those thoughts, what really began to run though me and to fill me with a quiet joy was his declaration. He did love me. He cared and knowing that, I could go on. I would try and try to understand what had happened. I would try to really listen, and not jump to conclusions. Hadn't I done enough impulsive things myself? I brushed away my tears, and read on. "But, my love, I cannot take these fights we have. They hurt too much. You have to listen to me and respect me. I am not willing to play the conciliator every time. I can't. I so want to be with you, but I simply can't if there is only the prospect of a huge fight when something happens. I can't live with that hanging over me. And though it would break my heart, I would stay away rather than risk such a fight again." A chill ran through me. I could promise, well, I had promised to try to change. But I couldn't guarantee anything. I am certainly not the master of my temper. How could I promise what I couldn't deliver? I forced myself to read on. "I know you can't always control your temper. But, can't you try, really try, not just say you will? For me? I'm willing to come back and try again, but only if you will really make the effort. You have to communicate with me. I know you can remember that lovely night in Seattle. We walked through the rain, and were together, really together, mind, body and soul. Every time I think of that night, I feel hopeful-for you and for us. I'm not going to write about what happened with David. I think we need to talk about that face to face. We need to talk about a lot of things, Lestat. I'm enclosing a ticket for you. Please don't try to contact me before then as I need the time, and so do you. Yours, always, Louis" The ticket he'd enclosed was a box seat for the premiere of Gounod's Faust. Why was that damn story always coming back to haunt me!? The date on the ticket was for 3 days from today. I checked the postmark of the letter. Almost a week ago. While I'd been away, roaming and miserable, Louis's heartfelt plea had been waiting for me. I couldn't dwell on that thought though, or I might drive myself mad. Instead, I stripped off the rags I wore, and took a long hot shower, washing off two weeks worth of travel grime. Clean and somewhat refreshed, I dressed simply in jeans and shirt of Louis's. Green silk, it smelled of him--clean and a little like fresh herbs. I wanted that little notebook that I'd used in Seattle. Perhaps, I thought, if I try to write all my feelings out first, they won't come out in a jumble when I am with Louis. Only three days. I looked and looked. It soon became obvious that it wasn't there. A cold dread started within me. What if Louis had found it? God, it was full of my stupid declarations of love! If he read it, how could he ever respect me again? Wouldn't he only feel pity for me, my pathetic little feelings? I had to use all my energy and power to hold myself together. I told myself, even if Louis has found it, his sense of honour would prevent him from reading it. He values privacy more than anyone else I know, well, maybe Armand keeps closer counsel, but Armand is a schemer. Louis merely respects personal privacy. No, I decided at last, if he found it he wouldn't read it. And with that thought, I set out to find a new notebook and a seat at the Cafe du Monde. I'd always loved the Cafe du Monde. The rich smell of coffee blended with chicory filled the air, and the tables were crowded with tourists and residents alike. It was a place where anyone with a couple of dollars could come for a respite. I'd used it as a rendez-vous when dealing with Raglan James and I'd been there many times since. Thankfully, the unpleasantness of the Body Thief hadn't tainted the atmosphere of the Cafe. That would have made me very sad. Louis didn't care for it--too much bustle, he said--so I usually came alone. Now, however, I had a new notebook, and a smooth modern pen for my companions. I ordered the famous cafe au lait, and found a seat in the back. The table was sticky from the powdered sugar that covered the beignets, but I didn't care. I spied someone across the room typing away at one of those ingenious little laptop computers. Maybe I should get one. It would be more efficient and then I wouldn't need to re-type anything for my next book-if there is to be one, of course. I warmed my hand around my cup of cafe au lait, and took a tiny sip. I can and do enjoy coffee, but I have to be careful when it has milk in it. Too much will make me sick and that would be embarrassing. The Vampire Lestat getting throwing-up sick in the Cafe du Monde, heaving and coughing. Uhgh! Not tonight, thank you. Finally, I put pen to paper. At first, I wrote about Louis' letter, my mix of feelings at reading it, my heady joy at the thought that I would see him in just three days. Then, I started on the last two weeks. I would likely let Louis read this part, I decided. No, I would *ask* Louis to read it. I wanted him to understand how I'd suffered in his absence. How I'd made others suffer as well. It wasn't a pretty story, and there was a good chance he would hate me for some of the things I had done. But he had to know if he were to truly understand. And, more than anything else, I want to be understood by my friends, my lover, the world. Back in Seattle, Louis and I had come very close to understanding each other's souls. But I always held something back, some little door within me stayed bolted shut. It was that door that I wanted Louis to open. I wanted it desperately, and I knew I had to be willing to risk losing him. He might not be able to live with me if he knew the true depths of me, knew what lived in that locked room of my soul. I realized I'd forgiven him for his encounter with David. No, forgiven isn't the right word. I was the one who needed forgiveness for the hurtful things I had said that night. Louis had done what I didn't have the courage to do. And now, I would need courage. I had to see him, and ask his forgiveness. And then, I would have to find David and do the same. {Two weeks prior to Lestat's return to New Orleans. In New York.} Coming to see Jesse had been the right decision. She just held me, demanding nothing, giving me her support and love. I could feel the concern and warmth radiate from her mind. "Do you really think I did the right thing?" "Of course!" she said, "David may be a quick study when it comes to powers, mental abilities, all that, but I know for a fact that he's very rusty when it comes to sex." I couldn't help myself-I blushed. "Louis!" she chastised me, "No need to be embarrassed. It's a perfectly natural part of life. And now you've shown David that it's a part of death as well." She smiled at me. "Now, have you fed?" I shook my head. I'd been too anxious to see her, to talk, and I hadn't fed since the previous night. "Well, then let's take a walk in the park and make it a little safer for joggers." She stood up and when I didn't follow immediately, she pulled me bodily to my feet. Made by Maharet, she was of course much stronger than me. I didn't mind, though. She made me feel safe, comforted. We set out, walking, enjoying the crisp air, though the scent was tainted with pollution and smoke. I liked New York. I didn't love it, the way I loved San Francisco or New Orleans, but I liked it a lot. Enough bookstores to keep me occupied for years and so many museums and concert venues. "Jesse, I've got a friend here in New York ..." "Sure you do, she's right beside you." She nudged me with her elbow and grinned at me. "No, I mean another friend, a mortal. I met her in Seattle, and she's moved to New York to sing at the Met." "Singing at the Met?" Jesse whistled "That's quite an accomplishment. How did you meet her exactly?" I briefly told her of how Lestat had befriended Nicole in Seattle, and how Nicole and I had discovered our mutual interests. "I need to call her. She wants me to attend the premiere of Faust-she's singing Marguerite-and she wants Lestat to come too. I don't know what to tell her, and I want to tell her, I don't know... ." I broke off. I really didn't know how much I wanted to tell Nicole. We were good friends, but there were many aspects of life that we had never discussed. "Do you want to call her? We can find a phone or we can use mine. Whatever you want to do Louis, I'll help you. You know that." "I really don't know what I want to do. I can't seem to think right now, my mind feels like clay. Just one great mass of confusion." She took my arm, and stopped walking. She turned to face me, and put her hands on my shoulders. "Louis, it'll be fine. Things will work out. But you need to feed, so come with me now. We'll go to the park, and then we'll come straight home. All right?" I nodded. We set off again but she kept hold of my hand and didn't let go until we reached Central Park. We hunted quickly. The park is full of evil-doers and what Lestat said once is true-they really do taste better. Sated, we returned to Jesse's apartment. I did feel better and the blood coursing through my veins seemed to warm me >from within. But all of a sudden I felt pathetic. How shallow to worry about love and the luxury of relationships when I had just drained a man of his life for my own selfish needs. If I wasn't careful, my composure would slip and I would sink into that melancholia peculiar to me and it would take more than Jesse knew to bring me out of it. Remember, I told myself, you are what you are, you are what Lestat made you, and that is that. I still exist, and the fact of my existence demonstrates my place. My role is to drain those who would prey on the innocent. Make that my purpose, so I can go on. I was literally shaken from my reverie by Jesse. She'd placed her hands on my shoulders and given a little jerk. "Louis, snap out of it. You were in another world for a bit there. You scared me." "I'm fine Jesse. Just thinking too much." "I know you too well, Louis, you'll think yourself to death! Come on, it's getting late." She was right. I checked my watch, a lovely antique Breugeut that Lestat had brought me from Paris, and I realized that I'd have to wait until tomorrow night to call Nicole. "Where are your things?" "They're at the hotel." "Yes, but which hotel? Tell me and I'll be right back with them." "But..." "But nothing! You're staying here. I won't have you in some hotel in your state. And what ever made you think you could come to my city and not stay with me? Really, Louis! I'm surprised at you." I gave up the fight. Besides, I actually would be both happier and safer with Jesse. "Everything, what little I brought, is at the Plaza. Here's the room key." "The Plaza? Good lord, that place costs a fortune!" "Well, actually, that was the point. When I checked in, I was, well, feeling rather strongly about a certain someone, and I had them charge two weeks to his credit card." I smiled my first real smile since this whole mess began. Jesse started to laugh, and soon I was laughing too. I had to sit down, and I fell backwards onto the couch, holding my sides. When she was able to keep a straight face, Jesse admonished me to stay inside, and she set off for the Plaza. I wandered around the apartment, stopping by the framed photos of Maharet, Jesse's mortal family, and then I saw one of David. The old David. I sighed, and picked it up. He was beautiful, his strong and deeply lined face, steel-grey hair in gentle waves, his familiar tweeds. I felt a stab of pain for his lost mortality, and then our night together intruded. A pleasant intrusion. I set the photo down, and sat at the piano Jesse kept. It was an apartment grand, a design created for fashionable city-dwellers who couldn't spare the room for a full-size piano. I picked out a little Handel from memory. Then, when memory failed me, I went to the stereo. It was as complex as Lestat's, but luckily it was made by the same manufacturer so I was soon listening to the same Handel sonata but played by a much surer hand than my own. I was lost in the music and memories when Jesse returned. She had an odd look on her face-I didn't know what it meant. I quickly stood up, took my bag from her hand, and carried it to the guest room. "Louis," she said in a low voice when I returned, "What is this?" She held out Lestat's little notebook, the one that I had accidentally packed with my sweaters. "Oh." I said softly. "I ... started to read it. I thought it was yours," She stopped, and looked embarrassed, "I know I know! Privacy. Damn it. I was just so worried.! But you didn't write that." "No. I didn't. Lestat did. It's his. Though I'm sure you figured that out all by yourself." I knew my voice was growing cutting, and I regretted its harsh sound. I was angry though. Jesse should know better. "Don't be angry, Louis. I just read a couple of pages, and I stopped when I realized it wasn't yours." "You're saying you would have read the rest had it been mine?" I demanded. "No, no of course not. Look, I don't want to fight, I'm sorry. But ... why do you have Lestat's notebook? I didn't even know that he kept them." "Neither did I and why I have it is a longer story than I have the energy for right now." I sat back down on the couch. I realized that I still had my shoes and jacket on, and I slowly took them off, and tucked my legs under me on the couch in my favourite position. "I'm sorry Jesse. But when I first came across that notebook, I did the same as you. The temptation was too strong to resist. I did only read one or two pages before I stopped myself. The thing is, I have this feeling that if I read those pages, I'll know what I've been desperate to know about Lestat, and in the process of that learning, I could lose his trust, perhaps forever." "Here," said Jesse, as she ran to her desk and grabbed something. "I'll seal it up in an envelope and then we'll both be safe." She smiled. "Fine," I said, "That's a perfect idea. But now, I would really like to rest. I know it's early, but I'm too overwhelmed to talk anymore." "The bed is made up in the guest room, and there are fresh towels in the closet. I'm glad you're staying and ... I'm sorry." "So am I," I said. I wasn't being myself. This whole affair had put me into a mood I couldn't seem to shake, and I didn't know how long I could stand it. Was being with Lestat really worth this much pain? I retired to the guest room, undressed, and slipped under the covers. Jesse had thoughtfully closed the shutters, and I could sleep now, and not worry about the death sleep I would fall into at dawn leaving me helpless before the light of day. *** The next evening, I woke refreshed. I smelled coffee. Jesse is an early riser, like Lestat. I wrapped myself in a towel, and took a long, hot shower. It would help warm my skin, and if I were to see Nicole today, it was imperative that I appear as human as possible. Jesse greeted me as I exited the bathroom. She handed me a demi-tasse of coffee, knowing I liked the smell far more than the taste. "I've called in, and there's another prof. who can take my class tonight." Jesse was unusual in that she had a job, of sorts. She taught the occasional class at the City University. She says it keeps her from getting bored. I've often wondered if I shouldn't do the same thing. But, unlike Jesse, I have no useful skills. No one wants to learn how to plant indigo or manage slaves. "Do you want to call your friend?" she asked. "Yes, I should call. I don't know if she will be at home or at the opera house. First though, I need to ..." I indicated the towel. "Sorry! Of course. I'll just get ready to go. If you like, there are some shirts and things in the closet in the guest room. Help yourself. We should go shopping and get you some new clothes. " I grimaced at the thought of shopping--I really disliked shopping for clothing. I dressed carefully, in those same black jeans I'd been wearing for the last two days, a white shirt I found in the closet, and my newest sweater. When I returned to the living room, Jesse was sitting cross- legged on the couch reading the New York Times. She looked up and laughed. "Louis, you aren't going out to see your friend in that old rag, are you?" "Why not? In any case, it's all that I have!" "Take off that sweater. Now." I did as she asked. Jesse has all the steel of her maker, and when she lets it show, it's best to do as she asks. She jumped up from the sofa, and ran off. I simply stood where I was, and in fact, before I could even turn around, she was back, a black dinner jacket in her hands. "Here. This should fit you. It's vintage, so you'll feel right at home." She held the jacket for me. It did fit and I liked the way it felt-the clean lines and careful cut were so unlike the sloppy poorly made clothes of today. I straightened the lapels and buttoned the abolone buttons. The sleeves were just a shade too long, even for me, and I turned them back. The lining was revealed--a lovely rich deep marbled red and black silk. I couldn't supress a smile. What a beautiful thing! "I see you like it. Keep it, it looks better on you than on me. That red lining always seemed to clash with my hair." I started to protest, but she cut me off, saying, "We've got to go--no time for silly games of manners! Besides, we're family, Louis! Now, do you have your friend's number?" I did, or at least I thought I did. Nicole usually wrote it beneath her name in her letter, although I never had actually called her. I dislike telephones-they seem to confer a false sense of intimacy that I find disturbing. I looked through my bag for her most recent letter, the one I had read on the way to the airport. Sure enough, at the bottom she had written both her home and rehearsal numbers. I showed them to Jesse, who merely indicated the phone on a side table. I girded myself and picked up the receiver. At her home number, a machine answered. I dropped the receiver, and stepped back for a moment to reorient myself. Then, I tried the rehearsal number. I had to talk to three people, all of whom had nearly unintelligible New York accents, before I finally spoke to Nicole. "Louis?", she exclaimed, "You're talking on the phone! Oh, I hope nothing's wrong, where are you, New Orleans?" "No, I'm in New York. I'd like to see you, if you have time." "Time? Of course! How wonderful. If you don't have plans, you could come to tonight's rehersal--we're doing Act 2." "I'd love to", I said, "May I bring a friend?" "You mean Lestat?" she asked. "No ... No, he's not here with me." "Oh. Well, sure you can bring a friend, Louis. I'm the star, or so they say, so I have a little pull." She said the last with a laugh in her voice--Nicole was certainly not a prima donna. We discussed directions, with Nicole sounding very doubtfull about my navigational abilities. I assured her that my friend lived in New York, and that I had used a map before. "Hmmm..." said Jesse, "Avery Fisher hall is just a subway ride away, and from the address, the rehearsal hall is not too far from it, maybe a few blocks. No problem." I was glad that she sounded so certain, for despite my assurances to Nicole, I really am not good at directions. We left the building, walked a couple of blocks, and then descended into the depths of New York City's subway system. The station was cavernous and crowded, and it smelled almost repulsively of humanity. Jesse pulled me along, and we waited on one of the platforms. The rails in their track below us popped and crackled. I didn't like it at all. Suddenly, the air was filled with a raucous noise, clanging bells, and the hard sound of metal-on-metal. A train whizzed into the station. It slowed almost imperceptibly, then came to an abrupt stop. The doors popped open with a sigh, and humans began streaming out. "This one's ours!" cried Jesse, and she grabbed my arm once again, and pulled me forward with her onto the train. We'd barely made our way to two seats when, with a lurch and a clang, the train awoke from its brief nap, and we were off. I looked around me. People of all ages stood holding a strap or sat on the one of the few seats. Some were asleep, though I didn't understand how they could sleep with so much bustle and noise around them. I was also wishing that we had taken the time to feed. Humans were pressed to me on either side, and the blood scent filled my senses. I nudged Jesse, and whispered in her ear, "I'll need to feed before I see Nicole." "Of course--I'm sure there will be an opportunity at our stop." We pulled into a station, and again the train didn't slow its pace until the last moment. I was jolted uncomfortably and frowned at Jesse. She had an almost blissful expression on her face. Soon, the train moved out of the station and we were speeding along once again. Jesse nudged me, "Next stop is ours. Be prepared--this driver doesn't seem to like to wait." I nodded, and tried to prepare myself for the sure-to-be unpleasant disembarkation procedure. Sure enough, before the train had even stopped, Jesse had me on my feet, and we, along with many others, crowded by the doors. As soon as they popped open, we all practically fell out, some barely staying on their feet as those behind them pushed and shoved. Then, we flowed with the mass of humanity, and after an assortment of stairs and escalators, we emerged into the refreshing night air. I breathed in deeply, and my gaze was captured by the glowing signs, the buildings, and the crowds. Jesse grabbed my arm, saying briskly, but not unkindly, "First things first, Louis! Don't be such a tourist." We walked a block or so, and all of a sudden the mood of the streets changed. "Now, I'll go ahead", said Jesse, "That should rouse just what we need." She unbuttoned her coat, and turned to walk through an alley. I stayed back, as instructed, and soon two men had slipped from their shadowy hiding places, and one took hold of Jesse's hair while the other held a knife to her throat. Although I'd realized what she had in mind, I was still shocked to see her in the hands of such creatures. For a moment, I froze and then, with all my skill, I descended upon the man with the knife. I took him quickly, lest a reflex action cause his knife to nick Jesse's throat. She turned and took the other man, who stood still, frozen with shock as I myself had been moments ago. She took her time with him, seeming to savour him. We both used a little of our own blood to close the puncture wounds, and then we covered the bodies with newspapers. "That's one good thing about New York--it's easy to hide one's kill. And those two were excellent choices--mine had just gotten out of jail for an assault, and he really wanted to hurt someone. We came along just in time!" She smiled, and there was a faint red gleam on her teeth. I checked my clothes, and asked Jesse to check my face and teeth. "All clear--you always were neat, Louis. Anyway...the hall should be up in the next block." We started walking, and soon she said she saw Avery Fisher Hall. "Didn't your friend say that the rehearsal hall is behind the main one?" "I don't remember if she said that. But, can't we just ask someone?" "It's not the New York way to ask--you'll look like a tourist!" "But I am a tourist, Jesse, you said so yourself." She laughed, and squeezed my arm. The rehearsal hall *was* just behind the main one, and we found it easily. Nicole had put me on a list at the door, and she must have left a description of me as well, for there was no hassle at the door. We wandered in, following the raised voices and the faint strains of violins and cellos. The sounds were coming from behind a set of double doors, and I slowly opened one and peeked discreetly inside. It was a large, mostly bare room, with a dais at one end. A skeleton orchestra was seated to one side, and the singers were upon the dais. I slipped in, and held the door for Jesse. We took seats near the door, and sat back to listen. I recognized the opening notes to Marguerite's first aria in the second act, and looked about for Nicole. She wasn't on the stage, and the musicians seemed almost about to stop playing. I hoped she *wasn't* becoming a prima donna. Just then, she appeared from a side door, and took her place amoung the other singers. She spotted me and smiled and gave a little wave. The musicians did stop playing, and, after a moment, repeated the first notes. This time, right with the music, her voice filled the small hall, her pure soprano doing justice to Gounod's rich notes. The cast ran through the entire act, and then focused on the duet. I was enjoying myself immensely. For all my love of opera, I had never actually attended a rehearsal before, and it was exciting to watch the process. I was a little worried that Jesse would be bored. I knew of course that she liked opera, but I also knew that her interest was not nearly as deep as my own. She didn't look bored, but she had pulled out a notebook, and was writing furiously. ::Jesse, you don't have to stay.:: ::I'm enjoying this, Louis! Besides, I want to meet your Nicole.:: Relieved, I turned my full attention back to the musicians. The musical director was calling for one more run through of the last aria. Everyone looked tired, but pleased. The rehearsal seemed to be going well, and I was happy for Nicole. Everything should be right for her debut at the Met. Finally, the last note echoed away, and Nicole, quickly excusing herself, ran to our seats. I stood up, and nudged Jesse to as well. She snapped her notebook shut, and was on her feet in a flash. "Louis! I'm so glad to see you!", she pulled me into an impulsive hug, and I was very glad that I had fed so recently. I didn't want to frighten or worry her. She released me, and looked at Jesse, an inquisitive look upon her face. "Nicole, may I present Jessica Reeves. Jesse, this is Nicole Brennan." "I'm pleased to meet you", said Jesse, "I've heard so much from Louis." "It's nice to meet you. But please, don't let him talk me up---I'm really still an ingenue in so many ways." They smiled at each other, but Nicole still had a touch of inquisitiveness in her face, and I hastened to answer the question I was sure she wanted to ask. "Jesse is my cousin--I stay with her the few times I'm in New York." Nicole's smile broadened. The word 'cousin' seemed to answer her unposed question, and she asked us, "Do you have some time now? I'd like to introduce you to everyone." She gestured to the cast, who were milling about at the other side of the room, casting occasional glances in our direction. "Well, actually", said Jesse, "I've got a couple of errands to take care of." She dug in her pockets for a moment, and produced a set of keys. "Here you are, Louis. I meant to give you these earlier, but I just kept forgetting." She handed me the keys, and then made her good-byes. Nicole and I joined the group, and she introduced me as her friend Louis de Pointe du Lac from New Orleans. On hearing my name, one of the musicians giggled. I looked at her with a question upon my face, and she apologized. "I'm sorry", she said, "but your name...it's the same as a character in a book I'm reading! And", she added, "you look like him, too!" Oh dear, I thought to myself. How am I going to deal with this? I should probably start using aliases, like Lestat. "Well", I said, "It's actually a common name in New Orleans. There are so many families with French roots." The moment, fortunately, passed, and the conversation the group had been having resumed. Everyone was excited about the premiere. Nicole was obviously well-liked, and her easy, pleasant nature had prevented any jealousy that might have formed. "Louis was at my debut as Susanna in Seattle", she said. Everyone looked at me, obviously expecting a comment. "It was wonderful! Nicole was the most vivacious Susanna I had ever seen. I can't wait to see Faust." After a little more chatter, the group began to break up, and Nicole, after grabbing her bag, took my arm and steered me out. "Now that we're alone, you can tell me what's really going on!" She took me to a nearby hotel, and we sat in the dark, cozy bar. Nicole ordered a mineral water, and I chose a glass of red wine. "I'm not drinking any alcohol until after the premiere. It coarsens the voice, or so my vocal coach says." She smiled. "Would you prefer that I didn't have any? I won't if it bothers you." I said solicitously. "It doesn't bother me at all. I think it's just superstition, really, but I'll try anything to guarantee a good performance. Speaking of which," she added, "I have guest tickets. My parents will be there, but I have two set aside for you and Lestat. I want you both to be my guests--and Lestat seems to be good luck for me at the opera." "Well, I ... you see ... ", I said, not sure how to explain. "What is it?" she asked, concern in her voice. I couldn't say anything for a moment. She really cared, I could see it in her eyes, but I didn't know how much I wanted to tell her. I didn't want to burden her with my troubles when she had a premiere performance to worry about. "Louis, I care about you, and Lestat. Very much, in fact. If there is anything I can do, please tell me." "It's a long story." I leaned forward, and rested my elbows upon the table, and took my chin in my hands. I wasn't sure that I wanted to go through the whole story again. And, there were parts of it that she might not understand. For all that we had shared in our letters, we hadn't really discussed relationships. I looked up, and saw the kindest expression on her face. "It's all right. Let me tell you about the version of Faust that we're doing. I didn't really take the time to discuss it in my last letter, did I?" She started talking about the score the musical director had chosen, the internal squabbles when arias were shortened, or, in some cases, extended to their original lengths. All the ins and outs of a large production. She was good at telling anecdotes, and soon I was laughing at the antics of the cast and crew. She paused at the end of a story, and said, "I'm so glad I know you. It's too bad you're taken." "Well", I said lightly, "I hope I still am. Lestat and I ... well, we had a, I don't like to say fight, because it wasn't. Not really. More of a misunderstanding. I tried to explain a certain situation, and he, as usual, refused to listen. So, I got on a plane for New York, and I don't know where he is or what he is doing. And right now, I'm not sure what I would say if I were to see him now. He's so stubborn, Nicole. It's part of his personality, and he's always been so. But having a stubborn friend is very different from having a stubborn lover." "You've known him for a long time?" she asked. "Most of my life, actually. But we've become much closer in the last few years, and that has made me so happy. But ... he has a tendency to be jealous, and suspicious, and that is hard for me to live with at times." "What do you want to do?" "What I really want is to talk to him. More than anything, I want him to listen to me, to show me some respect and trust." I paused and considered again how much I wanted to tell her. How much could I discuss while disguising exactly how long I had known Lestat? "You see, there was a sort of, well, power imbalance is the way I think of it, in our relationship. It lasted for quite a while. And it is only because we spent some time apart that it faded, and allowed us to become more than just friends. But when we fight, I feel that we are back where we were, back in our old roles, and I can't live like that. Not anymore." I wanted to cry, but I knew I couldn't, not in front of Nicole. "Oh, Louis", she said softly. "This may sound trite, and I don't mean it that way at all, but when I have a fight with someone, I've found that it helps to write things out, and for the other person, reading my complaint can help them understand. when you try to say things out loud, I think it's easier to be misunderstood, and certainly it's hard to think up just the right thing to say." said Nicole thoughtfully, after we'd sat in silence for a while. I nodded. That might work. At least, it was worth a try. Letters are my preferred method of communication, but I had seldom actually written to Lestat. At least, a letter would allow me to get my feelings out without being interrupted! "Nicole, thank you for listening. I'm sorry to burden you with my problems, especially now." "It could never be a burden. That's what friends are for. Oh, now that *is* trite!" She began to laugh and I couldn't help but join her. We talked for another hour, enjoying each other's company and the comfortable atmosphere of the bar. I insisted that Nicole let me walk her home, as she refused to take a cab. After what I had seen my first night here, I wasn't about to let her walk alone. With me, at least she would be safe. She lived in a small studio that she shared with 2 other women, one an actress, the other a dancer. Neither of them were at home when we arrived. She noticed the look on my face as I looked around and read it correctly. "Yes, I know it's small, but it's cheap for New York, and my roommates are great. Besides, I'm never here. If I'm not at rehersal, I'm out seeing the City." She sat down on a couch that seemed to double as a bed, and gestured for me to join her. "It's late, but do you want some tea or something?" "No, no I should go. You need to sleep and I...I'm sure Jesse is concerned. She knows how easily I get lost." "Well, you probably should take a cab then. I don't want to worry either. Let me call one and then I'll make that tea. New York cabs take forever, and they won't stop for you on the street at this time, at least, not around here." "All right," I said. It was true that I would probably get lost if I tried to make my own way to Jesse's apartment. I would enjoy the adventure, but I also didn't feel like leaving yet. Nicole was so understanding. She had the rare ability to make me feel totally comfortable. **** When I finally arrived back at Jesse's apartment, I found her curled up on the couch reading. "Hi! How'd it go with your friend?" "Fine. She's very supportive and I think I know what to do now." "I'm glad. She seemed very nice--caring, like a good friend." "She is. How was your evening?" "Well," she began, sitting up and putting her book down, "I've made some progress on my new book and I've arranged some meetings and other administrative business that I've been putting off. It was a productive evening." I took off the jacket she'd given me and draped it gently across a chair. Then, I joined her on the couch tucking my legs beneath me. I felt a little numb, as it seemed too much had happened in too little time. And...I missed Lestat. "Jesse, do you have any letter paper?" "Sure, it's in the desk. Help yourself. I never use it. I like the phone." "In my day, you had no choice. It was either write a letter, or travel for months, or not communicate. I'm used to writing letters. " I slipped off the couch and moved to the desk. Jesse had quite a lot of very nice letter paper, cotton bond, and I placed a sheet on the space before me, uncapped my pen, and tried to begin. "Dear Lestat" No, too formal. I crossed it out and tried again. "My dearest Lestat" No, too...emotional? An hour later, I had used up most of a box of paper, with nothing to show for it but fireplace kindling. "Jesse, it's hopeless! How can I write a letter to him if I can't get past the salutation?" "I think you just answered your question. Skip the salutation. In fact, skip the stationary. Here." She handed me a spiral notebook, the kind students use. "Just write down what you want to communicate to him. Don't worry about making it perfect, just get the feelings out. Then later you can write the letter. " I nodded, and took the notebook. I went back to the couch and tried her suggestion. Feelings. What did I need Lestat to know? That question broke the dam, and a flood of words soon crowded the paper. By dawn I had filled half the notebook and my mind was much clearer, like the old plantation after the slaves finished the spring cleaning. I did dream during that day's death sleep, but they were good dreams. Positive and encouraging. The next evening, I told Jesse I wanted to go to a cafe, a quiet place with comfortable chairs and good music. "I know just the place." "Jesse," I asked hesitantly, "do you mind if I go alone?" "Of course not, I was about to suggest it. Let me write down the address and you can give it to the cab driver. It's in the Village. " I started to protest that I could walk, I could find it myself but then I stopped. She was right--I would get lost, and I didn't feel in the mood to wander about the the City. The cafe turned out to be just what I had envisioned. Soft new age music played in the background, occasionally drowned by the hiss of the espresso machine. I ordered a coffee and found a seat in the darkest part of the main room. I had fed before coming in but not especially well and my skin was still very pale. Of course, in a city like New York, there were many people who wore black clothes and powdered their skin down until it was almost as bleached as my own is upon arising. I had even seen some mortals with artificial fangs. I re-read all the pages I had filled the previous night and the feeling that came through most strongly was love. I needed Lestat to know that I loved him, needed him. So that is how I started. By the time I had finished the letter, my coffee had grown cold and my legs were cramped from sitting for so long. But I had my letter. Now, I needed to see Nicole. I found her at the rehearsal hall. They seemed to have just finished, and only a few cast members remained. Nicole smiled when she saw me, though she looked a little surprised. "Louis, I didn't expect to see you, is everything all right?" "I'm fine. I have a favour to ask you..." I suddenly realized that it might be rude, that I might be intruding. "Do you want to go somewhere to talk? I haven't made plans for the evening, I was just going to go home." I noticed that she looked tired, and began to apologize. "I'm sorry, why don't I call you later in the week?" "No, no, Louis, it's all right, really. If you don't mind walking me home, we can talk there and have some tea. And I will feel safer if you are there to walk with me." So I watched as she packed her music bag and we set of for the short walk to her apartment. We walked in silence, a companionable one although I still felt guilty for practically forcing my company on her. We were only a couple of blocks away from her apartment building when the voice came from the darkness at the side of a building. "Gimmie your money!" And a figure came rushing at us, a knife shining in his hand. I thought for just a moment and then I pushed Nicole back sharply. She cried out, "Louis, no! Just give him your money!" Using my preternatural speed, I grabbed his arm, squeezed his wrist until the knife fell, then bent his arm back and out until I heard a pop tell me that I had dislocated his shoulder. I pushed him against the building, and with my mind, told him to leave the area and not come back. I released my hold on him, and he ran clutching his arm and looking back frantically. Nicole had backed up against the other side of the wall and covered her eyes. As the man's footsteps faded, she lowered her hands and looked at me. I couldn't tell it if was sudden awe or fear in her eyes and really I didn't want it to be either. "You are crazy! That man you could have killed you! This is New York, you idiot!" "It's all right, we're safe. Let's just go home, shall we?" I said as calmly as possible, trying to use the tone of my voice to cam her down. I took her elbow and we finally made it to her studio. This time, one of her roommates was in. Nicole had started shaking and she had her arms wrapped around her body. She went straight for the couch and sat down, pulling her legs underneath her. I wasn't sure what to do, I simply stood by the door. "Um, I'm April, I live here. You are?" said Nicole's roommate. "Louis. I'm a friend of Nicole's." "Uh, huh. So...what's going on?" she said, eyeing me. "We just had a nasty encounter. Could you make some tea?" I asked her. "Did you get mugged?" she asked, concern in her voice. "Almost," I replied and as she left for the kitchen area, I sat by Nicole on the couch. "I'm so sorry, cherie." I said. "No...I couldn't believe that was you back there. You're so gentle, I wouldn't have ... I don't..." I wasn't sure what to say. I hadn't wanted to let Nicole see me as anything other than a rich mortal opera lover. Should I spin a fiction? Fake a knowledge of martia arts that I do not possess? I wanted to protect her from my true nature and shield her from any danger. "I may be gentle, but I don't like to be taken advantage of. I refused to be the weak one long ago. I would never let anyone hurt you, not if there were anything I could do to prevent it. " I turned to meet her eyes, and I lifted her chin with my fingers. "You're my friend, cherie, and you mean so much to me." She started to cry. I passed her my handkerchief, discreetly checking it first for bloodstains. "It's just that I've never been robbed before. I was so scared, Louis, I was so scared we'd be hurt!" I took her in my arms and held her against me. April came back crying three steaming mugs. She sat on Nicole's other side and put an arm around her. "It's ok, Nic. Things happen in New York. Just be glad you're ok and just go on. Think of it as an initiation. It had to happen sometime, and odds are it'll never happen again. Here, have some tea." Nicole took the mug, cupping her hands around it. I picked mine up as well, enjoying the warmth of the hot porcelain. "I've got to go now, I told Jerry I'd meet him for a drink after the show. Will you be ok?" asked April. "I ... I think. Louis," she said, "Will you, can you stay awhile?" "Of course I'll stay. I would never leave you after such an experience." April game me a grateful look, then slipped into the other room. After she left, Nicole and I sat quietly. I only rose to turn on the stereo and play some soft music. "Louis," said Nicole, breaking the long silence, "What did you want to talk with me about?" I'd actually forgotten about my reason for finding Nicole at the rehearsal. And now, it seemed petty to mention. "It doesn't matter, really," I said. "I'm sure it does, and that you're just saying that. I'm fine now. At least, I think I am. Please tell me. If nothing else, it will take my mind off what just happened." She tried to smile, failed, and took another sip of her tea. Feeling that it was better to do what she asked than to try to protest, I started to tell her why I had come. "Do you remember when you suggested that I write Lestat a letter?" She nodded. "I did it. It took me quite a few drafts, but I think that it expresses my feelings. What I was hoping to do was to enclose a ticket to the opera with the letter so that we would have a designated place and time to meet and talk. What do you think? Is that too old fashioned?" Her face lit with a smile, and she said, "I think it's a marvelous idea! I've got my comps already, let me get them so you can send that off right away." She handed me two tickets. I looked at them and exclaimed, "But these are box tickets! You can't give me these. I can't accept, Nicole, it's too much." "You have to accept them. They're a gift. My parents are in center orchestra, their favourite spot. You and Lestat like box seats, I remember where you sat at Figaro!" There was nothing to do but thank her, and I did with all my heart. Then, I pulled out the letter I had written to Lestat. "Would you read it? I know you will be honest and tell me if I am being stupidly romantic." "Of course I'll read it!" She took the letter and leaned back in the couch. As she read, I could see tears begin to form in her eyes. "It's beautiful", she said, as she handed it back to me, "If he can't believe you love him after reading this, well, he's not worthy of you!" I smiled, suddenly self-conscious, and thanked her. Then I carefully refolded the letter, enclosing one of the box tickets. We sat and listened to the music for a while, until Nicole finally allowed herself to relax. When I was certain she would be able to sleep, I left. I decided to walk back to Jesse's. I simply stopped and asked directions at every unfamiliar intersection, and it didn't take me long at all. Jesse was still out when I returned so I turned on the stereo, and wrote in my journal until I felt the stirrings of dawn. Then I retired to allow the death sleep to take me. I mailed that letter the next day. When I dropped it the letter box, I felt a weight lift off of me. I had done what I could and the next step was Lestat's. There was nothing to do but enjoy the advantages of a large, cosmopolitan city, and wait. I spent the next week and a half exploring New York--sometimes with Jesse, sometimes with Nicole but more often by myself. I found a wonderful French language bookstore and bought several novels to enjoy in my native language. I visited all the museums I could. I was loathe to break in, as Lestat or Armand would, so I took advantage of the many exhibits and parties held in the evenings at the museums and galleries. Lestat would laugh, but it disturbs me far less to 'crash' a party than to break and enter. I visited the Museum of Modern Art, the Metropolitan Museum, the Guggenheim, and many others. Some, I visited more than once as there were too many beautiful things to see in one visit. Nicole gave me recommendations for plays and other theatrical events, based on her own adventures in the City, and we met several times to discuss our favourites. And then, too soon it seemed, it was the night before the premiere. ******* "Jesse," I said, "I am loathe to say it, but I need to do some shopping." I hid my face in the towel I was using on my hair, and tried not to look at her. She must have been aware of my discomfort because for once, she refrained from making a sarcastic remark. "Of course!" she said, "I should have thought of that myself. I think I know just where to go." Then, almost as an afterthought but knowing Jesse it was a well-planned comment, she added, "Are you nervous?" "No," I said quickly, as I gave my hair a final rub. "Well, maybe. Yes?" I shrugged and tried to smile, and she hopped up from her seat and gave me a hug. "Everything will be fine. You've had time to think and Lestat has had time to calm down. You've chosen a neutral meeting place, and you'll be in public. There's nothing to worry about." "I know," I said, but I was still nervous, and I realized belatedly that I had torn the corner of the towel to shreds. Jesse really did know where to shop for clothing in New York, and we gave Lestat's credit card a work-out. I was outfitted with two Armani suits (which made me think of Armand). I liked their clean lines, and elegant styling. They made me feel powerful. Jesse insisted that I buy dress shirts with French cuffs, and she chose some cufflinks to accompany them. New boots, of glove-soft black leather, completed the outfit. We spent the rest of the evening relaxing, or in my case, trying desperately to. The next evening, I woke with the faintest sheen of blood sweat covering my skin. I couldn't remember any dreams, but I didn't need to remember to know the source of my discomfiture. Tonight I would see him, and either he would come back to me, or I would lose him forever. Jesse came in without knocking, and put her hand on my shoulder. She didn't seem to mind the faint stickiness. "Louis, you need to relax. Everything will be fine. And besides, if I know Lestat, he's just as nervous. Probably more so since you're the one who's set the time and place. He's seldom in that position, and I think it's good for him. Now, get up!" She grinned at me, and left me alone. I showered, rinsing off the blood, and dressed with more care than I was used to. I chose the black Armani suit, one of the white shirts and the cufflinks Jesse had chosen. They had green stones set in silver, and she had insisted that they mirrored my eyes. The black boots and a black ribbon to hold my hair back completed the look. I hoped it was good enough. I left Jesse reluctantly, but she always seems to know just what to say and I was feeling more confident. Not enough to feed however, so I hoped that my lack of colour would be viewed as a cosmetic affectation. To be safe, I took a cab to the Metropolitan Opera House. The crowds were intense as it was opening night. Had I been any less distracted, the blood scent would have been overwhelming. Still, I found the box as quickly as I could. It was empty. I sat down on the velvet chair, closed my eyes, and waited. Finally! Opening night. I was more excited than I had ever been, although I was outwardly as calm as if this were to be merely another rehearsal. The last minute costume adjustments had been taken care of this morning, and I only had to get myself to the Met an hour before curtain. I knew my blocking and business and I had been guarding my voice with even more than my usual care. I was relaxing on my couch, my roommates having thoughtfully stepped out for the evening, when a knock came at the door. I assumed it was April or Jackie and that they'd forgotten a key or purse. Before I could get up to answer the door, the knock came again, more insistently. The thought that it might be Louis crossed my mind. He was really the sweetest man I knew, so gentle and surprisingly emotional. He made me wish he had a brother--a straight brother! "All right, I'm coming!" I said as I opened the door. "Finally!" said a familiar voice, though it was not the one I had been expecting. "Can I please come in, Nicole?" he continued, his obvious agitation bringing out more of the French in his voice than usual. "Of course you can, Lestat," I replied, smiling. Well, if nothing else, this would take my mind of the performance. I gestured for him to have a seat on the couch, but he shook his head and merely paced the small room, waving his hands with agitation. I waited a few beats, then, as it seemed he might never speak if I didn't prompt him, I said, "I would love to have a long heart-to-heart, but I do have a premiere this evening. What's up, Lestat?" I smiled, so he wouldn't take it as a rebuke, and sat down on the couch myself. He sighed, and dropped to the floor in front of me and buried his face in his hands. "I know, I know! But ... I had to come, I have to ask you. I know you've seen him, talked to him!" "Yes," I said neutrally, "I have. I believe he wants to talk with *you* though, and he's probably waiting at the Met right now. I think that's where you should be." He nodded under all his blond hair. "Then, what are you doing here, silly? Go out and buy yourself a new suit, or, better yet, a tux. Then, get some flowers and get yourself to the Met. What are you waiting for?" I left Nicole's in a daze. She'd seen him, and talked to him, and he really did want to see me. I stumbled along the street in sheer joy, until I remembered her directive; "Buy a new suit!". I looked down at my jeans in disgust. I had lost track of time while scribbling in the Cafe du Monde and rather than risk being late, I had taken to the sky immediately I realized the time. It takes an hour to fly from New Orleans to New York, and I couldn't go any faster, powers or no. I decided to find a large hotel. Such a place was likely my only option for finding formal clothing at this late hour, even in New York City. I soon found myself in the lobby of the Plaza. In the little shop, I was fitted for a tuxedo. I opted for a casual Armani one in a simple but elegant style that reminded me of the suits Armand used to wear on the Night Island. A simple, collarless shirt and pearl shirt studs completed the look. The clerk asked if I wanted to charge it to my room. I almost said "No, I'm not registered" when I stopped myself and allowed hope to take over within me. I said, "Yes, but I need to register first." I left the shop, wearing the shirt, and my jeans (the shop clerk was quickly taking up the legs of the tuxedo trousers). "A room, for tonight, a suite if you have one." I asked the desk clerk. "Certainly, sir, let me check availability. Hmmm ... I don't seem to have any suites, but ... wait a moment..." The man muttered under his breath. He briefly conferred with another clerk and when I heard the name Pointe du Lac, I focused on their conversation. Apparently, a M. de Pointe du Lac had checked in two weeks ago and paid in advance. Tonight was to have been his last night, but he hadn't been seen since the first night, and the room always appeared unused. The clerks were debating whether they should release the room to me. The other clerk, who had apparently been heavily overtipped by M. de Pointe du Lac, was arguing against releasing the room. while the clerk who had just been helping me was all for it. He won out, hoping for a large tip from me no doubt, and returned his attention to me. "It seems a suite is available. How would you prefer to pay, sir?" I handed over one of my many credit cards, and soon I had a room key. I double-checked the time; I had only half an hour before curtain. I hurried back to the formal wear shop, and snatched the trousers from the clerk hands in my haste. I quickly slipped into them, tucking in the shirt. I had no tie for my hair, so, glancing about the shop, I asked for a bow tie and used it as a hair tie. Instructing the clerk to send my old clothes to the suite, I swept out the door. I was about to leave the hotel when I remembered my ticket! I had left the precious thing in my old jacket, and luckily caught the clerk before he'd had the chance to package my clothing for the trip to the suite. I'd almost given up on the thought of flowers when I spied a girl standing in the street, right in the center between lanes of traffic, trying to sell roses. She was forcing a smile on her face, but she looked almost green from the car exhaust. I hopped rapidly over the cars and landed lightly beside her. "I'd like a rose, please" I asked. "Where'd you come from, mister?" she said, surprise in her voice. "I *really* need a rose, and I'm running late," I said and quickly pulled some bills from my pocket and waved them at her. "That'll buy all of them! You want 'em all?" she said, eagerly. For one second, I was tempted. Then, I remembered the resigned looks I'd gotten upon presenting Louis with huge bunches of flowers. "No, just one. This one," I said as I pulled a perfect yellow rose from the bucket. Not the obvious red, but a yellow to remind Louis of the gold of my hair, and the yellow of the sun he'd given up for me. I stuffed all the bills in her hand and, running now, I headed for the Met. The crowds outside forced me to to slow down. Everyone one was moving slowly, slowly toward the doors, dressed in their glittery best. I pulled out my ticket, holding it like a talisman, and let the crowd propel me along. Inside I spared but a glance for the beautiful lobby and nodded as the ticket taker directed me to the staircase for the box level. At the top of the stairs, another attendant checked my ticket and pointed to a closed, velvet curtain. I slowly walked toward it, gently parted it with my hand and stepped inside. There's some sex between fully consenting, adult vampires of the same gender. Consider yourselves warned! I heard his footsteps as the curtains parted and light fell onto the richly carpeted floor. He was letting me hear his steps, walking like a mortal. A million thoughts, a million words rushed into my head, but all that came out was "Hello Lestat." "Hello Louis," was his reply. He stepped forward so that he was fully in the box. He didn't sit down or lean against the wall. He merely stood. I rose, and inclined my head toward him, a second cousin of the standard greeting of two centuries before. He did the same. At first I suspected that he was mocking me, but I looked searchingly at his face and saw no glimmer of humour there. I slowly realised that I really was in control of this meeting, and that he knew it and acknowledged it. My confidence renewed, I said, "Won't you sit down?" and gestured toward the velvet chair next to the one I had until so recently occupied. "Thank you," he said, but instead of seating himself, he pulled from behind his back a single yellow rose. No paper, not even any baby's breath or ferns surrounded it. Just one perfect flower. "Lestat!" I gasped as he handed it to me. As I accepted it, he captured one of my hands with his own, and dropped to one knee. he pressed his lips against my hand, and held it against his cheek. Then, as I stared at him in amazement he looked up and met my eyes and said simply, quietly, "I'm sorry." He didn't let his eyes move from mine, and I think my jaw dropped. I do know that I stood still as a statue, my hand still clasped in both of his, my face without expression. Was this Lestat? Was I dreaming? Would I wake up and find myself back in New Orleans, the whole affair a fiction? Certainly, he'd said those words in the past, but he had never before invested any emotion in them. I saw worry start to mar his features, and an almost desperate look slipped over his face. "Louis?" he said, finally, and I could hear the orchestra tuning below us. I closed my eyes, and sat down. Luckily, my chair was still behind me. I set down the rose which I found that I still held, and then cupped Lestat's face in my hand. I still couldn't talk, couldn't seem to make my mouth obey me, and instead I let my hand find its way into his thick golden hair. He'd tied it at the nape of his neck with a bit of cloth, and I pulled out the restraint, and dropped it, letting his hair flow around his face, just hitting his shoulders. I let my fingers lose themselves in those silken waves. The look of worry upon his face had turned to one of confusion. I tried to speak, but all I produced was a sigh. I clenched my lips and tried again. "Lestat ..." I paused, " I love you." I'm not sure what I expected him to do. Smile his brilliant smile or begin to cry. I don't know! But he did nothing so ostentatiously dramatic. He buried his head in my lap and let his arms wrap around me. I leaned over to hold him; I hadn't realized how much I missed the feel of his strong arms around me. Or how much I loved the spicy-clean scent of his hair, his skin,. Being held by him so closely felt like home, as if I were just where I belonged. However, no matter where I belonged, I was brought back to my actual location absolutely as the orchestra, at full volume, began the overture to _Faust_. I started at the sound and Lestat, reluctantly, freed me from his embrace and took his seat beside me. "Louis ..." he said. "Yes?" "Can you forgive me?" "I can, but I want to talk about what happened and now is not the time." "No," he agreed, and continued, "Afterwards?" "Yes, of course," I replied and smiled at him, just a little. Soon, Lestat's eyes were on the orchestra and he seemed to be concentrating on the music. Our velvet chairs were as they had been placed by the Met--about three feet apart. After a few moments, Lestat stood, lifted his chair, and placed it right next to mine before sitting down again. He took my hand in his and let his thumb caress my palm. I didn't object, I didn't want to. I liked it. And I realized that he didn't touch me in public only to discomfit me. He did it because it gave him pleasure to touch me and he thought or hoped that it did the same for me. It did, but I, with my aesthete's nature, tried to deny it and so I typically shrugged him off. But, oh, what a true joy it was to embrace the feelings his caress roused in me. We are sensual creatures by nature, and Lestat was that way as a mortal as well. Touching comes naturally for him. I took my hand from his and a hurt look crossed his face. It seemed out of place on his aristocratic features, but quickly disappeared when I put my arm around his shoulder and leaned gently against him. He didn't say a word and I was glad, yet still surprised at his almost intuitive grasp of what I wanted. He couldn't read my thoughts any longer, hadn't been able to for two centures, yet his actions seemed perfectly calculted to please me. I decided not to mull on it just yet. Below us on the stage, the curtain had risen and Act 1 had begun. I heard the arias and watched the costumed figures move across the stage but it didn't penetrate my consciousness. Not until Nicole's first aria did I really focus on the opera. At intermission, we both stood and by some unknown mutual assent stepped into the back corner of the box where we were shielded from view. I pulled him against me, and captured his mouth, kissing him with all the love and passion I had been forced to suppress for the past fortnight. He took his time responding, perhaps he wanted to ensure that this was what I really meant to happen, but when he did respond it was electric. The feel of him, hard as a Greek statue but warm and the foreign but familiar taste of him were suddenly *all* that I wanted. If this is eternity, I thought, May I bless every day my luck. Then, the tremours of the crowed re-seating itself intruded and I pulled, reluctantly, away from my lover, and smiled. He answered me with one of his own, and we sat in a haze of pleasure anticipated and watched the rest of the opera. Whatever I had been expecting, it was not what actually happened. I had made a little noise as I entered to box to warn Louis of my arrival. He looked so cold, and stern. Not angry, but so composed that his features were like the marble statues to which I have been compared. His face softened when I handed him the rose, and when he gasped my name, I knew it had been the right choice. Now why couldn't I have figured that out long ago? But I had something to say and I had to do it soon or I would lose my nerve. I captured one of his elegant hands, and dropped to one knee before him. Despite my mental preparation, the carefully planned words didn't come. Instead, what I said was that I was sorry. Louis' face froze and I became worried and deeply regretted my unexplainable lack of courage. Maybe it just wasn't the right time. But, I thought, if I were to wait for the perfect time, those words might remain forever unsaid! And then Louis took my face in his hand, freed my hair and ran his fingers through it. I was confused! Why wouldn't he speak to me? But then I heard him utter the words I had intended to say to him tonight, and I felt like crying. I buried my head in his lap, and tried desperately to stifle my tears. I didn't deserve him! Yet I felt so content, holding him close to me, and though I cursed myself for having hurt him as deeply as I had, I rejoiced in our reunion. We sat then, side by side, in a companionable silence, and I doubt Louis took in any more of that opera than I did! At the intermission I stood just as he did and he seemed to gesture without any explicit movement and the next thing I knew his tongue was in my mouth. I was shocked and pleased and confused and for a moment I didn't respond. But the feel of him, so close, so hard and wonderfully familiar overcame my confusion and I kissed him back, letting my tongue entwine with his in a lovely dance of shared passion. The rest of the opera left no impression on me (save Nicole was brilliant, as usual). I was looking forward to taking Louis back to the hotel with me. I couldn't wait for the looks we would get from the hotel employees when the mysteriously absent M. de Pointe du Lac turned up with the very same M. de Lioncourt to whom his room had been given. But, I thought, perhaps Louis had made plans! This was his night and I should merely continue to follow his lead. An unusual position in which to find myself, but surprisingly not unwelcome. There was a certain relief in not having to be in charge. If only it didn't take a fight to get there, I thought ruefully. The opera, finally, blessedly, ended and I turned to Louis and smiled. Just a little one, not my famous grin. He smiled back and we sat there staring at each other until hall had emptied and Nicole burst in, still in her costume and stopped short when she saw us. "Um, guys? Hello? Lestat? Louis? Anybody home?" We both turned and looked at her and then unbelievably Louis started to giggle. I had never heard him giggle! It was a delightful sound, and it made me wish that I had been nicer to him in those long ago years. Had I heard that sound more often, I might not have made some of the choices that I had made. It was also infectious, and soon the three of us were laughing so hard we could hardly breathe (not that either Louis or I really needed to). Gasping, Nicole plopped down on the richly carpeted floor and lay back, her costume billowing around her. "So, it sounds like you two are speaking again," she said. "Who said anything about speaking!" said Louis and he crushed my mouth to his, his teeth just grazing my lip, and then just as quickly he released me. He was almost grinning, a shocking sight, and then he blushed when he realized what he'd done. Nicole just laughed and laughed until tears streamed down her face. When she could talk, she said, "Well, how about a drink? There's a party at a club not far from here that I should go to, but you can come along and then we can slip out later." I nodded and turning to Louis, gestured for him decide. He acknowledged my unspoken comment on his leadership for the night and told Nicole we'd love to join her. "I just need to change. It'll take me about 15 minutes if I hurry. Why don't you meet me at my dressing room? Show your tickets if anyone asks where you're headed. They're marked as comps." In a whirl of fabric, she was off. I looked at Louis and started laughing again. His mouth quivered as he tried to keep a straight face, but I knew it was hopeless and soon we were both on the floor, breatheless again. "Lestat" he gasped. "Yes?" "I missed you." "I missed you too, cher," I replied, and rolled onto my side to looked at him. He was on his back, his legs bent and his hair, its ribbon long since gone, fanned out in a carpet of soft ebony silk. The sight of him almost brought tears to my eyes. How can his beauty still bring me to tears after 200 years, I wondered. *** The club was packed with cast members, crew, and friends and everyone was congratulating Nicole. She accepted the praise with grace and introduced Louis and I when she could. Louis had discreetly asked her to only use our first names as he didn't want to have to explain his last. "Why not just use some other last name?" I'd whispered to him. "Because I'll forget to answer to it," he smiled, and took my hand. We were certainly not the only same sex couple there, and that seemed to have relaxed Louis' attitude toward public displays of affection. In fact, although I doubted Louis noticed it, he was being cruised by half the room; both genders were eyeing him. I pulled him just a little closer, possessively. But then I caught myself. He's not my possession, my slave as I once called him years ago. What we'd each endured over the centuries had made us equal and if I remembered that, I would truly earn his forgiveness. "OK, guys, I think I'm done with the duty appearance. I want to go someplace quiet, with real food," said Nicole. Louis nodded in agreement and Nicole led us out through the crowds into the cool night air. "Ahhh," she breathed, "The smoke in there was getting to me. I hope I'll be ok for the next performance. Now, where shall we go?" "You live here," said Louis with a smile, "You should choose." She smiled back and stepping to the curb, hailed a cab. We all climbed into the back with Nicole sandwiched between Louis and me. "Where to, Lady??" said the driver and Nicole looked at us, "Are you hungry?" I was tempted to say yes, but not for food, but luckily held my tongue. Louis answered for us, "No, but some wine would be nice. What about that place we went to the other week?" It was apparently a good suggestion. The place was warm and pleasant. I noticed that there was a full dinner menu, and suggested that Nicole should feel free to eat if she wanted to. "You don't mind?" she asked, glancing from me to Louis. "Of course not, cherie," said Louis. "We're fine, but after such a performance, I would not be surprised if you were hungry." She smiled and happily ordered a pasta dish. She asked Louis to choose a wine, and he selected a Montepulciano, a dry Italian red. "You're awfully quiet, Lestat," said Nicole, when the wine had been served. I smiled just a little, and replied, "I'm trying to learn the value of silence." "Well, I'm glad to see you two together again. I was worried when Louis came by himself, but you seem to have ironed out the problems." She smiled and then, before the moment could become awkward, she began to tell of of the last minute production panic. How the make-up assistant had misplaced several of the wigs, later found in the orchestra pit under the chair of the first violinist. She talked until we couldn't stop laughing and Louis then talked of the plays he'd seen on her recommendation, several of which I hoped I could convince him to see again with me. Finally, Nicole began to yawn, and Louis saw her to a cab while I sipped delicately at the wine. It felt as dry as sand, and I could feel the alcohol almost burn away as I held it in my mouth. Nicole and Louis had grown closer for his visit, and I was glad. He needed to know more people in the real world, and he needed a friend nicer than me. Hopefully she would never discover that he was a vampire. That might mean fewer visits as the years passed and he might have to use a little grey colour to disguise the eternal ebony of his hair. Of course, that wouldn't be for many years. Louis looks like a man in his early twenties, and I, of course, look younger still. I'm actually surprised that clubs don't attempt to ask me for ID. I'd simply dazzle their minds if I didn't feel like producing one of my false cards. Louis returned and slipped into the booth beside me. He took my hand. "We need to talk, but somehow I don't feel like talking right now. I ... " he started, "I want you, Lestat." "God! Louis, to hear you say that!" He flushed at my words, and said simply, "Shall we go?" I nodded, and dropped a large bill on the table. Louis took the initiative and hailed a cab, telling the driver, "Plaza hotel, please." My Louis, polite even to New York's notorious cabbies! I thought furiously, then, as our destination sunk in. What was I going to do or say about the suite? But action on my part turned out to be unnecessary. As we walked through the front door, arm in arm, Louis pulled a key from his jacket pocket, and simply headed for the elevators. I glanced over at the desk and saw that the same two clerks were on duty and they were staring at us, jaws dropped and eyes wide. I gave them a broad theatrical wink, and kissed my Louis' cheek. Once we entered the room though, Louis seemed to grow shy. He walked to the full length windows and just stood there. I stared at his narrow back, neatly encased in fine black wool, and let my eyes drift down his legs. He was so perfect it made me want to weep. But I didn't. I simply stared and waited to see what he wanted to do next. Finally, he seemed to have come to a decision, for he slipped off his jacket and tossed it on a chair, and walked slowly to where I stood. I could see touches of red on his shirt and it excited a hunger in me. I wanted him, all of him. The smell of those faint drops of his blood tantalized, me and I had to hold myself strongly in check. This was his night and he had to set the pace or all my words of contrition would turn to dust in the face of my actions. He unbuttoned my jacket and it joined his on the brocade chair. I felt his hands on my shoulder and he made his way down my arms to take my hands in in his. Then, he stopped and seemed to stiffen. I was confused, but I stayed mercifully quiet. "Before things go any further, there's something I have to show you, Lestat," he said, and he dropped one of my hands to reach over to the brocade chair that held our (almost matching) Armani jackets. He lifted his, and slipped his hand into one of the inside pockets. When I saw what he drew out, I started. It was my missing notebook! "Louis!" I exclaimed, "What are you doing with this?" And then I started to think, and I could feel the first tendrils of anger begin to uncoil themselves from my dark heart. "I didn't read it!" he said, quickly. He must have seen the look in my eyes. "I must have grabbed it when I was packing, in New Orleans. I didn't know what to do when I realized it was yours. I almost sent it to the house, but ... " he hesitated. "But what?" I demanded. "I, you'll laugh at me, but ... I wanted to keep it near me. I wanted something of you with me. This time has been so hard, I couldn't have taken it otherwise." I could see a sheen of red covering the whites of his eyes, and I think I did one of the few sensible things I have ever done. I set the notebook back down on the chair, and locked my eyes on his. "I understand," I said, "I believe you. You never could lie, you know, no matter what I said in that stupid book." I smiled, and, cautiously, he smiled back. He looked relieved, and I couldn't blame him. My possessiveness was legendary. After a moment, he reached over and took my hands in his. He brought one of my hands to his lips and kissed it. The feel of his cool silky lips and the whisper of his breath against the back of my hand were almost more than I could bear. And when he took my fingers into his mouth, one by one, letting his teeth graze them, and draw just the tiniest drips of blood I would have sworn I would lose control. But at the taste of me, he sighed, lifted his head and kissed me, letting me taste my blood on the tip of his tongue. I could feel his fingers working at the shirt-studs of my shirt, and as if invited, I did the same with his. Without breaking our kiss we relieved ourselves of all our opera finery and, gloriously naked at last, slowly made our way to the bedroom. Louis immediately pulled me down on top of him on the bed. "I want to feel you against me, Lestat, feel your hard muscles. Have I every told you how much I love your strength? How safe I feel when we're together like this?" He squeezed my biceps and almost purred. It wasn't like him to be so talkative in bed. I found that I liked it. "I'm glad I please you, cher," I said, but he pulled me even closer against him and took my mouth before I could say more, and I returned the kiss trying to catch his tongue with my fangs. He was terribly elusive and just as I started to grow frustrated he let me bite him and at that first taste of his sweet essence, I moaned and ground my hips into his, and wrapped my fingers into his hair. We rolled over on the bed until he was on top and he pulled away and sat up on me. He smiled and I could see the blood on his teeth. "Not too soon, Lestat. Let's make this last." He leaned over me and captured one nipple with his mouth, his hand taking the other. I groaned aloud as his teeth nibbled at me and his fingers squeezed deliciously. He let his other hand gently trace the contours of my ear and then he wrapped his fingers in my hair and let his fangs close deeper on my nipple and I could feel the blood flow and the gentle suction as he, little by little, delicately drank from me. "Please," I gasped, "I must taste you again, Louis!" He lifted his head and said, "Not yet, soon." He resumed his actions but with the other nipple. I was in torment, my body was so taut with excitement I could feel everything vividly. His strokes on my skin were like little shocks, and his weight on my hips felt so right. I started to move my hips and he matched my rhythm and I could feel his desire next to mine as the motion of our bodies accelerated. He gasped and released me. I felt bereft with out his comforting weight on me and almost whined. But he gestured for me to sit at the edge of the bed and I did and he spread my legs and to my surprise and delight, he took me in his mouth and stroked me with his tongue. His teeth grazed the hardness of my skin and I winced with pleasure each time they connected and I could feel my blood trickle down his throat. Then, finally, he bit with full force and I began to shudder as the blood poured out of me. He took it until I was so weak I had to fall back onto the bed. Louis, flushed with so much of my blood, climbed back onto the bed, and said, sensuously, "Now, you must take it back. I don't want to keep your powerful blood inside of me for long." He smiled and again I saw the lovely red sheen over his teeth. "What would you like?" I gasped. I had so little energy! "I think you know," he said and relaxed, stretching to full length on the bed. I slowly turned on my side and let my fingers caress his chest. It was smooth--as it had always been. I teased his nipples and let my fingers dance over his pale skin. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore--I had to have him in my mouth and take back the blood he had just drawn. I took him deep into my throat and sucked and nibbled and finally let my fangs sink deeply into him. Once that lucious essence began to pour into me refilling my veins I felt a supreme peace slip over me and I felt that whatever was to happen, would be worth it if I could only be with Louis. **** We spent the next week in New York. Jesse joined us for a play and invited us to stay with her, but we declined. This was time we needed together, alone. I did, finally, tell Louis about the room's change in ownership, and unexpectedly, he laughed at the situation. "It doesn't matter," he said when he could talk. "I put those first two weeks on *your* credit card. I wanted to hurt you, though of course you would never feel the loss of such a small amount of money. But I suppose it was mostly symbolic, something I had to do. I'm sorry." "No! Don't be sorry! Louis, *I* am sorry. It was all my fault. My stupid temper, my jealousy. If only..." "If only what?" he asked softly, taking my hand. "If only I could think before acting." "Cher, you can't change your basic nature. To be very honest, I don't want you to. Without your impulsiveness, your temper, even your anger, you wouldn't be you. It is those qualities that are Lestat. Along with your temper there is a tremendous passion, you are a volatile mix of all that makes life worth living. I love you, all of you." He looked into my eyes and I heard the sicerity in his voice, saw the trust in his eyes. "Can we go home?" I asked. "Yes, I want to. Once we get there, we'll talk. About David." "Yes," I said, "I want to do that. I want to talk to him. He has to know how much I love him." "I wish," said Louis, "I knew how much you love me." He sounded wistful, and without thinking, I said, "But Louis you know I love you more than anything." And he gasped and went very still, and I realized suddenly what I had said and I grinned at him and put my hands on his shoulders and gently shook him. "Don't be so shocked, Louis. It had to happen sooner or later. My words sometimes do catch up with my actions." He didn't say a word. Instead, he kissed me and we toppled back onto the bed. The End