MEMNOCH: THE DEVIL (A SPECULATION STORY) VOLUME ONE by Susan Kretschmer and Mick Colman, 1995 sxk29@po.CWRU.Edu and dr366@cleveland.Freenet.EDU (This is a work of speculative fiction and is not in any way related to the Anne Rice novel "Memnoch the Devil" due to be released later this year. It is purely hypothetical and not intended for publication or release outside of the alt.books.anne-rice newsgroup.) WARNING! PROBABLY CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR ALL VAMPIRE CHRONICLE BOOKS ____________________________________________________________________________ SPEC: Memnoch - Vol. 1: 1 of 8 (Author: Mick) ____________________________________________________________________________ Louis was dressed in a soft suit of hunter green and a high-necked shirt of black silk. Very chic. Very unlike Louis. Around his neck he wore a simple cross and chain that gleamed like trapped lighting. Platinum. Lestat remembered giving it to him, along with the platinum clip set with three single carat emeralds that now secured the ebony hair at the nape of his neck. No one had worn those emeralds for centuries, not since the rosary they'd come from had been draped around Nicki's neck in the midst of the coven under Les Innocents. Louis had never worn them, or the cross, until now. He was so beautiful. Tonight his eyes were incredibly dark green, gleaming like the emeralds in his hair. Lestat pretended not to notice. Lestat had decided had decided on a "beach boy" look for this evening, trading on the bronze luster he still retained from his trip to the Gobi. He wore a white t-shirt with the legend "Yaga" emblazoned across the front in black stylized letters. He'd painstakingly removed the bottom half of the shirt, leaving his stomach bare to the balmy night air. Knee-length black and grey checked shorts made from some flimsy, insubstantial material rode dangerously low on his hips, huaraches molded his bare feet. The gleaming blond locks completed the picture. Lestat loved these clothes, they were so free, so non-restrictive. He felt positively naked in them. It would be delicious to walk the streets like this, feeling the night caress his bare skin like a lover. He yawned and stretched, and the waist of the shorts dipped lower still, exposing the fine dusting of golden hair that lead downward from his navel. He almost choked with laughter as both David and Louis suddenly found their fingernails to be worthy of minute study. He crossed the room and perched on the arm of David's chair, sliding one bare leg across David's lap. He grabbed a handful of rich brown hair and tugged his head up, planting a lingering kiss on the strong firm lips. David's hand came up, resting for a moment on Lestat's muscled chest, before giving him a firm, but gentle push. "That's quite enough Lestat," David said shortly, rising from his chair. Lestat sprawled in the suddenly empty chair and flashed a wicked grin at David before turning his bright blue gaze on Louis. A small frown replaced the grin. "I wish you wouldn't wait for me Louis. You always look so wan and pinched when you haven't eaten. I assure you it's not at all becoming." Louis crossed the room, saying quietly as he passed Lestat's chair, "I just wanted to see you before I left." "Well now you have," Lestat responded casually, suddenly finding _his_ fingernails quite fascinating. "Don't let me keep you from your dinner." He looked around in time to see the door close softly on Louis's retreating form. David pushed himself away from the wall where he'd been leaning. "Really Lestat, that was uncalled for..." "Don't lecture me David," Lestat cut him off. "I get quite enough of that sort of thing from Monsieur du Pointe Lac. I won't stand for it from you." "In that case I'll take my leave. Have a pleasant evening Lestat" David replied mildly, making for the door. Lestat was on him in a flash, wrapping his arms around the tall, muscular form, holding him still. "Meet me later?" Lestat murmured, burying his face in the broad chest inhaling the clean, fresh scent of him. David always smelled of leaves, somehow. "I'm afraid I can't Lestat. I've already made plans for the evening." "How can you have plans? You haven't been anywhere yet." "I'm meeting Louis." "Louis?" Lestat asked, incredulously. "Yes, Louis," David began. "Don't tell me," Lestat held up a restraining hand, "at some point this "meeting" is going to involve poring over a pile of dusty old books, isn't it?" "As a matter of fact, yes." "I knew it. Honestly, David, I thought you were going to be fun!" Lestat said petulantly. "Promise me you won't spend all your time sucking up book dust with Louis. I swear there's something addictive about it. Louis is hooked on the stuff." David laughed in spite of himself. "All right Lestat, I'll keep tomorrow free, just for you," David promised, giving him a quick squeeze before hurrying from the room. __________________________________________________________________________ SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 1: 2 of 8 (Author: Susie) __________________________________________________________________________ David was waiting in the elegant little bar in the Avenida del Arcos, a glass of excellent whiskey untouched in front of him. It was one of the small things he regretted, now and again. He tried Lestat's trick, lifting it to the light, and inhaling its scent, but it only made him sick. He glanced across the room then, and saw Louis coming in, all dark elegance, set off perfectly against the baroque room. Dark wood, and brass, the little bar. Fifty years ago, it had been a gentleman's retreat, an oasis of refinement for the British jungle hunters where the young, strong sons of titled families bought one another expensive drinks between trips to the Amazon. It had also been one of the hidden centers of Candomble power. It was little changed in both respects, since then. Louis took the chair across from him. He had fed, and he looked stronger and more controlled now; the despair and frustration David had sensed in him were no longer at the surface. He wore the dark green suit well, for all that he acted indifferent to clothing, and the cross around his neck gleamed in the light from the chandeliers above. David found himself briefly mesmerized as Louis looked curiously about, his eyes wide. David shook himself mentally. It was hard to remember that he did not have to worry about looking as if he had paid for Louis' company. Hard to break old reflexes. Louis would have looked exactly the same when David had been here the last time, fifty years ago and barely twenty years old. He wondered what Louis must feel, sometimes; he supposed, barring some accident, that in a hundred years or so, he would find out. It was not an easy thought to get used to. "What did you want to show me?" Louis asked. "I used to come here, years ago," David answered. "But it's more than it seems. Come on." Louis followed him as David made his way to the bar and asked for Ramon. The young Latin bartender shot them both a curious though not unappreciative look, and disappeared. In a moment, he returned, and came out from behind the bar. He escorted them to a door near the back of the bar, which led into a small comfortable room with Victorian furnishings, and left them there. Louis stared after him in confusion, then looked back at David. "This is where you were, a few days ago, when you disappeared?" he asked. "Yes." "Whatever are you doing?" "Watch," David replied, smiling. He stood with his arms crossed in front of the ornate, paneled wall, and reached out with a skill he had not used for years. Except once, and it had been worth little against Lestat. But he did remember how to call them, the spirits, and they answered his changed flesh as well. The wall swung inward gently, and beyond it a warmly lit stairwell was visible. Louis laughed softly, his green eyes suddenly alight. "Really, David! It's like every horror movie ever made." But he seemed fascinated regardless. "It was here first," David informed him, amused. "It's been here since the 1850's." "And what *is* it, exactly?" "A test. Not a very strict one, but it keeps out the casually curious." He led Louis through the doorway, and it shut behind them, though he had not touched it. "Try it now. Don't put your hand through the wall, try it like an ordinary man." Louis pushed gently on the panels with one hand, pushed a little harder, but it didn't give way. "They have to allow you through," David explained. "It's not Lestat's thought games, I could do it when I was mortal. You have to call on the spirits." Louis cast an interested glance over his shoulder as David took them down the stairs and into a long, candlelit room. It resembled a church. Half of it seemed Catholic, much like the cathedrals throughout the city that had been decorated for the festival. This one was no exception; there were flowers and candles and plaster saints all along one wall, and a very simple wooden cross high up on the wall. This room too had changed little since David had studied here. He went over to the far wall, and examined the demon-ward that hung there. It was a little thing of blood and feathers, twisted together with dried red flowers, and he frowned. He had not seen that kind of totem for a very long time, and he had never seen one here. "David," It was an old man's voice, and David turned around. Ramon stood there behind him, tall and dark-eyed as always, and he felt the light touch of Ramon's awareness, though it was strangely edged with fear. David leaned forward and kissed Ramon lightly on both cheeks, "How are you, Ramon?" "The same," Ramon said, "although you, my friend, look quite lovely." David only smiled wryly. He put a hand on Louis' shoulder and said, "This is Louis." He felt Louis start, then, and heard his quick intake of breath on hearing Ramon's voice in his head. "He knows what we are," Louis said, almost involuntarily. "And we know what he is," David answered, "which is probably more dangerous for him. We learned our arts together, although he knows far more than I do, now." "The arts are dying, David. " Ramon too fingered the demon- ward. "We are all afraid here, now." "Tell me, *companero*." David said gently, and he stayed close as Ramon took them from the big room through an arched doorway into the library. Originally the Candomble art had not existed in written form anywhere at all, but Ramon and some of the others who had become involved with the ancient practice had begun to keep records. Like the rest of Brazil, the Candomble sects had adapted to the new century, and now the library under the little bar held a vast collection of works on the occult. Some of it was duplicated in the archives of the Talamasca. Some of it was not, and David knew Talamasca operatives who would have cheerfully died for the chance to see it. Louis had something of the same look as he scanned the shelves, his head thrown back to gaze up at the expanse of dusty spines that rose above him. "There have been black magics here forever," Ramon began, "much as we have been here. And with the Catholic faith came Satanism, as always. But it was always a small thing, often laughable. The disillusioned and powerless, playing at revenge and evil. "Then, some thirty years ago, we began hearing rumors that disturbed us. We have always had an uneasy peace with those who call the dark spirits. But now, it was said that the Satanists had joined with them, and together they had become something new and threatening. "We sent adepts to find the truth behind this. Some returned and assured us it was not so, but others never came back at all. Years passed, and we became distracted, because we were having problems within our order. Some of the distant sects had turned against us; they renounced our code of honor and secrecy, but not our powers. They were endangering us all. And then we realized it; the Satanists existed after all. They had absorbed the old black magicians of the jungles, and now they were trying to absorb us, and our power. "They are succeeding. Don't trust anyone who knows the old signs, David; they are not worth anything now. We do not know where their center of power lies, but they are certainly in our old strongholds now. This place is safe, for now, but I don't know for how much longer." David absorbed this. He was not entirely surprised. During the very last part of his tenure as Superior General, the Talamasca had recorded unusually large numbers of Satanic cults springing up, and they had centered in South America. But, he realized, somewhat ashamed, he had never thought of it in relation to the Candomble adepts; Lestat had distracted him, in past years. "We thought you were lost to us," Ramon said softly. "Rosaura said it once, that we might ask you for help, but it had been so many years, and then we learned you were not Superior General anymore. And in all that time, you had never been back. I wanted them to leave you in peace." Ramon sighed. He looked incredibly weary, and it was not only age, though David kept remembering him as he had been at twenty, all that black curly hair, and all that passion. "I am here now," David said. "I will do what I can. I..." he gestured at his body, "well, perhaps I can help you in a way I could not, before." Ramon spread his hands. "How can I help you, then?" David looked up at the books. "May we take some of these with us? Not the secret ones, but some of the others." "Of course." Ramon showed them the little computer that listed them all, laid a gentle hand on David's shoulder in thanks, and left them there. Louis shook his head. "It's strange," he said. "that so many things could be wrong, all at once. Akasha..." He stopped, then looked back at David and said only. "It feels wrong, sometimes, as if things have all gone wrong." "The Talamasca thinks so," David said. Louis looked at him then, hard. Then he got up and started to hunt along the shelves for one of the books he wanted. "Why didn't you bring Lestat, tonight? Are you worried what he'll think?" "Lestat?" David chuckled. "Lestat will not be able to resist this for a moment. Imagine him with a chance to call out the Devil himself and take him on! But he'll have to be convinced that the threat is real, first. And he doesn't seem in any mood for that right now." He left that open deliberately, hoping Louis might take that chance to confide in him, but Louis only smiled slightly, and turned back to the bookshelves. David listened to Louis's mind then. He had not done that before, although since both he and Louis were Lestat's fledglings, they could hear each other, though neither could hear Lestat. David did not want to invade Louis' privacy, but he was concerned. He touched Louis' surface thoughts now, very lightly. He found only despair, without apparent reason or definition, mixed with tumbled thoughts of Ramon and the Candombles' plight. David withdrew, frustrated. He could smash buildings and start infernos with a thought, now. He could fly. But he seemed powerless to help either his old friend Ramon, or the ones he loved now. The book Louis wanted was a few inches out of his reach. He jumped and got it tilted downward slightly, then managed to get it down entirely on his second try. He opened it, and paged through it, unaware of David watching him. David found that strangely endearing. He had only to want the book in his hand, and it would be there. He had found himself doing that without thinking, and it had disturbed him a little, just as the sheen of his skin in the mirror did sometimes. He had not wanted to become something other than human, really, and he worried about that a little. "Come on, Louis," he said. "Let's take these back with us to the *pension*." __________________________________________________________________________ SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 1: 3 of 8 (Author: Mick) _______________________________________________________________________ Lestat gave a rude snort as he came through the door. Just as he'd suspected, there were books everywhere. Louis was sitting on the floor amid a pile of them, and David was perched on the edge of the sofa, peering over his shoulder. "This is disgusting." Lestat declared loudly. "Here we are in a beautiful, exotic, tropical country, and you two are locked in a room, *reading*. I expect this sort of thing from Louis, but I had hoped for better from you, David." "Lestat you don't understand," David began. "This is important." "Spare me, please!" Lestat threw up his hands as if to hold the forthcoming explanation at bay. "Nothing that comes from moldy old books can be *that* important." "You have no idea what you're saying half of the time, do you?" David began furiously. Louis rose from the floor suddenly, bending again to gather up a book or two. "If you'll excuse me, it's time for me to retire. I'd like to take these with me David, if you don't mind." Louis said, giving him a small smile. David rose hastily from the sofa, returning the smile. With a warm clasp on Louis's shoulder he replied, "Not at all Louis, take as many as you like." "Don't offer him anymore David," Lestat interrupted with a nasty chuckle, "It will take him a week or two to get through the ones he's got." Louis ignored him, saying only "Thank you David. These will be enough for now." He passed Lestat without a word, and made his way to the door, David suddenly there before him, holding it open. As Louis passed through the door David fixed Lestat with a glare, saying, "I'd like to have a word with you. I'll be back in a moment." "I can hardly wait," Lestat said drily, stifling a yawn. David closed the door with a sharp snap. Not one to be left out, Lestat was at the door in a blink, opening it just enough to see and hear David and Louis in the hall. His face went expressionless at what he saw there. Then he shook his head, but had the door closed and was lounging innocently on the couch when David reentered the room. "Don't you have *any* manners Lestat?" David said, folding his arms and managing somehow, despite his youthful appearance, to look like the sternest of schoolmasters. "Surely even you know eavesdropping is extremely rude." "But necessary when no one will *tell* you anything. Lestat retorted. "I assure you I don't enjoy listening at cracks and keyholes. It's quite humiliating." "Then why do it?" David snapped. "Because I want to know what's going on!" Lestat snapped back. "Why don't you just ask?" David said in exasperation, glaring at Lestat. "All right." Lestat returned the glare. "What's wrong with Louis?" "What do you mean?" David asked, suddenly evasive. "Something's wrong with Louis. I want to know what. I'm going to get it out of you, or I'm going to get it out of him." Lestat responded, suddenly angry. "Take your pick." David hesitated, glancing anxiously around the room as if seeking an answer in the commonplace items that surrounded them. Lestat watched him for a moment. "Okay, Louis it is," he said abruptly, and started for the door. "It's nothing he's *said* really." David's worried voice brought Lestat up short. "Well then what?" Lestat asked, returning to his side. "It's just that, he's been terribly quiet and forlorn lately." "David, that's *Louis*. He's always quiet and forlorn." Lestat said disgustedly. "No, Lestat," David interrupted him. "It's something else, something different. I haven't known Louis for very long, but I must tell you I am concerned." Lestat was still. In his mind's eye he could see David and Louis in the hall, Louis kneading the back of his neck with one slim white hand, something he only did when he was nervous or upset, and telling David in his soft voice, "It's nothing, really. I'm just terribly *weary* of all this. I'm tired David, that's all." There was a constricted feeling in Lestat's chest, and before David could draw a breath to question him, he was out of the room and standing in front of Louis's door, knocking softly. The door opened suddenly and Louis was there, resplendent in a maroon dressing gown and pajamas of navy silk. Lestat brushed past him into the room, turning in the center, to study Louis intently. "What is it Lestat?" Louis said with a sigh. Lestat said nothing for a moment as he watched the loose dark hair slide across maroon silk covered shoulders. The emerald clip was gone, but the fiery gleam of platinum could still be seen against the ivory column of Louis's throat. Lestat was strangely touched by that. He took refuge in sarcasm. "Where'd you get those ridiculous pajamas?" Lestat sneered, trying not to stare at the strangely erotic sight of Louis's bare white feet protruding from the edges of dark blue silk. Louis's feet. Lestat was mesmerized. When was the last time he'd seen Louis's bare feet? "If you must know," Louis said closing the door, "I bought them when David and I went shopping. David took such pains helping me select things, I didn't think it right somehow, to sleep in them." "Wait. You and David went shopping? *He's* the one who decked you out like a cover model from GQ?" Lestat laughed helplessly. "I really must have a talk with him about what you should wear. "You know," Lestat said choking with laughter, "I didn't make him immortal so he could be your haberdasher, Louis." Louis flushed with embarrassment and waved a weary hand in Lestat's direction, heading for the bedroom. "Lestat, I'm afraid I really must retire. We can continue this discussion at another time." Lestat caught Louis as he reached the bedroom door, and wrapped him firmly in his arms, enjoying the feel of silk beneath his hands. "What's wrong Louis? Tell me." "Nothing Lestat, I... it's... Nothing." Louis shrugged, unable to articulate his feelings. "What is it?" Lestat said, suddenly angry. "Tell me, damn you!" Louis bowed his head, not looking at Lestat. "It's just that, well, you have David now. He's strong, and kind, and intelligent. He'll look out for you. He loves you." Louis shook his head as if trying to clear it. "I'm not good for you, nor you me. We make each other crazy." He raised his head to look over Lestat's shoulder, green eyes unfocused, and swimming in fatigue. "I don't know, he sighed. I'm just so tired." Louis began to tremble violently and, with a soft plaintive cry, laid his head on Lestat's shoulder. Lestat was terrified. This was not like Louis at all. Louis should have told him to mind his own business. Louis should have been struggling with him, trying to get loose. Louis *hated* being restrained, or "pawed at". Lestat knew that for a fact. That's why he'd grabbed him. Instead, Louis was trembling like a sick child, allowing himself to be held. Lestat, somewhat at a loss, tugged Louis's head up and kissed him hard. He broke the kiss and peered into Louis eyes, as if trying to see his thoughts. All he saw was naked misery. Desperate for something else to look at, Lestat's eyes fastened on the gleam of platinum resting on Louis's collarbone. He hooked a finger around the chain, sliding it free, and rubbed the simple cross between his thumb and forefinger. "I can't believe you still have this, or the clip." Lestat murmured. "You've never worn either of them. I thought they were lost, or that you'd discarded them." "Of course I still have them." Louis answered simply. "I even remember when you gave them to me, it was after a particularly nasty fight. I always thought the clip was beautiful, but took the cross as one of your little cruelties, so I didn't wear either." Louis made a small shrug. "I've only just realized that you meant them both simply as a gift, as a way to make up for the fight. I wanted you to know that I'd kept them, even though I was angry with you at the time." Louis sighed again. "But that was a long time ago. Such a long time ago." Lestat raised the cross to his lips, kissed it and tucked it back under the fabric of the pajama top. "Louis." Lestat said carefully, fixing Louis with a worried blue gaze. "You're not thinking of going under are you, of going to into the earth?" Louis's eyes slid away from his, and he began to struggle feebly. "Let me go Lestat. I have to *go*." "Louis, I'm not trying to pick a fight with you." Lestat released him gently. "I just want to know. Are you thinking that? Are you *feeling* that?" Louis again moved toward the bedroom door, stopping with his hand on the knob, his back to Lestat. "I really don't know Lestat. I just don't know." He sounded incredibly weary. "Promise me something Louis." Lestat said, feeling suddenly cold. "Promise me that if you go underground, you'll tell me first, you'll let me know where you are. I have to know where you are." "Why?" Louis asked, turning, giving him a soft smile. "So you can spend 50 or 60 years guarding my sleep?" "Yes." Lestat replied stonily, not smiling at all. The thought of 50 or 60 years passing without sight of Louis was almost more than he could bear. Worse yet was the thought of Louis lying somewhere unknown, unprotected, where anything might stumble upon him, hurt him. Lestat quickly pushed that image from his mind. "Promise me," he repeated giving Louis his best glare. Louis came back to him, raising one slim hand to touch his face, leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek. A soft, whispered, "I promise" filled Lestat's ear, and Louis was gone again, murmuring "See to the locks, will you?" as the bedroom door closed behind him with a soft click. Lestat stood for a moment, staring at the closed door, listening to the sounds of Louis settling in and feeling strangely adrift. A worried frown began to crease his forehead. He did not like the look of this one bit. No, not one little bit. ________________________________________________________________________ SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 1: 4 of 8 (Author: Susie) ________________________________________________________________________ Lestat lay sprawled on the couch and watched David's well made body moving gracefully as he straightened the room. "They'll do that, you know, David," he said at length, "it _is_ a hotel room." David continued to stack books neatly. "It's only courtesy, Lestat, although I wouldn't expect you to understand that." Lestat snorted. "Come on, David, I want to go out." His expression changed then, as he watched David with the books, and he tried to push away the memory of Louis as he had been last night. "Where's Louis, anyway? He should be up by now." "Why don't you go and see?" David's back was still to Lestat. Lestat stayed where he was a moment, annoyed, and then got up anyway. "All right," he said, and went into the hallway and tapped on Louis' door. There was no answer, and after a moment Lestat unfastened the locks and went in. Louis looked up at him from where he sat in the armchair, surrounded by books, a fire already lit in the hearth and a candle beside him. "Louis," Lestat said, worried. "Come on, we want to go out. Aren't you coming?" "No, you go ahead." Lestat leaned against the doorway, looked at him. "What's wrong, Louis?" "Nothing." "Do you want me to stay with you then? I can." "No, I told you, I'm busy." Lestat looked at the pale face. "You should go out," he said, "you need to." "I know perfectly well what I need." There was a dangerous tone to Louis' voice. "Fine, then, we'll go without you." Lestat was stung. "Well, go then." Louis looked back down at his book and pretended Lestat wasn't there. Lestat could see the emerald clip holding back his hair as he looked studiously down at the pages. He sighed. "Louis," he said, trying to be gentle. "Louis, come on. Why don't you come with us?" "Why don't you ask David what I'm doing, and why it's more important?" Louis still would not look at him. "Oh, I forgot, if it's in an old dusty book it can't be important." "Stop it, Louis." "Lestat, leave me _alone_!" Louis' voice sounded close to breaking. "Fine then," Lestat said coldly. He turned and slammed the door behind him, but not before he saw Louis throw the book in his lap aside in frustration, and stand up. He waited to see if the door would open again, but it didn't, and he was angry now. He went back out to the living room. "Come on David, I want to go. Now." David followed Lestat out the door, concern on his face; Lestat saw him look at Louis' closed door for a moment before he shut the suite door and locked it. ____________________________________________________________________________ SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 1: 5 of 8 (Author: Susie) ____________________________________________________________________________ Juliano stood poised on the roof of the small but oh-so- elegant *pension* on the Avenida Grande, and reached out for a moment with his mind to the room below. Yes, he was there. Juliano sensed the presence, and smiled. How to do it? he mused. Perhaps he should begin the civilized way. He dropped lightly to the ground, and went into the building in an ordinary fashion. After a few brightly colored bills had changed hands, the old man who kept the place waved him upstairs, and Juliano, smiling, knocked on the heavy wooden door. The door opened, and Juliano caught his breath in pleased surprise. Ah, he was certainly beautiful, more lovely even than the images Juliano had snatched from Armand's mind. Long dark hair, pulled back just now, fine Creole features, and of course, smooth, luminous skin of the palest ivory. And the eyes, brilliant, deep green eyes that seemed to shine with their own light. So beautiful. Juliano hated him on sight. "May I help you?" So polite, even as Juliano watched the confusion on his face. _Vampire!_ Juliano caught the other's astonished thought. _How can that be? How can there be another...Lestat! What have you done?_ "Oh, it wasn't Lestat this time, Louis." Louis blinked, and his lean body stiffened, but that was all. A marvel of control, really, Juliano thought. Nineteenth century manners. You don't see that anymore. "What do you want?" Louis asked, evenly. He was watching Juliano intently now. "To come in," Juliano replied, with a little bow. Louis opened the door enough to admit him, gestured absently to an armchair by the hearth. Despite Rio's heat, a little fire burned there, and a lit candle stood in a tall holder beside a pile of books on the sideboard. Echo of the old days; though of course the time Juliano had spent with Armand had been in days older still. He remained standing, walked about a little and tilted his head to read the titles of the books Louis had been reading. "Devil Worship Through The Ages? Satanism Explained?" He could barely contain his laughter. "What do you want?" Louis asked again, and Juliano watched him glancing at the door as he said it. Louis had put up shielding against Juliano's mind-reading, but Louis was inexpert and Juliano was very strong. "They're not coming back for quite some time, Louis. Why don't you sit down and talk with me?" A little fear in the green eyes, but the voice was steady as ever. "Who are you?" Almost mortal, that finely-drawn face. He knew Louis was old, not so old as Armand or Juliano himself, but Louis must be a few centuries old at least. Yet his face was entrancingly human, as if he had only just now been made. Juliano watched the colors come and go, the little flushes, the curious vibrancy of his expressions, so unlike the mask-like serenity Juliano's own face had begun to acquire over the many, many years. "My name is Juliano. And, yes, I'm also a vampire. But you knew that." "Who made you?" Genuine curiosity, now, a tilt of a black eyebrow. "Where have you been? How is it that none of us have met you?" "Oh, that isn't quite so. Tell me, little one, where is Armand?" "Armand?" Louis seemed startled. _In Miami, with Daniel_ Juliano heard, delicate echo beneath the hesitant words. " Armand...Is that who it was? But Armand would never..." "Daniel? Who's Daniel? What is *he* to Armand?" Louis stopped and stood still; it seemed to require an effort. "I think you need to explain yourself to me. How do you know Armand? How do you know Lestat? Why did you come here?" Juliano was tired of this, suddenly. He was tired of Louis' edgy questions, tired of looking at him only to envision Armand's hands on him, tired of imagining Armand thinking of him, wanting him. "Come over here," he said to Louis. It was his voice of absolute command, of barely controlled fury. "Come here now." Louis shook his head, cautious, confused, and stayed where he was. "Now!" The anger had hold of Juliano again, fury that he could not think through any more, the kind of frenzy that had seized him in the violent sacrifices of the Sabbat Cult. Just thinking of Armand could bring it on now, and Juliano was seeing nothing but the redness of anger. Afterward, he would wonder if maybe something was wrong with him; sometimes he did things that he regretted later. But when you are a Devil, you don't need any reasons. Wanting to is reason enough. Louis reached behind him for the long, wrought iron poker in its rack beside the hearth. "I think you had better go now," he said, his voice very, very soft, his hand tightening on the poker. "NOW!" Juliano did not even think about it; the power escaped him in a terrible surge. Flames burst in midair, and Louis dropped to the floor and rolled to get away from them, came up with the poker pointed at Juliano. He knew he was outmatched, Juliano realized. He seemed somehow used to the idea. "Get out!" he hissed at Juliano, his breathing ragged. Juliano laughed, and kept coming. Louis backed away from him. "I told you, get out!" he said again, and then he had backed until there was no more room, and Juliano hadn't stopped. Louis came at him, the poker moving with preternatural speed. Juliano caught it easily in one hand, and shoved it backwards, hard, so that the end of the handle struck Louis' chest and slammed him into the stone wall. Louis slid to his knees, his eyes slitted in pain, but he managed to keep his hold on the poker. He rolled again, this time toward the fireplace, thrust the poker into the depths of the fire, and flipped it outward, scattering burning logs across the floor of the room. "Oh, yes, yes!" Juliano had made no move to stop him. "Marvelous!" He leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed, and watched as the flames sprang up from the woven rug in the middle of the room. The red fury had abated a little, the anger had begun to let go of his mind, and he was thinking more clearly. He didn't want to hurt Louis, he reminded himself, not really. Not if he didn't have to. On the other side of the burning rug, Louis got to his feet still holding the poker, his eyes glittering with the reflected light of the flames. The little jeweled clip that had been holding his dark hair neatly back had fallen out, unnoticed, and lay near the hearth; his hair flew loose now, in the drafts from the flames. "Get out!" he shouted, his voice hoarse with the smoke and the strain. "Go from this place. We would not have meant you harm. We want no fights with our own kind. Go now. I tell you, you don't want Lestat against you." "Lestat. Ah, Lestat! I dare you, Lestat. Who *do* you think you are? Come on, show me!" Louis just shook his head. "You don't understand," he said. "He will kill you. If you leave now, I won't tell him you came after me. He may kill you anyway, but that is your only chance." Juliano sighed. All the more reason to make Lestat come to him, then, where Juliano was surrounded by his own dark forces, by his own covenants with evils Lestat and this other one could not even imagine. Far better that way. "Louis," he said softly, and began walking around the flames toward him. Louis said "Don't," one last time, and then caught up the whole burning rug on the end of the poker and flung it at Juliano. Juliano sidestepped it, though it came close enough that he felt the heat. It landed on the pile of books and the long table. Now the room was beginning to catch fire, though the floor and walls were partly of stone, and it was burning unevenly and rather slowly. Louis desperately cast everything burning within his reach in Juliano's direction, a log, a book, a small tapestry, but he had gotten himself backed into a corner, and the flames rose up higher and hotter. Juliano was across the room then, passing though the flames too quickly for them to touch him. He took the poker effortlessly out of Louis' hands, and tossed it away. The poker was scorchingly hot; there were red, blistered burn marks across Louis' palms where he had kept hold of it anyway. Louis' expression was terrible; there was a sort of resignation to it, a set to the jaw, and yet he seemed terribly calm, as if somehow he expected powerful creatures to try to kill him every day, and as if he rather imagined they would succeed. He fought bitterly, doggedly, and in total silence, as Juliano caught him firmly about the chest and held him still. Not so strong, this one, only a few times as strong as a mortal man his size. Determined, certainly, but that would only get you so far. Clearly he had only survived as long as he had because of his beauty, because of Armand's protection, and, Juliano supposed, because of Lestat's. But where was Lestat now? The flames roared around them, the heat pressing in on them where they stood. "I could kill you now," Juliano told Louis softly, not letting go, looking down at Louis's face. Louis did not seem to have heard; he stared past Juliano, seemingly at nothing. He had stopped fighting, and only stood there. "Where is your Lestat now? Where is *Armand*? You were going to tell me that." "What in God's name do you want?" Louis whispered finally. "If you could find us, why couldn't you find Armand? Why are you doing this?" "Because I want to," Juliano smiled, still holding onto Louis. He realized he rather liked being so close to him, his arms around that strangely fragile preternatural flesh; liked possessing him, holding him carefully although he had the power to crush him utterly. He might be that much stronger than Armand, now, Juliano realized with sudden clarity. Juliano's dark sources of power ran very deep. "What is it?" Juliano asked Louis, watching the flicker of the burning reflected in Louis' eyes. "Why did he want you so badly? What did you give him that he thinks I can't? Tell me what it is! I have to know!" Louis shook his head, mutely. His dark hair straggled across his face, which was flushed from the heat and sticky with blood tinged sweat and soot. "No," he said then, but it did not seem directed at Juliano. He coughed, blinking up at the billowing smoke, and the flames which now reached higher than his own height. Juliano tightened his hold on Louis and and lifted him off the floor, paused a moment to get his bearings, and then rose swiftly into the air himself. They passed through a tongue of flame, and he felt Louis shudder, and then crashed through the tall window in a shower of broken glass and rising smoke. Louis' hands caught reflexively at him as they flew higher into the night sky, the smell of the fire already spreading on the wind. And blood, the unmistakable, intoxicating scent of blood. The shattered glass from the window had cut them both, Juliano realized. The little cuts were already healing, but there was blood streaking Louis' cheek, and he felt his own face stinging. Louis' blood had such a mortal smell to it, so warm and rich, nothing like Armand's cold shimmering taste. He wanted it then, and he put one hand deep into Louis' hair and drew him close, licking at it in what was almost a kiss, and he wondered, horribly, secretly, what it would be like to drink from another of your own kind until it killed them. Could you do it? Would it be the last, most terrible ecstasy of all? Louis had been holding onto him with desperate strength as the world pitched and swung thousands of feet below them; now he let go and tried to push himself away. He can't fly, Juliano thought, astonished, I know he can't, and he reached out with his power and saw that Louis had really meant to do it, he would have fallen, if that had been what it took to get away. "No, no," Juliano said to him, his arms like steel bands now. Louis hung slack against him for a moment as if he did not yet understand that he wasn't falling, that it hadn't worked, and then Juliano heard him whisper one word, like a last prayer."Lestat..." ___________________________________________________________________________ SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 1: 6 of 8 (Author: Mick) ___________________________________________________________________________ The smell of charred, waterlogged timber and masonry had been tickling Lestat's nose for quite some time, getting stronger as they neared the pension. His steps slowed as he approached the last turn, a sense of dread overcame him and he reached out to clutch at David's arm. "Lestat, what's wrong?" David asked as their steps carried them around the corner and brought the Avenida Grande into view. The entire block had been devastated by fire. Flames still blazed here and there as crews of fire fighters struggled to keep them from spreading. Mortals were everywhere, shouting, running back and fourth, weeping or simply standing in shock in front of the ruined buildings. The pension that the three of them had been staying in was a smoking ruin. "David," Lestat spoke quietly, but with a strange edge to his voice. "Call Louis, call him...now!" David shot Lestat a quick look and what he saw sent him into near panic. He mentally shouted for Louis, telling him to come as fast as he could. "Has he answered? Has he?" Lestat urged, again quietly, but David could see he'd begun to wring his hands, clasping and unclasping them tightly. He called again and again but was met with an echoing silence. His agile mind raced along the avenues of possibility and, deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, began to call for Marius. _Marius. Marius! It's David. Can you hear me? MARIUS. This is an emergency!_ Suddenly there was a response, faint but clear. _David? I can hear you. What is it? What's happened?_ _Something's happened with Louis. Something drastic. There's been a fire. He could quite possibly be dead, I really don't know. I've called him and got no response. He would answer me if he could. Marius, I don't know how Lestat will take it if Louis is dead. He's holding on right now, but I'm not sure how long that will last._ _I'm coming, David. Do the best you can until I get there. Try and keep him calm. Hold on to him David. Hold on._ As David severed his contact with Marius and began to call Louis once more, an elderly woman picked her way gingerly through the debris, making her way toward them through the charred and sodden belongings of the former residents of the pension. David remembered holding the door for her one evening as she struggled with packages far to heavy for her. Louis had taken the packages from her and together they had helped her to her rooms, which were adjacent to Louis's. She had thanked them profusely and invited them in for some refreshment. They had, of course, politely declined. She made straight for Lestat and reached out to grasp his tightly clasped hands. Lestat, his gaze fastened on the ruin before him, searching for some glimpse of Louis in the crowd, started when he felt the small wrinkled hands cover his own. He looked down, amazed to find a tiny old woman holding his hands and peering up at him mournfully in the gloom. "I'm so sorry about your friend, Senor." "Sorry, Senora? Why sorry?" Lestat asked in a strangled whisper, his heart lurching suddenly in his chest as he looked down at her. David reached out and placed a warning hand on Lestat's shoulder. Lestat tried to shrug him off, but the grip was firm. "The fire, it began in his rooms. He was at home, I heard him. I thought you or the other young man were with him, until you came up just now." She tilted her head to peer around him at David, acknowledging his presence with a weary smile. "They're looking for him now," she said, glancing back over her shoulder at the smoldering ruin of the pension. She felt a tremor run through the strong hands she had covered with her own. Her eyes filled with tears as she returned her gaze to the beautiful young man before her. "I saw you with him, once. You loved him, yes? He was special that one. So polite, so kind. He carried my packages for me. All of you, such nice young gentlemen." A tear slid from the corner of her eye to splash the white linen of Lestat's sleeve. The tremor in the hands she held made its way into the body of the young man before her, and her heart broke for his grief. She stood on tiptoe to take his face, still flushed and warm from the night's kill, in her aged hands. "I am so sorry, child." she said stroking the blond hair back from his face and gathering him to her. Lestat allowed himself to be patted and hugged by the old grandmother, the top of her gray head barely past his chin. He used the opportunity to slip into her thoughts. She was thinking of Louis. _She had dreamt of the quiet one with the green eyes. He was surely the spirit of the panthera, the black jaguar, taken human form. He had moved so gracefully, exactly like the dark lord of the Brazilian jungle. And so quiet. They were all quiet young men, even this golden haired one, though he liked to laugh. But that one, the green eyed one, the child of the panthera, had quiet inside him, and gentleness, and strength. She would have given her heart to that one, were she young again._ Lestat found himself hugging her tightly, his cheek resting on the top of her head, tears like bloody raindrops disappearing into the gray hair, shaken by her memory of green eyes, black hair and grace. "I know it is hard child, to lose someone you love when you are young and they are young" she whispered against Lestat's chest. "When you are old you understand that all things under God have their season, their time in the sun, before they must go down into the dark. The young don't understand this. We must all go into the dark, to better appreciate the light we reawaken to. It is right to grieve for your loss, but know that the great good God will welcome your young friend and surround him with love for all eternity, and when it is your time, he and all those you have loved in your life will be waiting for you." A strangled laugh escaped Lestat. The old woman mistook it for a sob. She pulled away from Lestat and tugged his face down to plant a kiss on the blood streaked cheek, feeling the dampness against her lips. She could not see the bloody stains in the smokey pre-dawn light. Pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of her skirt, she wiped the wet cheeks, and pressed the soiled cloth into his hands. "I must see to Papa." she said with a sigh. She reached around Lestat to clasp David's hand. "I know you will take care of your friend. Such nice boys, all of you. Do you have a place to stay? I have family nearby and you would be very welcome." "Your offer is most kind, Senora, but please don't trouble yourself." David responded warmly, making a slight bow. "My friend and I have another place to stay, but again, thank you for thinking of us, especially when you have troubles of your own." "It's nothing, Senor," she said with a small shrug. "Anyone would do the same, under such circumstances." She released Lestat to give David's hand a gentle pat, and then she was gone, making her way back across the debris to her equally ancient husband. David gathered the abandoned Lestat up into his arms, surreptitiously pulling him farther back into the shadows. "Lestat we must go. It will be dawn soon and..." "Go? We can't go yet. We haven't even looked for him." Lestat responded, giving David an incredulous look. "You don't understand, he may not be dead, just hurt too badly to come to us. He must be unconscious. That's why you can't get a response from him." Lestat hesitated a moment before continuing plaintively, "I would know if he was dead, wouldn't I, after so much time?" Before David could respond Lestat shook himself as if to throw off the despair that was trying to claim him. "We have to look for him. If he's hurt we have to find him and get him to safety. To hell with the dawn. The dawn and I are old friends, I'm not afraid of it. To hell with these mortals. If they get in my way it will be the death of them!" He started to pull away from David but found himself held fast. "Let go of me, damn you. I don't want to hurt you David, but I will if you don't let me go this instant!" "Lestat please, think for once. There are still too many people here. You can't go heaving timbers and masonry about like Superman and expect no one to notice." Without warning Lestat wrenched himself violently from David's arms and began to make his way across the street to the burned out pension. David was on him in a flash, trying to unobtrusively restrain him in the middle of the dimly lit street. They grappled, and Lestat tried to throw him to the ground only to find that David had hooked one of his legs and brought him down as well. They rolled in the street, struggling furiously, the white linen of their suits becoming stained with soot and muddy water. "David, I swear I'll kill you if you don't let me go!" David, knowing that if Lestat lost his temper he'd stand little chance of holding him alone, renewed his frantic call to Marius. "Marius, for God's sake hurry! I can't hold him any longer and the dawn is imminent!" __________________________________________________________________________ SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 1: 7 of 8 (Author: Susie) ___________________________________________________________________________ In the Miami complex's vast, luxurious living room, with its panoramic view of the lights of the Night Island reflected shimmering on the ocean, Marius lay sprawled on the huge, cream-colored couch, watching television. He was being thoroughly twentieth century at the moment, dressed simply in jeans and a black T-shirt, his pale hair in a ponytail. He supposed it made him look as if he ought to be wearing tie-dye and driving a little car with Grateful Dead stickers on the back window. The thought amused him. Marius had been a great many things in his long lifetime, although so far a Deadhead had not been one of them. The late 1960's had always made him think of Cicero and Juvenal, though, and he suspected tie-dye and good pot would both have been big hits during the height of the Roman Republic. He snorted, having amused himself, and put his Nikes up on the glass coffeetable. The remote lay on his stomach. Marius liked acting human. It never bothered him to do things the long, mortal way; in fact, he preferred it. It made him feel anchored somehow, made him part of the world as it was now. Human ways were more comfortable than the icy power that had come to him with age, that stiffened his flesh and his features, and had left him close to invincible. He would have traded the power away in a second. He had had enough of that, over the years; he did not need to face the world that way anymore, did not need to be Lestat, taking it all on in defiance just to see if he could win. Right now, Marius wanted the quiet, and the lapping of the waves through the open window, and the flicker of the changing images on his face as he idly searched the channels. It was strange for him to be alone this way, knowing that no one needed anything from him, that he might do as he wished, come and go as he liked, even lie on the couch and watch the little music videos if that was all he desired. Released from his thousand-year burden, he no longer held the fate of all his kind in his hands, he no longer had charge of the source of all their power. He felt liberated, and yet it was still not easy to get used to. He thought longingly of Pandora's lush body, of her silken softness, and he wondered, as he had for centuries, if there was any way he could ease her sadness. He missed her now, but he had let her go without a word, as he always did. He was used to it by now. Pandora's blood had always tasted of pain. And then Marius heard the voice of David Talbot in his head, and his little quiet space was shattered completely. *** Marius had listened to David's terse mental explanation; Louis had vanished somewhere in Rio de Janeiro, leaving their hotel room a burnt, gutted wreckage, and Lestat was livid. David was unable to hear Louis at all. That made Marius' blood run cold. Louis was young and not powerful that way, so Marius had never had any trouble hearing Louis' surface thoughts when he needed to, no matter where Louis was. Out of courtesy, he had never tried to read anything deeper, though he found Louis rather fascinating. But Marius had not been able to hear Louis either, had not even with all his power been able to find him anywhere, and he was very worried. It was possible that Louis was still alive, there were a few reasons why he might be shielded, but Marius didn't like any of them very much. He did not think Louis was capable of shielding himself that thoroughly. He was terribly afraid for Louis, Louis who was so defiantly vulnerable, and he was also worried about Lestat's fury unleashed. He had already seen what David had shown him, buildings collapsing, mortals running through the streets in fear, a whole city block going up in flames amidst the chaos of the huge street festival, and as far as Marius was concerned that was quite enough from Lestat. Especially since none of it had been at all helpful. He would have to fly. Marius didn't hate flying, not utterly, but he would not have minded never having to do it again in all his immortal lifetime. But it was by far the fastest way to reach Brazil, and he was needed there. And so Marius gritted his teeth, and refastened his ponytail as he stood on the balcony, then slid over the railing and forced himself to let go. He had never quite made peace with the vertigo, and he tried not to watch the lights of the island growing smaller beneath him as he climbed into the sky. Armand's black speedboat was not far away; Marius dropped lightly down onto the deck, startling Armand, who for all his own catlike grace, had not sensed Marius' presence. Marius grinned. He could still do that. "What _are_ you doing here?" Armand's boyish smile was almost blinding, and there was a warm, mischievous glint in his brown eyes. "And when are you going to teach me that little flying trick?" He reached out and ran light fingers along Marius' neck, lingering where the pulse beat just beneath the silvery skin. Marius shuddered. It had been too long. He told himself yet again that he had gotten over this. Centuries ago. But as always, that didn't help. "You don't want to do it, believe me." Marius caught hold of Armand's questing hand and pushed it gently away. "Armand, listen, Lestat needs us." Armand listened intently as Marius explained, his face shadowed in concern when Marius described being unable to hear Louis. His eyes went unfocused, and Marius knew he was seeking Louis himself, saw him shake his head almost imperceptibly. "You can't hear him either, can you?" Armand was a telepath of unusual power, and he had known Louis well at one point; Marius had let himself hope just a little that Armand might be able to reach him. "No," Armand admitted, at last. "We need to go then." Marius extended a hand. Armand frowned briefly at nothing, shook his head in frustration, and then took it. Seeking Louis one more time, Marius guessed. Marius put his arms around Armand and tried to ignore the heat that leapt to his skin at the touch of that familiar body. "Hold on," he told Armand, and felt light hands about his neck. He braced himself for the sickening climb once more, holding to Armand as much to steady himself as to keep Armand from falling. Once they were above the clouds, he felt better; it helped with the nausea, and he was able to plot their course to Brazil in relative calm. The sunrise was well behind them, and Marius had to take them a little to the west anyway, so they had time. Armand stared up into the stars, then down at the clouds, his eyes alight. "You'll show me how, won't you? Do you promise?" Marius sighed, and wistfully imagined doing just that, thought of lying down in Armand's arms and baring his throat, of surrendering completely to that pleasure, of letting Armand drink until he could not take any more. He could feel that he had power to give, though he would never need it now, since he had no intention of working the Dark Trick ever again. And yet he hesitated, thinking of Lestat. Too much power, too fast, and Marius was afraid Armand was not as strong as Lestat had been. And Lestat had barely survived it. "You know I would do anything for you," Marius whispered, only half aware he had spoken aloud. But he would not make a promise he could not keep. He wondered if Lestat would do it, and damn the consequences. Probably. Marius had never been able to talk much sense into Lestat, and he still found a Lestat many times more powerful than he was a truly unnerving concept. Maybe Lestat would understand that he was afraid for Armand's sanity. But then Marius reminded himself that they were all worrying about Lestat's sanity right now as well. It was not a comforting thought. Marius reached out again for Louis, looking for that quiet, shadowy presence, but he felt nothing. Armand's childlike wonder at their flight had given way to a brooding silence. He too seemed lost in thought. A strange bitter smile flickered occasionally across his face, and his dark eyes seemed haunted. All the rest of that long flight he said very little, and Marius wondered if he was thinking of Louis. Or was he remembering darker centuries than this one? "Daniel," Armand had said once, after quite some time, and Marius had replied, "There was no time, and you don't want him in the middle of this, do you?" He did not need to say that whatever had happened to Louis might also happen to Daniel. "He'll be furious," Armand murmured, sleepily. Marius smoothed his auburn hair, all tangled by the wind, and against his better judgment, kissed him gently. But Armand was already asleep. __________________________________________________________________________ SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 1: 8 of 8 (Author: Mick) __________________________________________________________________________ Lestat lurched to his feet, dragging a still struggling David up with him, and found himself suddenly flanked by Marius on one side and Armand on the other. "Tell me Lestat," Marius said calmly, "What do you mean by brawling in the middle of the street like a young hooligan?" "Marius!" Lestat and David cried simultaneously. David slumped with relief as Lestat moved into Marius's embrace. "Help me. Something's happened to Louis." Lestat cried, resting his cheek against the black fabric covering Marius's chest. The rapid flight had made Marius's skin even icier than usual, but Lestat never noticed. Lestat was burning, his mind drowning in a sea of flames. Flames had followed him for most of his unnatural life. Everything he held dear seemed to vanish amidst the roar of flames. Marius hugged him, oblivious to the mud and soot and covering Lestat from head to toe. "Armand," he said quietly, glancing over Lestat's golden head. "I believe we are being approached by an officer of the law. Would you take care of that please?" Armand nodded his assent and slid away from the group. Marius watched him approach the officer and place a small white hand on the man's arm, tilting the gleaming auburn head back to bring the large limpid brown eyes into play. The officer's head dipped low as if to hear what Armand was saying. Armand gently turned the man around and led him back toward the fire, away from the trio in the street. As they walked away, the officer placed an arm around Armand's slim shoulders as if to console him, nodding from time to time as they approached the ruin of the pension. Marius couldn't help the small rueful smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He shook his head, closing his eyes briefly. Armand. Marius could see that Armand had worked his particular brand of influence on the officer, who had wandered off as if in daze. Armand was now moving through the ruin of the *pension*, slipping catlike from shadow to shadow, searching for signs of Louis. With a sigh, Marius returned his attention to Lestat, who was pulling away from him. "But how are you here?" Lestat was asking him. "How did you know? Did you hear him? Do you know what's happened?" "Calm yourself, Lestat." Marius said gently. "David called us. We came as quickly as we could." "But can you hear him? Can Armand?" Lestat insisted, growing more and more agitated. Marius did not want to say he could find no trace of Louis. Instead, he said, "It's growing light Lestat, we must go. We must find a secure place to rest..." "Rest!" Lestat cried, in agony. "I'm not going anywhere, I'm not going to *rest* until I find Louis." Lestat began to struggle, trying to pull free without hurting Marius. "Lestat." It was Armand. Something in the tone of his voice made Lestat go still. He turned slowly in the circle of Marius' arms. Armand was standing with his arm outstretched, palm up. Cupped in the center of the palm was a charred and blackened lump. The pre-dawn light picked up the faintest flicker of green. Emerald green. It was the clip that had adorned Louis's ebony hair when Lestat had left him earlier that evening, his head bowed over a book. "This is his." Armand said quietly. "I know, I've seen him with it. He used to take it out and finger it from time to time, when we...when we were... It was all I could find." He whispered brokenly, unable to go on. "Oh Dear Lord." David gasped bracing himself as Lestat reached out to take the clip from Armand's hand. Lestat was still for a moment, his mind whirling through a kaleidoscope of images. Images of Nicki, and Armand, and flames...and emeralds. Emeralds, winking in Louis's hair. Emeralds, the color of Louis's eyes. Images of Louis, and fire. "LOUIS." Lestat screamed. David leaped for Lestat and helped Marius to wrestle him down. Violent explosions rocked the ground as fire exploded in the buildings around them, sending terrified mortals screaming and fleeing in all directions. Suddenly Armand was pushing his way between them, giving David a sharp elbow, muttering, "Get out of the way." Astonished, David made room for him and watched in amazement as Armand took the writhing Lestat's face in his small white hands. Lestat stopped struggling, his eyes locking on Armand's. He nodded a few times and tears slid from the corners of his eyes. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes." Armand bent and kissed him gently, kissed away the blood tears leaking from the corners of the bright blue eyes, and smoothed away the golden strands the clung to the mud and soot streaked face. "We must go. Now." Armand's voice was so soft it was barely audible. "What did you do?" Marius whispered back, giving Armand a hard stare. Armand shrugged. "I convinced him Louis's not dead, just hurt too badly to come to us, that he's safe, that we'll find him tomorrow. It was easy. He wanted to believe it." There was a slight pause. "So do I." Marius looked away from Armand's suddenly grief stricken face. He gathered Lestat up in his arms and stood. "I'll find him, do you hear." Lestat whispered from Marius's arms. "All the powers of Heaven and Hell could not keep me from it." "We must find somewhere to rest, and quickly." Armand said urgently. "I have rooms at another hotel" David replied, getting to his feet. "We'll get there quicker if we fly." Marius winced slightly, but nodded his agreement. David wrapped a long arm around Armand and rose quickly in the air, Marius keeping pace with him, Lestat cradled in his arms. Their ascent was so quick, so sudden, it went unnoticed by the panic stricken mortals still running here and there on the burning street. David could feel the appraising glance from the soft brown eyes so close to his own. He ignored it, along with the silken feel of the red curls brushing his cheek. This was not the time for he and Armand to take each other's measure. Not with Louis missing and Lestat in such a state. That appraisal would come later. It would definitely come, he was certain of that, but it would have to wait. Armand smiled suddenly, as if in agreement. ________________________________________________________________________ To be continued...