MEMNOCH: THE DEVIL (A SPECULATION STORY)
VOLUME TWO
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 CHRONICLES BOOKS

____________________________________________________________________________
 
SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 2: #1.1  (AUTHOR: Mick)
_____________________________________________________________________________
 
The tropical night was balmy and warm as they descended to the jungle floor.  
Juliano griped Louis tightly by one arm and the back of his neck and propelled 
him through the dense underbrush, the lush foliage cutting them both as the 
leaves slashed across them, whipped by the violence of their passage.
 
They were heading for the hidden entrance to the temple of Memnoch the Devil.  
Only Juliano and his partner in this enterprise, the wicked old priest, 
Esteban, knew of it's existence.  And now Louis de Pointe du Lac.  But Louis 
wasn't going to tell anyone.  Juliano would see to that.  One way or another.
 
The entrance was a useful tool to Juliano, who liked to use it to slip out 
and rampage among his followers.  He did not trouble the core group of 
worshipers, they were too important.  But the fringe dwellers, the hangers 
on who did not truly believe in him were fair game.
 
And Juliano was a hunter.
 
Juliano could always find the non-believers.  They could not hide their 
thoughts from him.  He would sniff them out, drag them into the forest, and 
play with them for a while, mimicking the cry of the jaguar and the panther.  
They would run blindly through the night, stumbling and falling, smashing 
into the trees.
 
Sometimes he would let it go on for hours, letting them rest for a moment 
before springing upon them again.  Off they would run.  As if they stood a 
chance of escaping their doom.
 
Juliano would strike out, unseen from the shadows, clawing and ripping them 
with his sharp pointed nails.  They would scream in terror, thinking the wild 
beasts of the jungle were upon them.  
 
Juliano would let them see him finally, so they might truly judge their peril.  
"Memnoch!" they would cry. "Oh, great Dark Lord, be merciful."  It made him 
laugh, every time.
 
Mercy.  When had Memnoch the Devil ever shown an ounce of mercy to any of them.
 
Juliano would leave the bodies in various positions for the searchers to find 
during the daylight hours.  Sometimes he would dismember them, sometimes not.  
Whatever suited his mood of the evening.
 
It was an honor, really, to die by the Devil's hand.  An honor those
worthless pretenders didn't deserve.  But they were expendable.  And they
made for useful object lessons.  The more devout followers would nod sagely
when the bodies were found, and whisper among themselves, "The Master knows
if your heart is true, for he *is* the Devil and can hear your thoughts." 
 
Yes, Juliano smiled to himself, the Devil *can* hear your thoughts.  
 
Juliano let his present captive see the remembrances of fun times in the
dark night of the jungle, so that he might better understand who it was he
faced.  It would not do for Pointe du Lac to mistake Juliano's nature.  He
might think that there was some hope for him, when there was none.
 
Louis turned to stare at Juliano, his eyes filled with horror at what he
had been shown. 

Juliano could see that Louis understood him quite well.
 
They reached the private entrance, only to find it blocked by the reclining
form of a panther.  It regarded Juliano steadily, as if daring him.  It
opened its mouth and released its strange warbling roar, displaying a
glorious set of fangs.
 
Juliano knew a challenge when he saw one, and moved to kill the beast, only
to find his way blocked by Pointe du Lac.
 
"No."  Louis shouted, struggling furiously in Juliano's grasp, pushing at
him as if he could somehow stop the attack.  It was amusing, and rather
sweet, Juliano mused.  Louis had to know by now that no force he could
muster would in any way affect Juliano.
 
Emerald green eyes blazed up at Juliano, the very twin of those that graced
the panther barring his door.  Juliano reached out a long white hand to
stroke Louis's tousled mass of hair.  Black as midnight it was.
 
He half expected Louis to *change* under his hands, his form melting into
another of the black jungle cats.  Juliano had seen that particular type of
transformation before, in a quite different place and time.
 
But Louis did not change, he merely struggled and spit his fury at Juliano,
babbling something about the panther being a harmless creature. 
 
"Please."  Louis asked, suddenly quiet, changing his tactic.  Juliano shook
his head in wonderment.  All that emotion for an animal.  What a waste. 
But he rather liked the pleading and, being a gracious host, acquiesced.
Juliano smiled at Louis.  "I shall, at your request Monsieur Louis, leave
the beast unmolested."  Still holding Louis tightly, Juliano started for
the door.
 
At their advance the panther rose and moved away snarling.  It fixed a
glittering green gaze on Louis before vanishing into the darkness.
 
"A relative, perhaps?"  Juliano joked.  Louis stared at him mutely.  Juliano 
chuckled.  Louis didn't seem to have much of a sense of humor.  Now his friend 
Lestat seemed to be possessed of a fine sense of humor.  At least, that was 
Juliano's impression from that "Interview" book he'd read years ago.
 
That had been not long after Armand left.  
 
Juliano's thoughts darkened momentarily, remembering that farewell.  All
his pleading had availed him nothing!  He had been master here, but that
had not mattered to Armand.
 
Armand, with his typical cruelty had dismissed him as a fool.  Juliano,
he'd said, should have been long past the need for worship and adulation
from mortals.  
 
Juliano had tried to convince Armand that it was the power he wanted, not
the adulation.  And in his eagerness to persuade, he made he horrible
mistake of calling Armand... Amadeo.
 
The slip was inexcusable.  Armand had allowed no one to call him that for
centuries.  But Armand had been Amadeo when they first met, though he had
abandoned it shortly thereafter, along with the teachings of the accursed
Marius, and Juliano always thought of him by that name, though he was
careful not to think it or say it when Armand was around.
 
It had been a wise policy.  His blunder, that awful slip of the tongue had
proved that to him.  Oh, if he could have taken the word back, things might
have gone differently!
 
But he couldn't take it back, and it was his worst offense yet.  He had
watched in trembling terror as a white hot rage overcame Armand.  Armand
had picked up Juliano's very own scepter and beat him viciously, and
without uttering a single word.  
 
By the time he had recovered enough to raise his head from the floor,
Armand was gone.
 
Juliano was overcome with shame at the memory.  He was twice Armand's size,
and older by almost a century.  But it didn't seem to matter.  Armand could
reduce him to a snivelling, groveling fool with just a look.  And whenever
Armand had raised a hand to him, he had bowed his head and let it happen.
 
Juliano sneered at himself, at the memory of Memnoch the Devil, the terror
of the age, reduced to a quivering, sobbing heap at the feet of an angel-
faced "boy".
 
Things would be different this time.  This time he had something Armand
wanted.  This time Armand would do whatever *he* said, or Louis de Pointe
du Lac would pay the price.
 
Juliano looked down to discover he had crushed Louis against him so tightly
that he was gasping for air.  Juliano could feel the wave of pain that
crashed though him, but Louis had not uttered a  single protest.
 
"Forgive me Louis."  Juliano eased his hold a bit and reached for the
hidden latches in the temple wall.  "Sometimes my mind wanders from the
task at hand."
 
As the door swung silently inward, Juliano sent a call out to his  minions,
directing them to clear the area around the "guest" chamber.  He was not
ready to share Louis's presence with his followers just yet.
 
But when they stepped into the chamber, Esteban was there, Devil take his
soul!  Juliano stopped at the irony of this thought and laughed aloud. 
Louis looked at him strangely, wondering what kind of madman had abducted
him.
 
Juliano simply smiled at Louis and released him, closing the door behind
them.  Louis moved quickly away from him, into the center of the room where
he could keep both Juliano and Esteban in view.
 
_It's a bit late for caution, Louis.  After all, you opened your door to a
strange vampire and invited him into your dwelling place._  Juliano sent,
and was amazed at the incredibly human flush that crept over Louis's face.
 
"Who is this you bring."  Esteban spoke suddenly, eyeing Louis suspiciously.
 
Juliano eyed the wizened old priest coldly, and drew himself up proudly. 
He did not want Esteban here.  Not now.  He had many things to discuss with
the beautiful Louis, and Esteban always interfered.
 
"He is my honored guest."
 
"Guest, eh?"  Esteban moved up to Louis boldly and poked him with a bony
finger, looking him up and down.
 
"He will cause trouble." Esteban sniffed.  "He has a horror of *evil*, as
he calls it.  The Light has a firm grip on this one.  He would rather
wander in eternal misery than embrace the Dark.  Kill him!  He is not one
of our kind."
 
"He is one of *my* kind, Esteban."  Juliano was furious.  He would not
tolerate this kind of interference with his plans.  Especially not these
plans.
 
"He is not like the other one."  Esteban insisted.  "He does not want to be
here.  I tell you, this is a mistake."  Esteban grabbed Louis's chin and
peered at him with black, glittering eyes. 
 
Juliano could feel Louis's outrage at being manhandled by a mortal.  He was
about to instruct Esteban to keep his hands to himself when Louis went
suddenly rigid.
 
Juliano delved into Louis's mind only to find the crafty old devil there
before him.
 
_How dare you!_  Juliano screamed in Louis's mind.  He fought to push
Esteban, whose mental abilities had been strengthened by their dark
covenant, out of Louis's mind. 
 
_ You overstep your bounds old man.  Simply because you take liberties with
me doesn't mean you can do as you like with my guests!  NOW GET OUT OF HIS
MIND BEFORE I LOSE MY TEMPER!_ 
 
Louis sagged at the force of the mental shout, and Juliano leaped to catch
him before he fell.  
 
Juliano sank to the floor, cradling the pain dazed Louis in his arms.
 
Esteban, the fiend, was laughing.
 
Juliano ignored the laughter, and concentrated on Louis, studying the faint
tracery of lines pain had etched in his face, the finely drawn mouth pulled
into a grimace.  He hadn't meant to hurt Louis.  Not at all.  Not yet.  
But he was so fragile!  So delicate.  So incredibly beautiful.  Even more
beautiful than Armand, his traitorous brain whispered.
 
Juliano cautioned himself against these kinds of thoughts, knowing he could
really grow to appreciate Louis's considerable charms, if he was not careful.
 
Ignoring his own warning, Juliano held Louis against him and rubbed his
temple gently with one finger.  He could feel the residue of pain that
leaked though Louis's pitiful barriers.
 
"I'm sorry Louis, that wasn't meant for you.  I don't mean to hurt you. 
Can you stand, now?" "
 
Louis nodded stiffly, pulling himself away from Juliano.  Ignoring the
proffered hand he scrambled to his feet. 
 
Juliano moved toward Esteban and tried to usher him to the door.
 
Esteban did not budge. _You must come to me tonight, your strength is
waning._  The slithery thought pushed itself into Juliano's mind.
 
Juliano shook his head in denial.

_Your barriers are already weakening.  If you would keep this one's
presence here a secret you must be at full power.  You need me for that._ 
This last was followed by a silent hiss of laughter. Esteban reached out a
bony old hand to grip Juliano's hip suggestively.  Juliano could feel
Louis's astonishment and the quick aversion of his eyes from the scene
being played out in front of him.  
 
Juliano shoved Esteban's hand away and glared murder at him.
 
Again, Esteban laughed at him.
 
Juliano's hand shot out and griped the scrawny old throat, squeezing.
 
_Careful, boy._  Esteban leered at him.  _It is *my* blood that holds the
power.  Kill me and the power dies with me._
 
Juliano struggled for control.  The red rage was threatening to overwhelm
him, but he knew he was being baited.  He would not play those games with
Esteban now, not with Louis watching.  But Esteban's time was coming to an
end.  Once Armand joined him for good, they would take care of Esteban.  Oh
yes, Esteban would be well taken care of.
 
_Release me!_  Esteban's voice rang in Juliano's mind.  Juliano forced the
muscles of his hand to relax, slowly releasing the crepey flesh of the old
priest's neck.
 
_Now.  For that little display of temper,_  Esteban continued, _you must
kiss me.  Right here, in front of your pretty new friend._  Esteban folded
his arms and waited for Juliano's reply.
 
Juliano shook with rage. _No.  You must be mad, old man._
 
Esteban regarded him for a moment.  _I think perhaps I'll offer your new
toy a taste of my blood.  He seems fairly weak.  I think perhaps he would
appreciate a boost to his power right about now.  But then you wouldn't
want him anymore, would you?  You like your toys weak._  
 
Esteban slid a sly look at Louis before returning his gaze to Juliano. 
_After what happened with your *last* visitor, the redheaded one, I can
understand your preference for the weak ones._
 
Juliano went rigid.  A high pitched sound bled from his tightly stretched
lips.  His eyes rolled up in his head, leaving only the whites visible. 
Esteban stepped up and slapped him, hard.
 
Louis backed himself into a corner, as far away from the Esteban and
Juliano as he could get, looking around frantically for something to
protect himself with.  Finding nothing useful, he held himself at the
ready.  The silent conversation that had been going on had been shielded
from him, but he knew the situation had gotten out of hand.  
 
Something was horribly wrong here.  A blow from a mortal, however strong,
should not have affected even the weakest of vampires, but Juliano had
staggered under the blow from the mortal priest.
 
Juliano snarled and dropped into a half crouch, ready to spring at Esteban. 
Esteban merely raised his hand to stroke a gleaming white disk with a
protruding black center that hung from a chain around his neck.  The thing
looked for all the world like a great staring eye.  
 
Juliano's eyes fastened on the object, and he slowly straightened, making a
huge effort to restrain his killing instinct.  Not now, not yet, he chanted
to himself over and over, like a litany.
 
"You have a... appearance to make tomorrow night, *Master*."  Esteban spoke
aloud this time, and very softly.  "The night is ending, and you need your
rest.  I'll take my leave now, so that you may say goodnight to your
guest."  He made a deep bow to Louis, and started for the door.

"Wait."  Juliano said, feeling the word leave scars as it passed his lips. 
He moved stiffly to where Esteban stood by the door, and bent to kiss him. 
 
Esteban smiled under the kiss, and slid a decrepit hand around the back of
Juliano's neck to hold him there a moment longer, before releasing him.
 
"The Master is kind to his servant."  Esteban smiled evilly at Juliano
before departing, closing the door softly behind him.
 
Juliano kept his back to the room for a moment, trying to regain his
composure.  He threw back his shoulders, pasted a warm smile on his face, 
and turned.
 
"You must forgive my High Priest, Louis.  He requires a lot of... attention."  
Juliano crossed the room to where Louis had jammed himself in a corner and 
gently guided him to the room's only chair.
 
"You've probably realized Esteban wields a considerable amount of power. 
He must be treated carefully, or he grows uncooperative and, unfortunately,
I require his assistance to make my little enterprise the success it is."
 
"Enterprise."  Louis looked at him in horrified amazement.  "Is that what
you think this is?  You've led these mortals to believe that you are Satan
himself.  There is talk of you everywhere, even in the midst of Rio. 
Innocent people flock to your temples and gathering places to see for
themselves if the Devil has put in a appearance."
 
"Innocent!" Juliano crowed.  "No one who rushes to see the Devil could be
mistaken for innocent."
 
"It is curiosity that brings them, *innocent* curiosity to see a spectacle
for themselves," Louis insisted.  "To see with their own eyes if a miracle
has occurred, even a miracle of evil.  
 
"Don't you understand," Louis gazed up at Juliano earnestly, "it is proof
they require.  Proof that what they believe of good and evil, of heaven and
hell, is real.  They come, looking for confirmation of their beliefs and
they find you, feeding them a great lie, couched in trickery.  A lie that
serves no purpose that I can see, other than to serve your vanity, for why
else would you require the worship and adulation of mortals."
 
Juliano laughed delightedly.  "Bravo, Louis, well and bravely said.  And
under such trying circumstances too."
 
He bent suddenly and kissed Louis.  He wasn't quite sure why he did it. 
Perhaps it was because Louis, in his earnestness and conviction was quite
captivating.  Perhaps it was simply to wipe away the feel of Esteban's lips
against his own.  Esteban, who was waiting for him in his chambers.
 
Juliano sighed deeply.  The lot of the Devil was a hard one, but one that
he had chosen willingly.  As he made to straighten, a brilliant gleam of
metal caught his eye.
 
"What's this?"  He cried, lifting a gleaming chain from where it had lain
hidden beneath Louis's shirt.  A shining cross dangled from the end of the
freed chain.
 
Louis made to grab for it, but Juliano yanked it from around his neck,
breaking the thin chain.
 
"No!" Louis shouted, coming half out of the chair. "Give it back."  He was
practically in a panic.
 
"I'm sorry, Louis." Juliano pushed him back into the chair, holding him
there with one hand.  "I'm afraid you can't wear this here.  Honestly, I'm
surprised you wear it at all.  I thought you had renounced your faith in
God years ago.  At least that was the impression I got from your book." 
Juliano was genuinely puzzled.
 
"It was a gift." Louis said stiffly.  "Please give it back to me."
 
"Ah, a gift." Juliano understood suddenly.  "I know Armand didn't give you
this,"  the very thought threatened to send him into a fit of laughter, "so
it must have been your other admirer, the inimitable Lestat de Lioncourt."
 
Louis seemed to draw himself up, though he did not rise from the chair. 
"The identity of the giver is none of your affair, Sir.  Please return my
property to me.  I give you my word that I will keep it out of sight."  He
held out his hand, waiting for Juliano to place the cross in it.
 
Juliano was touched by the sincerity of the request, but shook his head
sadly, slipping the chain into a pocket. "I'm sorry, Louis, but it's out of
the question."
 
Louis shoulders slumped dejectedly, his hand dropped lifelessly to his lap. 
He looked on the verge of tears.  Juliano could feel the anguish, the
horrible despair welling up in him.  The emerald eyes brimmed, and released
a single ruby tear.
 
Juliano caught it on the tip of his finger, and slid the precious droplet
into his mouth, closing his eyes at the sweet taste of it.
 
"Please."  Louis whispered softly.
 
Juliano shook his head, moved away toward the door, away from the strange
Louis de Pointe du Lac.  The beautiful Louis, who affected him far too
much.  Juliano began to see what all the hoopla was about.  He had felt
what that last plea had cost Louis, who was so very proud.  He had been
very close to returning the offending cross.
 
Yes, it was best to leave now, before he did anything foolish.
 
At the door, Juliano paused to issue a final warning.
 
"This door is bespelled Louis.  If you try to leave, it will burn you."
 
Louis didn't answer him.  He only stared into space, the perfect picture of
misery.  Juliano shrugged, and closed the door behind him.

___________________________________________________________________________
 
SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 2: #1.2  (AUTHOR: Mick)
___________________________________________________________________________
 
Louis was out of the chair in a flash and heading for the door as soon as
it closed.  He skidded to a stop about a foot from it as it appeared to 
burst into flame before his eyes.
 
He sniffed the air, but could not find a trace of the smell of burning wood.  
He held his hand out, palm up to test for heat.  
 
Nothing.
 
It's just an illusion, Louis thought.  Juliano or that despicable Esteban
playing games with him, trying to frighten him Louis convinced himself.  He 
reached for the handle and let out a screech of pain. 
 
He couldn't let go!  The metal handle was searing through the palm of his 
hand.
 
The door burst open suddenly, the force of it throwing Louis across the room, 
knocking him to the floor.
 
Juliano rushed into the room.
 
"Louis!  I warned you!"  He exclaimed, moving to where Louis lay on the floor.
 
"Ah.  That's a bad one."  Juliano tisked over the bone deep burn that scored
Louis's palm.                                                                
 
He scooped Louis up and carried him to the narrow bed occupying the far
side of the room.  He laid him gently down on the bed, carefully turning
the hand palm upwards so the wound would not rest against the bed covering. 
                                                     
"You have been hurt too many times this evening."  Juliano murmured.  Louis
merely looked at him, as if he expected to be hurt again.  Juliano felt a
sudden empathy for him.  Armand had quite often made him feel just that way.  
 
It had seemed, back in the days of the Rome coven, that the only time Armand 
was happy was when he was hurting Juliano.  Juliano's mute acceptance of 
every blow, every vicious word Armand visited upon him seemed, somehow, to 
tie Armand to him in ways that any show of affection could not.
 
And Juliano had loved Armand so much that he took all the pain, and would
have gladly died, if it would have made Armand happy.  But Armand had not
wanted his death, only his pain.  And so Juliano had learned to accept the
pain, to wait for it to come.  And it had always come.  He had convinced
himself that it was better than nothing.
 
Juliano dragged his thoughts away from Armand.  Thinking of Armand always
seemed to lead to difficulties, problems with control.  
 
He reached out and smoothed the tangled strands of ebony hair back from 
Louis's pale, strained face.
 
"Let me make the pain go away."  Juliano said, gazing at the pale beauty
before him.  "It's a little thing, really.  It would please me to do it."
 
Louis shook his head mutely, but Juliano ignored him.  He wanted to chase
away the ghosts of pain that now surrounded, him as well as the all-to-real
pain that was crashing through Louis.
 
He fixed his concentration on the hideous wound and traced a pattern across
it with his finger.  Glittering red lines of power illuminated the pattern
he had traced, and he watched in fascination as the wound slowly closed
beneath it.  When it closed completely, the glowing symbol of power vanished.
 
Juliano raised the smooth palm to study it closely.  There was not a mark on 
it, the burns inflicted earlier in the evening by the hot poker had vanished 
as well.
 
Juliano was impressed with himself.  He glanced at Louis, to see if he had
been impressed.
 
Louis was staring at him in abject terror. 
 
"How are you able to do that?"  Louis whispered.
 
"I don't usually.  In fact, I never have before, never wanted to, actually."  
Juliano shrugged, and laid Louis's now healed hand back on the bed.
 
He rose from the bedside, pausing for a moment to offer a last bit of
reassurance.
 
"Don't be afraid.  No one will trouble your rest.  You're perfectly safe 
here.  Just as you could not open the door from the inside, no one but me,
not even Esteban, can open that door from the outside."
 
Louis nodded to show that he understood, and closed his eyes, more to shut
out the sight of Juliano standing above him than from weariness.
 
Juliano smiled ruefully as he picked up the thought.  He made to leave again, 
turning at the door, "Adieu, sweet Louis."  Getting no response, Juliano 
closed the door quietly behind him.
 
At the sound of the door closing, Louis rose from the bed.  He did not
approach the door again, but stood for a moment rubbing his recently burned
hand to remind himself to proceed cautiously.
 
He made a careful search of the small room.  It took only a matter of moments 
as it was filled only with the narrow bed, one small table and chair, and a 
small shelf that contained an oil lamp, the room's only illumination.
 
The room seem be made of huge slabs of rock.  A line of carved pictograms
marched across the circumference of the room, near the ceiling.  Some of the 
pictograms appeared to be darker at the upper edge than the others.  This 
puzzled him momentarily, until he saw the faint wisp of smoke that curled 
from the burning wick of the oil lamp being drawn in to the dark edge of one 
of the designs.  Louis turned to follow the line of carvings with his eye.  
Every third design showed the small slice of darkness that was an air passage 
way.
 
Ventilation. Ingenious.  He could not hope to escape that way unless, like
in the movies, he had the ability to turn himself into a stream of smoke.
 
He sat back down on the bed, drawing his knees up under his chin, his mind
working furiously.  How was he to get out of this?  There was no way to
escape from this room, and it was painfully obvious he was no match for the
two madmen who had him in their clutches, apparently not even the mortal one.  
Louis had learned the hard way that he must proceed with caution.
 
Since his abduction, he had called repeatedly for David, and had gotten no
response.  He knew Lestat and David would be looking for him.  The fire in
his room would have alarmed them, and his continued absence would have
prompted them to search for him.  But he could pick up no trace of David's
presence.  David would have been calling for him, just as he had been calling 
for David.
 
Juliano had to have known Louis was calling for help, but had shown no 
concern whatsoever.  He must, somehow, be blocking the call.  It took a
tremendous amount of power to be able to shield another's presence, but after 
the magic he had seen Juliano manifest tonight, he would not be surprised at 
any unusual occurrence.
 
And this business with Armand.  What was that about?  Juliano seemed to know 
Armand.  Was he mixed up in this somehow?  He had to be.  It was the only 
connection between him and Juliano, that Louis could determine.  Then again, 
Juliano had mentioned Lestat too.  Did Lestat know this creature?  Somehow 
Louis didn't think so.  He could not imagine those two ego's tolerating each 
other's presence for any length of time without violence breaking out.
 
Louis shook his head, his mind swimming with worry, and increasing fatigue. 
He sent out another call for help, hoping that someone would hear him.  He
put all his strength into it, and then waited, straining to hear a reply.
 
Nothing.  His call was met with echoing silence.
 
It came to him suddenly that he could die here, that no one would know where 
he was, or what had happened to him.  Despite his recent anxieties, and the 
incredible weariness that had been threatening to overwhelm him, he did not 
want to die, to give up his life, unnatural though it was.
 
His thoughts returned to the last few nights in Rio, his attempts to 
reconcile with Lestat, to somehow patch up the tattered remains of their
relationship.  If it hadn't been for David's kindness and encouragement, he
would have given up and gone away.
 
He had taken out the emerald clip and the cross Lestat had given him so
long ago, and worn them for the very first time, hoping to elicit some sort
of response other than scorn from him.  Lestat had pretended not to see them 
until the night was almost at an end.
 
Louis closed his eyes, remembering Lestat's visit to his room, the feel of
the powerful arms around him, and the concern that had softened the hard
brilliance of Lestat's eyes as he kissed the cross and tucked it back
beneath Louis's pajama top.  The cross had seemed to burn against Louis skin, 
searing his heart. 
 
He missed the weight of it around his neck.
 
It was gone now, and the clip as well, for his hair hung loose about his 
face.
 
The clip was doubly precious to him.  He had always loved it.  He remembered 
the night Lestat gave it to him, saying as he opened the black velvet box it 
had rested in, `They are lovely stones, Louis, but for me, no jewels could 
match the beauty of your eyes.'
 
Louis knotted his hands in his now loose hair.  Most likely, the clip was
lost forever in the deep jungle that surrounded him.
 
He had been wearing it at the beginning of the evening when Lestat came to 
his room to coax him out into the tropical night.  And, like a fool, Louis 
had snapped at him, undoing the fragile peace they had obtained the night 
before.
 
Lestat left in anger, and Louis had let him.  Even though he had desperately 
wanted to run after Lestat, his stubborn pride kept him rooted to the floor.  
And now it was quite conceivable that he would never see Lestat again, that 
their last words to each other would be ones of anger and despair.
 
This could not be.  He would not die without seeing Lestat again.  He made
this a promise to himself.  And Louis de Pointe du Lac always kept his
promises.  It was a point of honor for him.  
 
He arranged himself on the narrow bed, a fierce determination growing in him.
 
He touched the spot on his breast where the cross should have been, and 
closed his eyes, to await the coming dawn and the dreams of Lestat that were 
sure to follow.

___________________________________________________________________________
 
SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 2: #2  (AUTHOR: Mick)
___________________________________________________________________________
 
They set themselves down unobtrusively in the alley next to the hotel.  
David was momentarily at a loss.  They couldn't go traipsing through the 
lobby the way they were.  He and Lestat were covered with mudand soot.
 
"I'll take care of it, David."  Marius said soothingly, setting Lestat down.  
Lestat clutched at him, but Marius said something to him, silently, kissed 
his brow and made his way to the hotel entrance.
 
Lestat moved a few steps, drifting, looking for all the world like a ship 
that had lost its mooring.  He looked utterly lost.  David made to go to 
him, but Armand was there before him, sliding an arm around Lestat's waist, 
and pressing his head against Lestat's broad chest.  Lestat's arms came 
round Armand and hugged him tightly.
 
Armand fixed David with a wide-eye, seemingly innocent stare from the circle 
of Lestat's arms.  David did not rise to the bait.  He knew quite a bit about 
Armand, about his "style", if you will.
 
_You know nothing about me._  The thought came like a cold wave through 
David's brain.
 
_You're wrong, Armand._  David sent back.  _I know a great deal about you, 
but it's all second hand information.  I admit your file has fascinated me 
for a number of years.  There are so many things I want to discuss with you, 
if you'll allow me.  I..._
 
_I'm not a specimen, Talamasca._  Armand glared at him.
 
_I'm not suggesting you are, Armand.  Please, don't misunderstand me.  I'm 
very grateful to you for your help with Lestat..._
 
_He doesn't belong to you, Talamasca._  Armand's thoughts boiled in fury. 
_You presume a great deal.  There are others with far greater claim to him 
than you, and those claims have been in effect for longer than you've been 
alive, or dead.  I'm afraid you fall at the bottom of the list... that is, 
if you're even on it._  Armand smiled at him.
 
David regarded Armand coolly.  _How interesting it is that you should think 
that.  After the anguish Lestat endured with Akasha, his first trip after he 
left the Night Island and retrieved Louis from New Orleans, was to see me.  
When he tried to kill himself in the Gobi and failed he came, in agonizing 
pain, to me.  When none of you would help him with the Body Thief, he came 
to *me*.  Where was his vampire *family* then.  He called to all of you, and 
none of you helped him.  Not a one.  Don't speak to me of *claims* Armand._
 
Armand was about to reply when Marius reappeared, taking Lestat from Armand's 
grasp.  "Come along, I've left the windows open."  And he was away, leaving 
David and Armand facing each other in the alley.
 
Having had a moment to reflect, David was horrified at what he'd just said 
to Armand.  He couldn't imagine what had come over him.  The things he'd 
said were cruel, and spoke tellingly of his own agitation and inner turmoil.
 
Armand had come all this way with Marius, responding to David's frantic cry 
for help, only to be insulted and, yes, treated like a specimen.
 
"Forgive me, Armand.  That was incredibly rude of me.  I'm not myself right 
now."  David said quietly, holding his hands out at his side, palms displayed 
in the age old gesture signifying the absence of threat.  David opened his 
mind to Armand as well, so that he might see the contrition was genuine.  He 
let Armand come to him, he could do that because he had nothing to hide.
 
David knew that for Armand, this was not the case.  The files at the 
Talamasca, and everything that Lestat and Louis had written about him 
indicated that there were number of things about Armand that no one was 
entitled to know, that no one should know.  He let Armand read all this from 
him, quietly withstanding the furiously cold scrutiny as Armand prowled 
through his thoughts.
 
The harsh touch withdrew from David's mind.  "I begin to see why he chose 
you, Talamasca."  Armand was suddenly before him, peering up at him in the 
pre-dawn gloom.  "Beneath the smooth manners, you have a core of steel.  Steel 
that has been tempered with kindness.  I am not accustomed to kindness, either 
displaying it or receiving it."  Armand admitted grudgingly.
 
"Please call me David, Armand."  David extended a hand toward Armand, hoping 
for a truce if not a conciliation.
 
Armand took the large, strong hand and, instead of shaking it, drew it around 
his waist, stepping close to David. "Give me a lift?" he said, sweet and low, 
gazing up at David from beneath the fringe of dark red lashes.
 
David felt his pulse jump as one slim white arm slid around his neck, and 
Armand pressed against him.  As he willed himself up, he felt Armand's cool 
lips against his throat.  He realized that Armand, for reasons of his own, 
was trying to throw him off balance.  David did his level best to ignore this 
new tactic.  He felt a sibilant laugh in his mind and looked down to find wide
brown eyes blinking up at him, eyes that were deep fathomless pools of mystery, 
pools in which one might easily lose oneself.
 
David tore his gaze away before he overshot the window, and shook his head in 
amazement.  In his own quiet way, Armand was as big a scoundrel as Lestat.
 
_No one is as big a scoundrel as Lestat._  Came the ironic reply as David 
passed Armand through the open window and climbed in after him. 
 
He stepped into the room to find Marius bending over Lestat, removing his 
soiled clothing.  Lestat, seated on the double bed nearest the window, 
suffered the ministrations like a weary and heartsick child.  It broke David's 
heart to see him in such a state.
 
Armand moved to the side of the other double bed that filled the small room, 
and began to disrobe.
 
"Is this room secure, Tala... David?"  Armand tossed back at him over one 
bare alabaster shoulder.
 
David shrugged.  "Not really, Armand.  It was purely a bolt-hole. An emergency 
contingency.  Though I suspect anyone entering this particular room uninvited 
will not live to regret it."
 
Armand thought about it for only a moment, before nodding in agreement.  "Do 
you always plan things so carefully?"  He said as he slid between the bed 
coverings and turned to face David, giving him a sleepy look.
 
"Someone must.  Lestat's plans are usually of the `harebrained' variety and 
Louis never get's around to making one..."  David stopped, realizing what he'd 
just said.  He looked quickly at Lestat, to see what effect this pronouncement 
may have had on him.
 
Lestat appeared not to have heard him.  He was staring at the melted lump of 
jewels and metal he'd retrieved from his soiled clothing, turning it over in 
his hands again and again. 
 
"How much time do you have left?"  Marius asked suddenly, casting a look over 
his shoulder at David.  
 
David considered for a moment.  Lestat had explained to him when he was still 
a mortal, that if you were strong and worked at it, you could rise early in 
the evening and stay up till the sun was actually rising.  He'd always made 
a practice of doing just that, each day trying to lengthen the time he remained 
awake, and rising as soon as he felt sleep leave him.  He knew that he still
had some time, and so did Lestat.  Not long, but enough to get them cleaned up 
and bedded down before sleep overtook them.
 
"We have a little time left," he responded and made to retrieve Lestat from 
Marius who, unlike Armand, made no move to stop him.  He led Lestat into the 
small bathroom, turned the hot water in the shower on full blast, and quickly 
skinned out of his own ruined clothing.
 
Stepping into the shower, David pulled Lestat in after him, and soaped them 
both all over, scrubbing the soot and grime from their bodies.  Lestat still 
clutched the ruined clip in a white-knuckled grip, so that David had to scrub 
the fist his hand made around it.
 
With out warning, Lestat began to cry, his eyes wide and staring.  The bright 
streamers of blood mingled with the stinging spray of the shower, to be washed 
away as if they never existed.  The silent tears gave way to big shuddering 
sobs, and Lestat began to shiver violently as if the searing heat of the water 
had not, could not, warm him.  David uttered a cry of pained sympathy and
gathered Lestat to him, holding him tightly as if he could physically stop the 
agony that ripped through his friend.
 
"He can't be dead, David." Lestat sobbed.  "Not after everything that's 
happened to us.  *She* didn't kill him.  He survived that, when so many others 
didn't.  The Paris vampires, so many years ago killed our little child, but 
not him.  He put his name and where he lived, and the crimes he had committed 
in a book for all the world to see, and practically every vampire in the world
wanted his head on a pole, but they never found him. 
 
"Even when he betrayed me for the third time, I didn't kill him, though I
wanted to.  I couldn't do it.  I couldn't even bring myself to hurt him.  He 
can't be dead, David." he said again, "I won't believe it.  He is charmed, he 
must be, to survive so many threats to his life. 
 
"It's like Armand said, isn't it?"  Lestat gasped.  "He's all right, somewhere, 
and tomorrow we'll find him."
 
David did not want to point out the flaws in this theory, and simply held him 
until the sobs slowed to the occasional shudder, wishing there was something 
he could do to ease Lestat's pain.
 
David could feel the languorous sleepiness stealing upon him as he ushered 
Lestat from the shower.  He briskly toweled them both dry, and hurried into 
the now darkened bedroom towing Lestat behind him.  
 
He hustled Lestat under the covers and moved around the bed to slide in beside 
him.  He reached out to gather Lestat to him, but found that Lestat had turned 
on his side away from him, and would not be turned again. 
 
To avoid facing the small hurt this caused him, David sent out a tentative 
tendril of thought in Marius' direction.  Yes, he was still awake.
 
_Thank you, Marius.  I could not have dealt with this on my own._   David let 
his immense gratitude flow through his thoughts.
 
_Don't thank me, David.  Lestat is like my own child, and Louis as well.  I 
love them both dearly.  I try not to interfere with the course of their lives, 
but when one of them is in danger, I must go to them._  There was a small 
hesitation.  _I was there, you know.  Outside your rooms at the Talamasca 
Motherhouse.  I was there until the dawn chased me away.  I had to make sure 
he was safe with you.  When I saw what kind of man you were, and that you 
loved him as well, I was content, knowing you could guard him during the 
daylight hours, as I could not.
 
As for the other... I admit I was furious.  What he'd done was inexcusable.  
Not only had he brought ruin upon himself, but he allowed that madman to roam 
free with all "The Vampire Lestat's" powers and abilities intact.  It could 
have been a disaster of major proportions.
 
I would never have abandoned Lestat totally, but I felt a lesson was needed
at that point in his existence, and that it would have to be a hard lesson 
indeed.  Rest assured, I would not have left him in such misery._
 
So, David mused, Marius had picked his half of the conversation with Armand.  
And while he wished Marius had not witnessed his display of rudeness, it was 
good to know that he had cared. 
 
He had wondered about that Marius's absence, and his refusal to help, and
he knew Lestat wondered as well.
 
It surprised him that the exchange between himself and Armand had not gone 
unnoticed.  David wondered to himself if there was anything that concerned 
his "family" that went unnoticed by Marius.
 
It was his last thought as sleep took him and the dawn broke through the trees.

___________________________________________________________________________
 
SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 2: #3  (AUTHOR: Mick)
___________________________________________________________________________
 
David awoke suddenly to the sound of bags rattling.  He glanced quickly 
around the room to find Marius emptying the contents of several shopping 
bags into the empty drawer of the room's single dresser.
 
"I hope you don't mind." Marius began politely. "I took the liberty of 
stepping out to purchase a few things, clothing and the like."  He gestured 
to the jeans and black t-shirt he was wearing.  "This is not my habitual 
attire.  Armand and I came immediately.  We brought nothing with us.  I'm 
afraid we didn't stop to pack."  
 
He crossed the room, holding out a lightweight robe, which David took
gratefully.  He had not relished the though of parading around naked in 
front of room full of people.  
 
Marius reached across David and laid a second robe on Lestat's reclining 
form.
 
"Here's one for you, Lestat." David started.  Marius had absorbed his
attention so completely, he hadn't realized Lestat was awake.
 
Lestat sat up and drew on the robe, belting it with a vicious pull.  Rising 
from the bed, he went to the window and stared out into the deepening 
twilight.
 
David looked over at the other bed.  Armand remained curled in sleep, looking 
more childlike than ever, years younger than the perpetual seventeen year old 
he had been condemned to spend eternity as.  He marveled at the angelic 
countenance, the apparent innocence of the sleeping Armand, knowing that as 
soon as those deep brown eyes opened and fixed themselves upon him, the 
illusion of innocence would vanish.
 
"I know the proper sizes for Armand and Lestat," Marius went on, drawing his 
attention again as he crossed the room to continue unloading the bags, "but 
I had to guess for you.  We're about the same height, though you are a little 
taller and slimmer than I.
 
David watched as Marius selected a red silk shirt and thin grey trousers from 
the piles of newly purchased clothes.  Marius tugged the black t-shirt over 
his head and tossed it on the end of the bed where Armand lay sleeping.  As 
he reached for the clasp of his jeans, David quickly averted his gaze, 
mortified that he had been staring at the gleaming, sculpted torso, mesmerized 
by the ripple of muscle beneath the satiny skin.
 
Marius noticed the quick turn of David's head, and excused himself, saying 
"Forgive me David, I forget you are new to our little family.  Lestat, Armand 
and I have know each other for a very long time and don't stand on ceremony 
anymore."  He gave David a apologetic smile, gathered up his clothes and 
made for the small bathroom.
 
David rose and crossed the room to select some clothing from the pile.  At 
the motion, Lestat turned from his post at the window, asking him, "Has there 
been any word?"
 
David stilled.  Not turning, he gave a small shake of his head, and went back 
to sorting through the clothes.
 
He could hear Lestat cross the room behind him, and the sound of the bed 
creaking as he sat down.
 
David could see Lestat reflected in the ugly mirror that hung over the small 
dresser.  Lestat sat on the edge of the bed and coldly regarded Armand, who 
was finally making his way up out of the death-like sleep.
 
"Armand." Lestat said softly. "So glad you could join us."
 
Armand's eyes flew open and, at the look on Lestat's face, scrambled back 
against the headboard and braced himself to flee.
 
"What's the matter, Armand?" Lestat said, still quietly, leaning forward 
slightly to bring himself closer to Armand's crouching form.  "Why are you 
afraid?"  
 
"I'm not afraid, Lestat.  It's just that you're so unpredictable these days.  
One must doubt your sanity at all times."  Armand sneered.
 
"MY, sanity?" Lestat raised his eyebrows.  He turned briefly to give David a 
incredulous look.  "This, from a person who was crazy enough to lie to me 
about Louis's well being, AGAIN.  Of all people, Armand, *you* should not 
have lied to me about Louis."
 
Without warning Lestat lunged for Armand, but Armand was across the room so 
fast that David could not see the movement.  It was as if he'd vanished from 
one place, to reappear in another. 
 
As Lestat rose from the bed and advanced toward Armand, David moved to 
intervene, only to find himself halted by a strong hand on his arm.  He 
turned to look at Marius who gave a quick shake of his head, no, and drew 
David back, out of the way.
 
"Do you think I wanted to lie to you about Louis?" Armand asked, his small 
naked form crouched in the corner of the room.
 
"Yes, Armand," Lestat said, advancing on him, "I think you did."
 
"No." Armand shook his head violently, the red curls lashing his face.  "I 
just wanted to get you off the street, to get us all off the street.  There 
was nothing you, or any of us could do at that point, and with your usual 
pigheadedness you were refusing to see reason."
 
"Forgive me for not being reasonable about Louis." Lestat leaped for Armand, 
this time catching him.  He raised Armand up from the floor, painfully 
gripping his arms and digging his fingers in to the bone.
 
"I have never been reasonable when it comes to Louis, and I don't intend to 
start now!"  Lestat finished on a shout.
 
Armand hauled back a foot and kicked Lestat as hard as he could, and when 
that seemed to have little affect, twisted his head at an impossible angle 
and bit Lestat on the back of his hand.
 
Lestat hissed in pain as Armand tried to take a chunk out of him.  "I'm 
going to snap your scrawny little neck like a twig," he growled and, setting 
Armand down with a jarring thump, made to grab him by the throat.
 
"That's enough Lestat."  Marius was suddenly between them, freeing Armand 
from Lestat's grasp.
 
"Stay out of this, Marius."  They said in unison, stopping to glare at each 
other.
 
"Lestat, I am not going to stand here and watch you abuse Armand."
 
Marius raised a hand to forestall Lestat's protest.
 
"I thought I'd let you clear the air, but if this "discussion" continues to 
degenerate into physical violence, then you shall have to deal with me.  I 
won't stand for this.  The days of you two visiting actual physical harm upon 
each other are over.  Not only are you in danger of seriously hurting one 
another, but you hurt those of us who care for you who are forced to watch
such displays.  
 
"Enough I say!  I shall wash my hands of the both of you if this sort of 
thing continues.
 
"Do you understand me?"  He looked first at Lestat, waiting until he received 
a nod of agreement and then to Armand, who turned his face away, scowling.  
After a moment, he nodded as well.
 
David, who'd been holding his breath through the whole exchange, exhaled in 
relief.  
 
Armand reach for the black t-shirt Marius had been wearing, slipping it over 
his head to cover his nakedness.  The shirt covered him almost to his knees 
and as he wrapped his thin wiry arms around himself and slouched and pouted, 
David couldn't help thinking how much he looked like any sullen teenager 
being chastised by his father.  Lestat too for that matter, who was glowering 
at Armand from behind Marius's back.
 
Marius stepped back and looked at them both, "Now.  Finish your "discussion", 
and try not to come to blows, hum?"
 
There was silence for a moment before Armand continued. "I was just trying to 
help.  You were preparing to fight us all, and we had to get off the street 
before dawn caught us.  You were endangering everyone, Lestat, not just 
yourself."  Lestat made to interrupt, but Armand was determined to have his 
say.
 
"With your usual selfishness, you only thought of *your* pain, what *you* 
wanted!  Oh yes, you've proved that you're not afraid of the sun, that it 
can't kill you.  The rest of us, however, still must take it into 
consideration."
 
"I didn't ask you to come!"  Lestat retorted when Armand at last paused for 
breath.  "I didn't ask you to stay either, putting yourself in danger for my 
sake."
 
"Oh you're so stupid sometimes, I could kill you!" Armand shouted, flinging 
his hands up in disgust.
 
"Not on your best day, Armand." Lestat said with a snort.
 
Armand gave him a venomous look. "David wasn't going to leave you there to 
seek shelter for himself, and neither was Marius.  No matter what you think 
of me, I wouldn't have left you either.  I know you don't care about me, but 
did you want either of them to be hurt because of you?  Did you?  Could you 
have lived with that?"
 
Lestat did not answer him.  He said only, "It was still a dirty little trick 
Armand.  But that's your specialty, isn't it?"
 
Armand looked at him for a moment, then ran a small white hand through the 
tangled mass of curls that framed his face. 
 
"I'm tired of fighting with you Lestat.  I'm hungry.  I'm going to get 
dressed and then get something to eat.  
 
"Let me know what the plan is, will you David?"  Armand crossed to where 
David leaned against the dresser, and gently tugged the sleeve of his robe.  
"I know you won't let that idiot make any plans.  We'd all end up dead, or 
at best, in the hands of the human authorities."  
 
Armand shooed David away from the dresser, gathered up a few things and made 
his way to the bathroom, not giving Lestat another glance.  As the bathroom 
door closed sharply, Lestat said, "You really should take him in hand Marius, 
before somebody squashes him like the little insect he is."
 
"Lestat, please." Marius said with long suffering patience.  "Why don't you 
and David go and get something to eat and meet us back here.  Then we'll 
decide on a plan of action, once everyone's calmer."
 
"Yes, Father." Lestat said in a nasty, smarmy voice.
 
"Lestat!"  David was appalled.
 
"Oh shut up David." Lestat snapped.
 
David winced at the angry glance Lestat turned on him, and moved to look out 
of the window so he wouldn't have to see it.
 
He's not angry with me, David tried to convince himself.  He's just angry.  
And upset.  And afraid.  He doesn't hate me for being here, and not being 
Louis.  I know he doesn't.
 
Armand was suddenly beside him, resplendent in black silk, his small fine 
boned hand nestled in the folds of David's robe where it crossed his chest.
 
"Hunt with me, Talamasca." he said softly, the corners of his mouth turning 
up slightly to make the request a gentle tease.  "I want to watch you."
 
"No." Lestat said turning from the clothes he'd been ransacking.  "You really 
push your luck, Armand.  Stay away from David.  I give you fair warning.  
Ignore it at your peril."
 
Armand ignored Lestat, continuing to gaze up at David, waiting for his 
response.
 
David removed the small white hand, which had wormed its way beneath the 
edges of his robe to rest against his flesh, giving it a gentle squeeze 
before releasing it.
 
"I'll stay with Lestat, Armand." David said, hoping not to offend.
 
"I don't need a babysitter, David."  Lestat stormed across the room to the 
bathroom, pausing to add, "If you're in such a big hurry, Armand, why don't 
you use the window," and slammed the bathroom door behind him.  David sighed.  
That door was not going to survive their stay in this room.
 
Armand gave the bathroom door a sour look, muttering, "Ingrate," as he 
crossed the room, exiting in the normal way.
 
David and Marius exchanged looks.  Marius laughed suddenly.  "I survive it 
by making myself scarce for long periods.  And they have enough sense to 
stay away from each other most of the time."
 
David laughed in response, grateful to Marius for lightening the mood, if
only for a moment.
 
"What should we do, Marius?"  David asked, reluctant to return to the problem 
at hand.  "I'm afraid I don't know where to begin."
 
"It's always best to begin at the beginning."  Marius responded gently.
 
"The *pension*?"
 
Marius nodded.  "I think we should make a better search of the surroundings.  
It may be all we can accomplish tonight.  We've wasted a good deal of time 
already, and neither you or Lestat have fed yet.  He needs to.  It will 
settle his nerves.
 
"Stay with him, David.  Don't let him go haring off after he feeds.  Get
him back here.  We should stay together as much as possible, at least until
we know what we're dealing with.  If you have any trouble getting him to
return here, call me, and I'll come immediately."
 
David nodded in agreement.  It was a relief to have another cool head to
talk things over with.
 
"I should go down and explain the number of extra guests to my friend, the
proprietress of this hotel."  David cast a anxious look at the bathroom
door.
 
"Not to worry." Marius said soothingly.  "I'll keep an eye on him while you
get dressed and speak to your friend.  I need to have a private word with
him anyway."
 
David started guiltily as Lestat opened the bathroom door.
 
"If you're not ready to go in five minutes, I'll go without you." Lestat
said to him, coldly.
 
David gathered up the clothes he'd selected, and hurried into the bathroom,
hearing Marius say as he closed the door, "Lestat, I want to have a word
with you."
 
David hurried through his toilette, dressing in haste.  He knew Lestat was
impatient to be off.  Every second not spent looking for Louis had to be 
agony for him.
 
In a relatively small amount of time he emerged from the bathroom only to
be pounced on by a tearful Lestat.
 
"I'm sorry, David.  Say you forgive me."
 
David look down at the tear-streaked face he loved so much.  "Forgive you
for what, Lestat?"
 
"For being so horrible to you.  It would serve me right if you left me
too."
 
"Lestat."  David hugged him tightly. "My friend, don't think such things.
Of course I wouldn't leave you.  I'll stay with you for as long as you want
me."
 
"I do love you, David.  I do.  It's just that Louis..."
 
"I know Lestat.  You don't have to explain to me."  He pulled back from
Lestat.  "Come on, we need to eat.  Come downstairs and let me introduce
you to Maria.  She's an old friend of mine, and owns this hotel.  I need to
make a few explanations to her, and then we can go."
 
He glanced at Marius, who nodded in silent agreement.
 
Lestat wiped at his face, rubbing away the faint red tracks of his tears,
saying angrily, "I've got to stop crying every two seconds, like some 
bloody child."
 
"Don't let that trouble you my dear fellow, you are among people who love
you, and you are understandably upset." David gently stroked Lestat's cheek
with the back of his hand.
 
As they crossed the room and made for the door, Lestat paused in front of
Marius.
 
"Straight back.  I promise."
 
Marius stood and gave Lestat a quick hug, before ushering them out the
door.  He came back into the room and sank down on the bed, running his
hands through his hair, the worry he had so carefully hidden now plain on
his face.

_________________________________________________________________________
 
SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 2: #4.1  (AUTHOR: Mick)
_________________________________________________________________________
 
Juliano entered the chamber to find Louis still asleep.  He settled himself
in the chair and waited, studying the stunning beauty lying so helpless
before him.  It was truly awful for anyone to be that beautiful.  Even in
sleep, with the ink black lashes resting softly against the gleaming
whiteness of his skin, and the velvety lids masking the emerald green eyes,
his was still a dangerous beauty, that kind that made for covetousness and
blood feuds.  No wonder Armand had wanted him so badly.
 
As if he couldn't help it Juliano moved to sit on the edge of the bed. 
With a tentative hand he gently lifted a few strands of hair back from
Louis's forehead, his fingers lingering for a moment in the glorious, silky
blackness.  As Juliano trailed his fingers down a satiny cheek, he felt
Louis stir.
 
Small frown lines appeared between the black wings of his brows and he
murmured something unintelligible.  Juliano was captivated.  He held his
breath as the sooty lashes began to flutter.  Suddenly, emerald green eyes
were piercing him like bright daggers.
 
Juliano rose hastily from the bed and moved to stand in the middle of the
room.
 
"Louis!"  Juliano boomed.  "I glad you're finally awake.  I've brought some
clothes for you.  Your old ones are ruined.  There's hot water in the basin
here for you to wash up.  I'm afraid this isn't a very nice room.  I don't
like it at all.  I'm going to have you stay in my antechamber.  It's much
nicer than this, and you'll have access to my private bath."
 
Juliano could hear that he was babbling, and cut himself off.  What had
gotten into him?  Here he was, acting like an idiot, mooning over this
frail, helpless creature like any stupid fledgling.  He really must get a
hold of himself and take charge.  How convincing would he be using the
threat of hurting Louis as a bargaining chip with Armand, if he couldn't
even keep from staring at him.
 
Juliano drew hauteur around him like a cloak, and peered down his regal
nose at Louis, who had moved to sit on the edge of the bed.  "When you're
changed, I'll take you to your new quarters.  I'll be just outside, so give
a shout when you're ready.  
 
"And Louis... mind the door."
 
With this final warning, Juliano left the room.  He paced the hall, hissing
at any of his priests who dared to approach him.  After a while, deciding he
had given Louis enough time to change, he reentered the room.   
 
Louis was breathtaking in the long robe of blood red silk, chased with gold
thread along the sleeves and hem.  The brilliant red lent the illusion of
color to his wan cheeks.  He turned at the sound of Juliano's entrance,
raking his fingers through the tangled black locks that tumbled around his
shoulders.
 
"Ah, forgive me, Louis.  I'll make sure there's a comb and brush in your
new quarters.  I never remember those little details.  I have others to do
that for me, but I didn't want any of them around you just yet.  We haven't
quite come to an understanding, have we?"  Juliano cut himself off before
he started to babble again.
 
Louis said nothing.  He looked even paler than he had the night before, and
the gentlemanly control he'd evidenced was wearing a bit thin.  Juliano 
realized Louis was more than a bit hungry.  He hadn't felt hunger that
keenly in a very long time, and the feeling, even filtered as it was
through another, had an almost pleasurable edge to it.  Juliano let Louis's
hunger flow though him for a moment, before shaking his head to clear his
thoughts.
 
Louis was turning out to be quite the distraction.  
 
"Come Louis, let me escort you to your new quarters.  As soon as we get you
settled, I'll send your dinner in."
 
With a few passes of his hands, and a silent incantation, Juliano removed
the spell from the door.  He watched Louis steel himself and gather his
courage before stepping across the threshold.  
 
Juliano led Louis down the long curving corridor toward his private
chambers, pointing out the items of interest along the way, particularly
the statues and other representations of himself as Memnoch the Devil.  
 
Juliano noticed after a while that Louis was not really listening to him. 
He was a bit annoyed him until he noticed that Louis was staring in
absorbed fascination at his surroundings.  Juliano took a peek into his
thoughts, and was amused at what he saw there.  Louis's mind was abuzz with
curiosity.  He wanted to go exploring, to examine the whole temple and 
discover it's secrets, to determine the age of the place and study some of 
the artifacts leftover from the previous occupants of the temple.  He had 
totally forgotten Juliano at his side, his hunger, and the fact that he was
a prisoner here.  
 
Juliano laughed to himself.  What a delight he was.  Louis was like a child
in his wonder at the things around him, and Juliano would have been quite
happy to lead him around the temple, watching him react to everything.
 
But here they were, already at the heavy, carved door to his private
chambers.  The complete tour would have to wait for another time.
 
As they entered the room, Louis seemed to recover his natural reserve.  He
moved quickly to the great hearth, to warm himself in front of the blazing
fire.
 
Juliano wandered around the room, pointing out the various amenities and
the improvements over the previous accommodations.  Louis was ignoring him
again.  He was staring blindly into the flames.  What did it take to hold
this creature's attention?  Juliano wondered in exasperation.  
 
When he peeked into Louis's mind this time, he was confronted with images
of fire.  The locations were different, to be sure, but every one was a
riot of flames, of things, and yes, people, burning.
 
Juliano watched him curiously for a moment and then caught the fleeting
thought, `I should just step into the flames, and end this.'  Alarm spread
through him.  That could not be allowed, not yet at any rate.  Juliano
hurriedly crossed the room and interposed himself between Louis and the
hearth.  As he led Louis away from the flames, he caught another image of
Louis stepping over the grate and lying down among the burning logs,
curling himself up into a ball as the fire burnt the flesh away from his
bones.
 
"You don't want that, Louis." Juliano said softly, rubbing his back through
the red silk of the robe.  He appealed to the raging curiosity he'd felt on
their way here.  "So many interesting things will happen soon, and you'd
miss them all.  Don't you want to know what will happen next?" 
 
"Why are you doing this?  Why have you brought me here?"  Louis asked him
urgently, turning on him and bringing up a slim, strong hand to grip
Juliano's arm.  The green eyes blazed at him, and Juliano found himself
remembering Louis in his arms as they rose from the burning *pension*, his
hair whipping in the wind, the pliant feel of his body, and the warm, 
tantalizingly human taste of his blood.  
 
A dizzying wave of lust crashed through Juliano.  He wanted this one!  He
had not thought it possible.  Armand had been the sole object of his
affections for hundreds of years.  But perhaps he could love the beautiful
Louis.   
 
 
And Louis would not need Juliano's pain to be satisfied.
 
"Oh, Armand.  You'd better get here soon or I shall keep him for myself."
Juliano groaned aloud, sliding his arms around a startled Louis.
 
Louis brought his arms up in front of him to keep Juliano from pressing
their bodies together.  Juliano laughed at his puny strength, and squeezed
Louis tighter.
 
"You've mentioned Armand a number of times." Louis said, talking fast. 
"What has he to do with all this?  Why do you think he would come for me?"
 
"I would come for you, if you were mine." Juliano whispered in Louis's ear.
 
Louis was struggling to get away from him when the door opened suddenly,
and Esteban came into the room.  Louis froze in his arms.  He went so still
that if Juliano hadn't felt the wild caroming of his heart we would have
sworn that Louis had transformed himself into a statue.  Juliano gave him a
reassuring squeeze, before turning to Esteban. 
 
"What is it now, Esteban."
 
Esteban regarded him cooly for a moment.  "Stop wasting time here, *Master*.  
We have work to do.  At least you do.  I'll entertain your pretty friend if 
you like," the last with a leer.
 
"Stay away from him Esteban."  Juliano struggled for control.  Esteban would 
not make him lose his temper again.  "I warn you."
 
Esteban strolled up to them, reaching to lift a stray lock of Louis's hair
from where it rested against the red silk.  Louis was the picture of calm,
but Juliano could feel the fine tremors that ran through him.  He scooted
Louis around behind his back, away from Esteban and was surprised to find
that Louis did not move away.
 
"Your little redhead is going to be jealous." Esteban sneered.  "How will
you explain this infatuation to him?  You know he doesn't like it when you
step out of line."
 
"He already knows Louis very well.  He won't mind him being here at all. 
As a matter of fact, he's coming because Louis is here."  Juliano looked
disdainfully at Esteban.  "If you try your tricks on Armand, he'll kill you
so fast you'll be dead before you realize it."
 
Esteban laughed uproariously.  "I know you're terrified of him boy, but
he'd better step lightly around me.  I won't stand for any nonsense from
him.  Although," Esteban mused, "I don't think that will be much of a
problem.  He didn't seem to be at all interested in the proceedings the
last time he was here.  I don't suppose it will be any different this time
around.
 
"You should face facts, Juliano.  You haven't managed to impress him so
far.  Maybe you should try a little harder."
 
Juliano's chest heaved as he fought for control.  Suddenly, he could feel
Louis's palms pressing against his back.  He concentrated on the feel of
the long elegant hands and his breathing slowed, calmed.
 
Esteban waited for a moment, a frown creasing his forehead as the expected
reaction did not come.
 
Juliano smiled at this.  Score one for him.
 
"We don't have time for this," Esteban said abruptly.  "Come along my beauty, 
your audience awaits."
 
Juliano smiled benignly at him, fully in control of himself for once.  "I'll 
come when I'm ready.  I won't be rushed, Esteban.  After all," Juliano 
laughed, "who's going to complain if I'm a little late?"
 
Esteban gave him a sour look.  "Remember you grinning fool, power must be
tended like the fire in that hearth.  If it's not stoked, it dies."  He
strode across the room to the door of Juliano's personal bedchamber.  "Your
followers call out for you Memnoch.  Answer, or loose them."
 
Louis stepped out from behind Juliano as the door closed behind Esteban.
 
"How did this happen Juliano?  How can a mortal treat you this way?  Surely
you can rid yourself of that despicable creature?"
 
"But I don't want to Louis."  He could not expect this soft spoken and
essentially gentle creature to understand what drove him.
 
"How can that be?  He taunts you and vilifies you, goading you into a blind
rage.  He mustn't be allowed to do that to you.  Who is he that he should
treat you with such impunity?"
 
"He has power, Louis, power that I need."
 
"He has power, yes.  But Juliano, you don't need that power.  You don't
need any of this."
 
"Yes I do."  Juliano whispered.  He was feeling a strange trembling inside,
as if at any moment he would begin to cry uncontrollably.  What was wrong
with him, what was Louis doing to him!
 
"No."  Louis's denial was firm.  "He has tricked you, somehow.  You *don't*
need this.  He has bound you here with the trappings of power.  He is
controlling you, playing on your fears and weaknesses.  He is a leech
Juliano.  He's using you, and you're letting him."
 
"Stop, Louis.  I don't want to hear this."
 
"But you must!  This is no place for our kind.  What have we to do with God
and the Devil anymore?  Those are mortal concerns, and we should leave them
to it, and not interfere.
 
"Let's leave this place.  You and I, together.  If Esteban tries to stop us
we'll kill him!"
 
Juliano stared at Louis in amazement.  He did not seem quite so gentle now.
 
What had happened to the pale frightened creature he had kidnapped?  Louis
seemed to blaze with an inner light.  His skin was so bright, it seemed to
sparkle and glimmer.  Juliano touched his cheek in wonder, half expecting
the shine to linger on his fingertips.
 
"You would go away with me, Louis?"  Juliano whispered.
 
"Yes, Juliano, yes!  Let's go.  Right now.  There's no one to stop us, not
if we are together."
 
Louis was touching him again.  Holding his hand tightly and stroking his
chest through the soft fabric of his robe.  Juliano's mind swam with images
of traveling the world with Louis at his side, showing the secret places
that he and Armand had discovered on their travels...
 
Armand.  
 
Armand was coming, and he had to be here, waiting.  He had to be ready to
show Armand how his power had increased, how strong he was now.  He needed
Esteban for that.
 
"I... I can't.  I need Esteban."  Juliano gave up his dream of peace with
those words.
 
_________________________________________________________________________
 
SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 2: #4.2  (AUTHOR: Mick)
_________________________________________________________________________
 
"You don't need Esteban!" Louis clutched at the front of Juliano's robes,
as if he would shake some sense into him.  "You hate and despise him, even
I can feel it.  You would kill him if you could."
 
"I would, but I honestly don't know if I could." Juliano admitted this to
Louis, and himself, for the very first time.
 
"Why?  What's stopping you?" Louis urged him. "You have power, Juliano,  
Power like no other of our kind that I've ever known."
 
"Stop, Louis.  Enough."  Juliano shook his head, trying to rid his ears of
the sound of that soft, insistent voice.
 
"Tell me, Juliano, what power does he hold over you?  Perhaps together we
can bring him down."
 
_Careful, my boy._  Esteban's voice rang in Juliano's mind. _He wants our
secrets for himself.  *He* wants the power.  You'll never keep your Armand
if you don't have the power to hold him to you._
 
Juliano pulled away from Louis's touch, a horrible suspicion deepening into
rage as Esteban's words sank in.
 
He slapped Louis, sending tumbling backwards over a chair.  He reached for
him, dragging him up to slap him twice more in quick succession.
 
Louis did not cower in fear.  He bore Juliano's fury with unflinching calm,
a bruise darkening his pale cheek.
 
Juliano shook him viciously, watching in satisfaction as his head snapped
back and forth.
 
"You want the secrets of my power." Juliano shouted.  "Then you'd kill me,
and have Armand to yourself.  Do you think I'm a fool!  Do you think I
don't know you're trying to seduce me with your beauty.
 
"Well it won't work Pointe du Lac!  You won't trick me like you did Armand.
Don't think I've forgotten how you hurt him.  You made him love you, then
cruelly drove him away.  I saw what you did to him.  You won't do that to
me.
 
"You're not as sweet as you pretend to be.  If anyone's a devil here it's
you.  Luring people with your green eyes and your soft voice.  I'll kill
you do you hear, before I let you trick me like that.
 
Louis looked at Juliano with a quiet dignity.  "Well kill me then, and be
done with it,"  he said, his voice resigned, but strong.
 
Louis was strangely composed.  The quiet dignity of the statement settled
the rage that was threatening to overwhelm Juliano's consciousness.  Louis
waited under Juliano's grip, unbowed and unafraid, though he looked death
in the eye.
 
Juliano released him.  He clasped his hands behind his back, and moved away
to the door of his bedchamber.  He had never stayed his hand this much. 
How was it possible for Louis to continually distract him, to turn his
thoughts toward escape, of all things!  Juliano would have to be on his
guard and hold fast against the lure of hope that Louis offered him.
 
"I must ready myself for tonight's gathering." Juliano said stiffly. 
 
"There are books here. I know you like to read, so please help yourself.  I
will send someone in shortly to feed you, so don't be shy.  No one else
will enter.  The body will have to stay in the room with you until later. 
I know that's distasteful, but I'm afraid it can't be helped.
 
"I didn't spell the door this time, but the threshold has been sealed
against you.  You won't get burned if you try it, but it will probably
knock you out."
 
Louis nodded to show he understood, but he had turned his back to Juliano,
and wouldn't look at him.  Instead he moved to the hearth and stared into
the fire, bringing his foot up to rest on the grate.  It was as if he was
all alone in the room.
 
Juliano regarded him quietly for a moment, wishing he could again snatch
Louis up and make off with him, and get them both as far away from this
place as he could.
 
"Louis..."
 
_Juliano?_
 
Juliano sighed heavily.  _I'm coming, Esteban._
 
He gave Louis one last look, and left the room.
 
               ____________________________________
 
 
As Juliano entered his private bedchamber, Esteban rose from his seat by
the fireplace.
 
"You certainly took your time boy."
 
"Why aren't you out there?  Do I have to do everything?"  Juliano snapped.
 
"They don't want me.  They want their beautiful Lord."  Esteban responded
patiently.
 
He watched as Juliano moved to the bed where the flowing robes selected for
this evening's gathering had been laid out.  Gold tonight, with the black
undertunic.  Juliano wore gold well.  
 
Esteban crossed to Juliano, staying his hand as he reached for the black
tunic.  "Not yet, my dear.  You didn't feed enough last night, and you've
wasted more power securing your guest in his new quarters.  You need a
boost before we begin tonight's festivities.
 
"And since you're going to feed again anyway, I want my treat first." 
Esteban waited for Juliano's nod, then he drew the ceremonial dagger from
the gilded scabbard at his waist.
 
"Strip." He whispered harshly.  Juliano turned away from him and removed
his clothing, his body trembling with suppressed rage and embarrassment. 
Esteban watched breathlessly as the gleaming preternatural flesh was
revealed to him.
 
He approached Juliano with the knife raised high, the edge bright in the
glow from the fire.  He hissed with silent laughter as Juliano closed his
eyes against the sight of the knife.
 
Esteban ran his hand over Juliano's naked form, searching for just the
right place to make the first strike.  He plunged the dagger in just above
Juliano's left breast, and just as quickly withdrew it, fastening his lips
to the wound, drinking down the fountaining blood.  
 
More strikes followed until Juliano was slick with spilled blood, and
swayed gently back and forth, weak from the loss. 
 
"Enough!" Juliano cried at last, and they struggled as Esteban tried to
plunge the dagger in again.
 
Esteban shook himself, and the haze of bloodlust and madness cleared from
his mind.  He wiped at the blood that smeared his mouth and chin, and
smiled contentedly at Juliano.
 
"Come boy, power awaits you."  He bared his throat, presenting the papery
skin and the bulging veins to Juliano.  Juliano hesitated, he always did,
but only for a moment.  Esteban laughed to himself.  The boy knew where
the secret of his power lay.   Finally, with a tortured gasp, he bent
to sink his teeth into Esteban's wrinkled flesh.
 
Esteban shivered as Juliano bit cruelly into his neck.  He ran his hands
over the fine, muscular, ever young body of his partner of a century of
worship and power, finally burying his fingers in the thick glossy curls,
tugging as the ecstacy of the furious pulling surged through his veins.
 
"Azahrahm give us your power," he crooned, pressing himself against Juliano's 
blood streaked form.
 
Azahrahm, the demon who had answered Esteban's summons centuries ago.
Azahrahm, who had demanded the finger bone from the tip of littlest finger
of Esteban's left hand.  The bone that was held at the center of the onyx
and blue lace agate amulet that, by magic and blood, bound Azahrahm to them
and they to him.  The Devil's Eye the faithful called it.
 
They were wrong about that.  It wasn't the Devil's eye, only Azahrahm's. 
But he and Juliano would soon be strong enough for the true Dark Lord to
notice them.  And then there would be no more hiding in the jungle.  Then
the world would see and be amazed.  And then, there would be rivers of
blood and oceans of pain.
 
Esteban laughed and stroked Juliano's hair.  This bright beauty had served
him well.  Esteban had been fortunate to find him.  He was like a child in
his simplicity.  And like a child, he was easily led.
 
Juliano thought his plots and schemes were secret.  Poor deluded fool.  He
had no idea his every thought was open to Esteban.  Juliano truly believed
*he* was the power here.
 
But Juliano had not made the covenant with the dark force that was Azahrahm.  
Esteban had done that, and he had built this little cult up from nothing and 
helped it to flourish for many years.  
 
But it hadn't been enough, it hadn't grown fast enough.  There weren't
enough followers to satisfy his or Azahrahm's thirst for blood and pain. 
They needed a lure.  And they had found one.  
 
Tall and strong he was, with pale luminous skin and thick dark ringlets that 
framed his sculpted face.  Best yet were the eyes that shone like golden 
disks, fringed by thick dark lashes.  What a beauty he was.  A bright, 
glowing, evil beauty.
 
A picture perfect devil.  
 
The worshipers flocked to him.  Their eyes feasted on him and they gloried
in his crazed savagery.  Oh yes, Juliano had worked out perfectly, and he
was easy to control.  It didn't take much to get him going.  The smallest
things set him off.  Esteban knew every one of them, and used them to his
advantage.  He would be even easier to handle once the little redhead
showed up.  In his eagerness to show off, he would do whatever Esteban
suggested.  
 
It was too bad he couldn't use the redhead somehow.  Now that one had a
capacity for evil that would have served Esteban well.  But he was not
malleable.  He was dangerous.  He understood power completely and was
accustomed to wielding it, accustomed to giving orders, not taking them. 
Esteban could not manipulate him the way he did Juliano.  If he ever became
truly interested in the cult, Esteban would have to kill him.  There
couldn't be two bosses here.
 
He felt his head reeling.  Now it was his turn to say enough.  
 
Of course, Juliano would not let go.  He never would.  Esteban snaked a
hand between them to grasp the Eye.  His fist began to glow red.  There was
a bright flash and Juliano was lying on the floor, gasping.  
 
Esteban settled himself on the floor with his back to the huge bed and 
gathered the dazed figure into his arms.  He held Juliano tightly as the 
first spasms tore through him.  The seizures would be bad tonight.  
Azahrahm warred with the vampire blood, and the older Juliano got the 
harder it was for Azahrahm's power to infuse him.  The pain was tremendous, 
but Juliano never complained.  He held the image of the redhead, that Armand, 
in his mind like a talisman, whispering his name over and over.  Juliano 
wanted the power so badly, wanted it to impress that little demon.  Nothing 
Juliano could ever do would impress Armand, but he didn't know that, and it 
was to Esteban's benefit that he never stopped trying.
 
And now Juliano had taken too much and Esteban, like a fool, lost in the
pleasure it gave him, had let him.  It was to be expected though.  Juliano
had been so difficult since the green eyed one had come.  Esteban had know
immediately that that one would be trouble.  Already, they were off their
routine.  The night was half over and they hadn't even begun the rituals
yet.  
 
Esteban sighed, and tried to look on the bright side.  Juliano would be in
a foul mood after this; that meant plenty of sacrifices.  Soon there would
be enough blood and pain for everyone.
 
"There, my precious."  Esteban crooned, rocking Juliano and stroking his 
shuddering body. "It will be over soon.  Your bath is all ready, and nice
and hot.  I'll bathe you myself."
 
"No." Juliano gasped.  "Don't want you."
 
"Now my dear, you know if I sent anyone else in you'd end up killing them.
What if it was that truculent little Mexican priest you're so fond of? 
You'd be upset for weeks if you accidently killed him.  No.  I'd better do
it.  You know how touchy you are right after, and I don't mind.  You can't
hurt me," Esteban kissed the top of Juliano's head through the curls, "I'm
used to it."
 
Juliano snarled and sobbed against Esteban's scrawny chest as another spasm
racked his body.  Esteban opened his mind and let Juliano's pain wash over
him.  He hissed in pleasure as the reflected agony seeped into his bones,
restoring him.  And around his neck, the Devil's Eye glowed a dull
throbbing red.

__________________________________________________________________________
 
SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 2: #5.1  (AUTHOR: Mick)
__________________________________________________________________________
 
The quartet finally made their way down the once lovely Avenida Grande,
Lestat ahead of everyone, restraining himself mightily and trying to keep a
normal pace, while the rest followed quickly behind.  The wreckage grew
more pronounced as they approached the center of last night's inferno.  
 
Part of a tumbled wall glowed in the street light, marked here and there 
with traces of soot from the fires.  David's eye slid across the expanse, 
noting the presence of a entire hand print, every line and curve of palm 
and splayed fingers captured in soot.  
 
As they moved on to the wreckage of the *pension* his gaze returned
involuntarily to the wall, his body slowing, turning and finally coming to
a stop, as the others continued on.  There was something else there,
something his highly trained mind recognized as out of place.  He retraced
his steps to the wall and bent to examine the strange marking that
appeared below the hand print.
 
"What is it, David?"  Marius asked quietly, approaching him from behind.
 
"I'm not quite sure."  Small frown lines appeared between the sable
brows.  David gestured at a strange pattern marked on the wall just below
the hand print.  "Have a look."
 
Marius knelt down beside David to get a closer look.  "This is interesting. 
A number of these symbols are very old.  I recognize a few here and
there, but they're not configured like anything I've seen before."
 
David nodded in silent agreement.  Some of the symbols were unknown to him
as well.  During his years with the Talamasca, he'd become familiar with  a
number of arcane scripts and sigillum.  The configuration of the symbols 
he did recognize and their presence inside a inverted triangle screamed 
"black-magic" to him.  The placing of the triangle inside a circle 
suggested it was a seal of some kind.  
 
"This is probably a personal device, used primarily for recognition 
purposes.  Look here, I'm certain that's a stylized "J".
 
"Why are you dawdling here?"  Lestat was suddenly beside them.  "We've got
to get organized, fan out and look for clues!"
 
"Calm down Lestat."  Marius said soothingly.  "We understand your
agitation, but it serves no useful purpose right now.  David has found
something.  It might be of importance."
 
"What, what is it?  Let me see it." Lestat pushed his way between them and
bent to study the mark. "This is what you're studying so closely?  It's
just scribble.  Some child playing with the bits of charcoal or one of
those gang youths marking their territory." 
 
"These are not just markings, Lestat." David assured him.  "Some of these
are occult symbols, the others, I'm not sure of but they're certainly not
the work of a child *or* a gang youth." 
 
"Graffiti is graffiti no matter what the origin."  Lestat sniffed.
 
"Don't be obtuse Lestat." David snapped, losing his patience.  "What if
this *is* important.  Someone might be trying to tell us something about
Louis's whereabouts, or who is responsible for his absence.  We can't just
ignore it.  It may turn out to be the only clue we have."
 
Armand quietly joined the group as Marius and David tried to convince
Lestat of the importance of the symbol.  They failed to notice Armand's
sudden stillness as his eyes lit on the markings, or the dawning 
of the horrible suspicion that spread slowly across his face.
 
Armand did not need to question the origins of the device.  He knew
it quite well.  He should, as he was the one who'd devised it, centuries
ago.  Devised it for a certain individual who'd developed a pathological
jealousy about Armand.  An individual who had been residing in Brazil for a
number of years.
 
Oh, please, Armand thought, please don't let *him* have anything to do with
this.  He started violently as Lestat exploded.
 
"Stop wasting time here!"  We must search the ruins of the *pension*. 
There may be something there to help us.  Markings on a wall have nothing
to do with Louis." 
 
David raked a hand through his hair pushing back the persistent lock that
constantly strayed onto his brow.  "I tell you Lestat I'm certain this has
something to do with Louis's disappearance.  Things like this don't just
"appear" for no reason.  There's too much power in them.  They usually are
a warning or signal of some kind.  I tried to tell you things were afoot
here."
 
"What have you gotten Louis mixed up in?"  Lestat said dangerously, stepping 
close to David.  "Does this have something to do with those books you brought 
home the other night, the "important" things Louis was reading up on the last 
time I saw him?"
 
"I'm afraid it might, Lestat." David said not looking at him, his own mind
flashing on the visit to Ramon at the Candomble sanctum.  Had they been
observed?  Had someone tracked them back to the *pension*?  He was still too 
new at all of this.  Ramon had warned him to be careful.  Perhaps in his 
he hadn't been careful enough.
 
"Damn it, David," Lestat said, giving David's shoulder a hard thump.  "You
know he can't protect himself.  How could you drag him into something 
dangerous." 
 
"Lestat," Marius interrupted.  "It's not fair of you to blame David."
 
"I'm not interested in fair, Marius.  I only want to find Louis."
 
"We must proceed carefully here, Lestat."  Marius continued, trying to head
off a disagreement between Lestat and David.  "We need to determine what
we're dealing with.  I hate to be blunt," he said lightly touching Lestat's
arm to draw his attention away from David, "but, if Louis is dead, the
`wasted time' won't matter.  If David is right, and this has something to
do with the Candomble fears of evil at work in this area, rash actions on
our part could do Louis more harm than good.
 
"Lestat," Marius said gently, "Louis has managed to keep himself alive and
intact for two centuries.  I believe he has rather a knack for it.  If he's
alive, I think he'll manage to keep himself that way until we can get to
him.  He will have no doubt that you will come for him."
 
Lestat looked suddenly pained.  "He has doubts.  I've made sure of that
lately."  His eyes darkened at the memory of the angry words exchanged
between them the night before.
 
"I was just hoping to find something to interest him."  David whispered 
suddenly, half to himself.
 
Lestat shot him a quick look, searching for an accusation.  Finding none,
he reined in his temper.  David had his own guilt to deal with.
 
"All right."  Lestat said trying for a measure of calm.  "You two `scholars' 
study this thing and see if it can tell us something.  Armand..." Lestat 
beckoned to Armand, but Armand did not seem to hear him. 
 
Armand's eyes were cast down, his arms wrapped tightly around him.  He was
as still as a statue, his red hair gleaming in the streetlight.  Against 
the black clothing he wore, his hands and face seemed disembodied, and
glowed like alabaster, lit from within.
 
"Armand!"  Lestat called again, sharply.
 
The brown eyes that lifted slowly and gazed at him were huge pools of dark
misery and, surprisingly, a little fear.  Lestat relented a little.  Very
few things in this world could agitate Armand.  He was one of those things, 
and Louis was another.  I have to remember that he loves Louis too, Lestat 
reminded himself.
 
"I love you both."  Armand whispered, picking up the thought.  "You believe 
that, don't you?"
 
"Yes.  I know you love us, in your own twisted little way."  Lestat sighed
heavily, moving to put an arm around Armand's shoulders.  "I'm not angry
anymore, really.  I just want you to show me where you found the clip."
 
They left David and Marius bent over the symbol on the wall, and picked
their way through the ruin of the *pension*, making a careful search of the
area where Armand had discovered the emerald clip the night before.  Lestat
sifted through the debris, dreading to see the sudden gleam of a cross
among the ashes.  He hated ashes.  They always reminded him of Claudia and
Paris.  He wrenched his mind away from those thoughts.  Claudia had haunted
him enough.  
 
He sat suddenly on a tumbled bit of marble fireplace, unable to stand
anymore, and covered his face, elbows resting on his knees.
 
"It's not here," he whispered from behind the filthy, soot covered hands.
 
"What's not here?"  Armand approached Lestat from the section he'd been
sifting through, unaware that they'd been looking for anything in
particular.
 
"He was wearing a platinum cross and chain.  If he was here..." Lestat
stopped for a moment before continuing, "if he had been reduced to
ashes it would still be here.  Although I suppose someone could have found
it and taken it."  His shoulders slumped dejectedly.
 
Armand sat beside him and took one of the large well made hands in his
small ones, stroking it, studying the faint tracery of veins as if they
held the secrets of the universe. "I don't believe he's dead," he spoke
quietly.  "I could always hear him.  I always kept track of where he was. 
I would have felt his passing," he continued, oblivious to the cruelty of
the remark. "Someone or something is shielding his presence.  We'll find
him Lestat.  I promise you Louis will be returned to you safely.  I will
bend my every skill, my every resource, toward that end."
 
Lestat stared at Armand.  This was no attempt to `humor' or calm him.  He
was no longer looking at a silent, fragile seeming `boy', with a face to
make the angels weep.  Here suddenly was the centuries old coven master, 
the architect of countless acts of ruthless evil, who could at times shock 
even Lestat.  Armand's was staring off into the night, his face cold and 
cruel, filled with a terrible, ruthless beauty and a fearful determination.
 
"You love him that much then?" Lestat asked.
 
"I love you more," Armand said ruefully, "though you've never believed it."
 
"You've never believed that I love you either." Lestat reminded him.  "So I
guess that makes us even."
 
Armand was quiet for a moment before continuing.  "I owe you a tremendous 
debt Lestat. You and Louis."
 
"A debt?" Lestat was baffled.
 
"Yes.  Allow me to explain."  Armand's eyes searched the tropical night for
a moment as if gathering strength before continuing.  "My mortal life was
pain and misery until Marius found me.  I learned my first lessons of love
from him, but I lost him, and love, for centuries.  
 
"I stopped feeling anything, and the absence of feeling was a dark abyss
growing larger and larger as the years passed.  If I had taken but one step 
toward it, it would have swallowed me whole.  I took up many tasks to
distract myself from that yawing pit, but it was always there, calling me
to come and end my pain.
 
"Then you swept into my life, clad in bright colors and filled with joy at
your new existence.  Like a laughing and vibrant hurricane you swept down
on me, scouring away the dross of centuries that threatened to drag me down."
 
"I thought you hated me for that.  You tried to kill me."  Lestat quirked
an eyebrow at him.
 
"I did hate you.  Even that was better than feeling nothing.  But, finally, 
I loved you too.  How could I not?  You freed me, made me alive again. 
Your light was so bright, I was dazzled.  For a while I couldn't see the
blackness that whispered my name.
 
"I would have died without you.  I was moving inexorably toward that end 
when you shook me awake with your boldness and your scorn for our way of
life under Les Innocents.  I tried to hate you but you were too magnificent, 
and even when you left me it was with love.  You gave me a purpose, and the 
hope that I would see you again.
 
"And Louis."  Armand made a little shrug, tossing the tousled curls
back from his face.  "What can I say about Louis?  I could have simply
watched him for centuries.  He was so beautiful, so *human*.  He came from
the new world, from a time so different than my own.  He suffered so, over
being what he was, and the killing he could not escape.  And he had so many
questions.  He would talk and talk and talk.  He always wanted to know
*why*.  I did my best to answer him, but he rejected my answers finally and
left me to find his own.  
 
"I've never met another of our kind like him.  In that way he is very like
you.  You both are unique."
 
Armand flashed a glance at Lestat.  "The fact that he could reduce you to
ruin also added to his appeal."
 
Lestat gave him a mock scowl.  Armand laughed softly.  The sound made
Lestat shiver and close his eyes, it was like the rustle of silk in a warm
breeze.  Armand laughing, for any reason, was a rare thing indeed.
 
"I'm trying to tell you something."  He was serious again.  "The debt I owe
you both," Armand continued, clasping Lestat's hand tighter, "is not that
you saved me from madness and despair, but that you taught me I could love
again.
 
"You see," he was suddenly anxious, turning to face Lestat on the marble
that was no colder than their flesh, "I didn't know before.  I couldn't
understand how it was between you and Louis.  How could I?  My heart was
just waking from centuries of sleep.
 
I didn't truly understand until I thought Daniel might die.  I broke a vow
that I had kept for 500 years so that he might live.  I would give my life,
Lestat, so that Daniel might live."
 
"Yes." Lestat said quietly in acknowledgement.
 
"My dark brother, my love," Armand said moving to embrace him.  "I promise
you we will find Louis.  I swear it to you."
 
Lestat returned the embrace, overwhelmed by this outpouring from the usually 
stoic Armand.  Fearing the surge of emotion threatening to consume them both, 
Lestat ran his hands suggestively along the small body, whispering through 
the red curls covering a shell-like ear, "Tell me little brother, would you 
leave your Daniel and come to me, if I told you I wanted you?"  He pulled 
away, giving Armand a vicious smile.
 
Armand looked at him solemnly.  Not a hint of amusement marred his composure.  
"Never.  Not even for you, Lestat."
 
"Well then," Lestat drawled, "it must be love."
 
Armand couldn't suppress a smile at this, and Lestat reached out and 
touched a small cherubic dimple with his fingertips.

___________________________________________________________________________
 
SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 2: #5.2  (AUTHOR: Mick)
___________________________________________________________________________
 
David and Marius finally rose from their study of the design marked on the
wall, and beheld the sight of Lestat and Armand seated side by side on a
chunk of marble, conversing quietly.  Armand turned suddenly to face Lestat
and after a moment, embraced him.  Lestat returned the embrace, whispering
in Armand's ear, his hands roaming over the slight boyish figure.  He
pulled away, and touched Armand's face with a gentle hand.
 
David stared at them, his face unreadable.  Marius, seeing the look, said,
"Don't try to understand them David.  You'll only give yourself a headache.  
Over the years we've all found that whenever Lestat and Armand start 
"interacting" it's best for everyone else to stay out of the way."
 
Lestat stood suddenly, slapping a hand to his forehead. "Armand!  The old 
woman!"  Armand stared at Lestat in confusion.  He had no idea why Lestat
was suddenly so excited.
 
"She said someone was with him.  She *heard* someone with him.  Whoever was
with him, *took* him, I'm sure of it.  Someone is hiding Louis from me,
just like you said."  Lestat was jubilant.  The quiet conversation had
calmed him, distracted him from his worries.  And like most things, when
you stopped looking for something, why, there it was right in front of you.
Last night's conversation with the old woman had appeared full blown in his
mind.  He could *hear* her say, `I thought the two of you were with him,
until you came up just now.'  He scooped Armand up and kissed him.  
 
Armand flushed and struggled in Lestat's arms, but Lestat never noticed. 
He bounded into the air still holding Armand and cleared the debris,
landing softly in front of a startled David and Marius.  David glanced
around hastily to see if anyone had noticed the display. 
 
"David," Lestat crowed, setting the squirming Armand on the ground.  "The
old woman, the one from last night.  She knows something.  She could tell 
us something.  We have to find her.  She invited us to stay with her didn't 
she?  Somewhere near here.  It shouldn't be too hard to find her."
 
"Not hard at all," David replied.  "I know exactly where she is."
 
"What!"  Lestat was momentarily speechless.  He stared at David in
amazement. "Why didn't you say something in the first place?  Didn't you
realize she might be able to tell us something, or does something as
mundane as talking to a nosy old lady escape the big brain of the
Talamasca?"  Lestat sneered, his temper getting the better of him. 
 
David held on to his own temper.  Tonight had been trying for everyone.
"I picked up the information from her mind last night while the two of you
were talking." He went on calmly.  "I thought we might need to talk to her,
though I didn't remember the part about her hearing something until you
mentioned it just now.  I was more concerned with you at the time, than
listening closely to an agitated old woman."
 
Lestat brushed off David's rationale, saying, "Let's go.  I want to see her
tonight."
 
"It's very late Lestat." Marius interjected.  "Perhaps we should go
tomorrow."
 
"No.  It's not that late.  We can't waste anymore time."  Lestat said,
pacing back and forth impatiently.
 
"At least let us return to the hotel so that you can change your clothes." 
Marius said calmly.  "You look rather wild, with your hair standing out at
odd angles and your face and clothing all streaked with soot.  You can't go
visiting like that."
 
"Very well," Lestat replied.  "But let's be quick about it.  Come on," he
said, snubbing David and tucking a companionable arm around Armand's waist, 
leading him away. "You're filthy too.  Maybe we can help each other get 
clean, hum?"
 
"Be serious, Lestat." Armand replied, though the dark flush creeping up
from the collar of his shirt belied the outward appearance of calm.
 
Lestat chuckled evilly. "I know you want to." Lestat whispered.  When that
did not elicit a response, he continued, "This Daniel must be quite a
prize.  Maybe I should get to know him better."
 
"Don't even think about it," Armand began furiously.
 
"Is that a dare?  Oh, tell me it's a dare Armand."  Lestat said, still
chuckling.  He took a look at the sputtering Armand and said soothingly, 
"Relax.  It was just a joke.  I couldn't resist.  You humorless types are 
just *so* easy."
 
They were still sparing as they disappeared from the light of the street
lamp.
 
Marius and David followed behind, moving at a slower pace. 
 
"I never thought Armand would be the one to calm him down, especially after
their altercation earlier this evening." David remarked.  "As long as I've
know Lestat and from what he's put down in all the histories he's 
recorded, they've always seemed to be at odds with one another."
 
Marius gave a small shrug.  "Despite his brashness and bad manners,
Lestat is a kind hearted creature.  He has always been so.  He reminds
himself that Armand's early life was a cruel and heinous one, and tries to
give him a measure of kindness and affection.  Armand makes that difficult
at times."  Marius smiled wryly. 
 
"Lestat collects strays, misfits, if you will," he continued.  His mother,
that mad violinist of his, Armand, Louis, that poor child, Claudia, you,
and even me."  David gave him a startled glance.  "Yes, even me."
 
"But how so?"  David could not comprehend how Marius could count himself
among a group of misfits.
 
Marius was quiet for a moment, lost in thought, before he answered.  
 
"In my household, when I was human, I was the blond haired, blue eyed
giant, the illegitimate son.  I towered over my smaller, darker brothers,
true Romans all.  My mother was a slave, you see.  
 
"Oh, make no mistake, I was much loved.  They pampered and spoiled me, for
I was strange and different to them, and my father had loved the Keltic
spirit in my mother, and could see it echoed in me.  My father's love saved
me.  It was his will that I be treated just like the others, and what my
father willed was always obeyed to the letter.
 
"I fooled myself for years, even after I was dead," this with a wry
chuckle,  "that I had been happy, that I belonged among them, that I fit
in.  But I became a traveler, taking myself away from home as often as
possible.  I lived my life in the midst of frenzied activity.  I cloaked
myself in knowledge so that I would have something to offer the society to
which I belonged.  The society the whole world looked to as the epitome of
law and reason.  I became the teller of tales, the authority on all matters
historic, and everything that made the Rome the colossus it was.  I raised
my voice at all the banquets and official Roman functions I attended
through out the world, proving to everyone and to myself that I was a true
Roman citizen.
 
"I turned away completely from the heritage of my mother's people, though
for all my posturing, the first Keltoi I met mistook me for one of his
kind, by my looks, and the way I moved.  `I am a Roman,' I said to him,
practically pounding my chest, `The son of a Roman Senator.'  
 
"That he should think me one of his own people offended me deeply.  What
could the Kelts offer me?  They were barbarians, compared to Rome.  A
people steeped in Earthlore and magic.  Magic!  It was ludicrous to me, I
was a man of science."  Marius gave a harsh bark of laughter.
 
"And then all my rules and laws of behavior and science were tossed away,
like chaff in the wind," Marius continued bitterly.  "I was made a vampire,
and immediately charged with the protection of those who created us all. 
And being ripped from all that I knew, being confronted with a new truth, I
willingly took that task upon myself in my pride and my desire for
knowledge at any cost.  Only I found I could not set it down again.  It
shaped my life.  It set limits on my existence, again marking me as
different, as one apart from my "brothers" in a very essential way.  
 
"You see, no one could know where Akasha and Enkil were kept.  I had to
guard myself at all times against revealing their whereabouts.  I had to
hide them, and finally myself as I became known to the others.  And in all
that time, I only trusted Pandora with the secret of their resting place. 
Only my beloved Pandora, until I heard Lestat calling for me.
 
"I had to go to him.  It was selfish of me, yes.  But I wanted him!  After 
almost two thousand years of servitude, I was weary.  I wanted something
vital and wildly spirited, to help me ease my burden.  Lestat was my
answer.  His very presence quickened me, and plans of escape leaped and
danced in my head.  I wanted to be free!"
 
Marius sighed heavily, remembering.  "But he wasn't ready yet.  And like a
sly and despicable thing, I planted the seed in him, the knowledge that I
loved him and wanted him to come back to me when he was ready, hoping
against hope that he could somehow free me from the prison my existence had
become.  And Lestat, with his unerring ability to wreak havoc wherever he
passes, did exactly that, almost destroying everything in the process.
 
"Lestat saw that we were outsiders, kindred spirits to him.  He saw that
each of us, Louis, Gabrielle and rest, were in pain, and in his extreme
egoism, and because he loved us, he decided he would make it go away,
whether we would or no."
 
David nodded in agreement.  "It's not quite...safe...to be loved by
Lestat."
 
Marius laughed softly, shaking off the sudden melancholy, and gave David a
warm smile.  "Ah, but who wants to be safe?"
 
David studied that smile, and was struck by the attractiveness of the being
at his side.  Attractiveness that stemmed not so much from the fine strong
features, the thick white hair streaked with gold, or the well built frame
of a man in the prime of his life.  Rather it was the serenity, and the
quiet strength that radiated from his deep blue eyes.  It was the measured
calm he brought to every situation.  David laughed at himself.  He supposed
there wasn't much that would upset someone whose seen the passage of two
thousand years.  What would it be like, he wondered, to be loved by such a
creature?  He pushed the thought away hastily, realizing that he was again 
staring unabashedly at Marius.
 
Marius bore the silent scrutiny with hidden amusement.  David had
neglected to shield his thoughts and Marius was rather flattered to be so
highly regarded by someone he respected as much as he did David.  David,
who had taken in all the secret pain Marius had been hoarding for a
millennia without protest or interruption, without judgement.
 
Marius found that he was delighted with Lestat's new child.  David was
turning out to be a excellent addition to their family.

__________________________________________________________________________

SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 2: Chapter 6  (AUTHOR: Susie)
__________________________________________________________________________



	This time, when the four of them returned to the hotel, David
and Marius at least were presentable enough to use the front door,
which was a nice change. Marius went upstairs to open the window
again for Lestat and Armand, and David stopped to chat pleasantly
with the owner, who was up very early doing accounts. Her name
was Maria; she was a beautiful older woman who kept the modest
stucco building neatly, and had owned it for many, many years.
David made sure that the bill had been lavishly paid, and he had her
send a message to Ramon, arranging for some additional security for
the room, and for the daytime. The little three-story building was
unobtrusive, and located among dozens of similar places, but it was
right in downtown Rio, and the chaos of the carnival worried him.
He had not felt very safe last night.

	"I'm so sorry all four of you are sharing that little room," she
apologized. "It's Carnival, and all the rest have been booked for
months. I suppose I could manage something if you wanted..."

	"No, Maria," David told her hastily, seeing that she meant
paying someone else to give up a room. He was anxious to create as
little notice as possible. "We're barely spending any time here. The
room is perfectly fine." And he didn't really want Lestat alone with
any one of them, especially Armand. "But I would be most
appreciative if you could deliver my message."

	She looked at him, too carefully, absently patting the waist
length braid of black hair streaked with gray, and he felt her small
power gently touching him. "I can protect your door, if you like," she
offered. "And you know there are wards on the building."

	David had seen them, and been both touched and worried.
Even here, the fear had spread. Even Maria, who had stopped her
practice of the Candomble ways long ago, was setting what small
wards she could.

	"Thank you," he said politely, about to refuse, and then he
changed his mind. He did not think it would help, but it couldn't
hurt, and he told her to set the protections half an hour after sunrise.
He kissed her hand as he took his leave, and she smiled, but he
could feel her fear as he went up the curving tiled staircase toward
their room.

	The shower was running as David came in, and Lestat's filthy
clothes were scattered across the wooden floor near his and David's
bed. Marius was resignedly picking them up.

	David realized he did not see Armand. He looked at the
closed bathroom door, startled. "Did they..." he asked Marius.

	Marius nodded, looked amused at David's expression.

	David just shook his head. He thought of wet auburn hair,
water running down alabaster skin, and then he realized the source
of the images was not his own mind, and he furiously shut them out.
_Really, Armand_, he sent as an afterthought. _Can we pay attention
to the issues at hand, please?_ And then he blocked, so he didn't
know if Armand had any answer for him.

	Marius sat down then, on the edge of his bed. He put one leg
up on it and clasped it with his arms. He looked very serious.
 "David, I need to talk to you for a minute," he said, "while
Lestat's not here."

	"All right," David said, and took the single, slightly rickety
chair.

	"Lestat is afraid Louis may have killed himself," Marius stated
simply. "I don't think he believes it, but I can hear it in him. Just for a
moment, and then he pushes it away." He looked up at David, clear
eyes searching. There was pain there. "Why does he think that,
David?"

	"Do you think Louis did?" David whispered, horrified. He had
not really considered the possibility. Or he had not let himself do so.

	"I think it's unlikely," Marius said gently. "He wouldn't do it
that way, not burning a whole building and endangering so many
mortals. That isn't like him. David, I don't want to pry, but I want to
be sure we are thinking of everything."

	David found himself acutely uncomfortable, but he did his
best to explain. "Lestat was still angry with Louis," he said. "About
everything. You know," he gestured. "He hadn't forgiven him, really,
for not making him again. All of that."

	"I remember," Marius said.

	"They kept fighting. Louis was...unhappy. Not just because of
Lestat. He was just miserable, and neither of us knew why. I tried to
talk to him. We both did, but it didn't help. He talked about..." David
paused, seeing Louis again in the hallway, looking away from him,
the dark hair hiding his face. "About going into the earth. "

	Marius looked keenly at him. "That would not surprise me," he
said, after a moment. "Louis never has, and that's very unusual. Save
Maharet, I don't know another of us who lived more than a hundred
years without doing that."

	"Would we know, if he did that?" David had wondered this
before. "He would still be *here*. Couldn't we hear him somehow?
You found Lestat that way."

	"Lestat called me." Marius looked past David, and he let David
see that he was thinking of when he himself had slept for decades in
the earth under Pompeii. "I don't know if we could find him, if he
didn't want us to. It's...well, it's very like dying."

	That worried David.

	"But it doesn't explain the fire," Marius added briskly, "or the
symbol, or why we would find the clip and not the cross. Or what
the old woman heard." He rose, and came over to put a hand on
David's shoulder, squeezing gently. "David, I believe what I've told
Lestat. I think it's likely someone was there, and that he's gone with
them. But if he was threatened, and as unhappy as you say, he might
still react that way, to protect himself, so I think we need to consider
it. I'm glad you told me, it helps me to understand a little better." And
he had asked, David realized, when he could have found the same
information by simply listening to Lestat's mind, or to David himself.

	Marius sat down again then, loosened his hair from its
ponytail and combed it out a bit with his fingers, shutting his eyes
briefly as he did so. He looked weary, for that one moment, and then
he put the elastic band back in again, and shook himself a little, the
neat controlled appearance restored.

	David realized he was staring again, and for something to do
he glanced over at the bathroom door, which was still shut.

	"I told Armand to delay him," Marius said, the hint of a smile in
his voice. "It's late, too late to do anything else, I'm afraid. I don't want
anyone stranded away from here, and Lestat's calmer, but he's still
not thinking straight."

	David agreed with him wholeheartedly. "I made some
arrangements," he said, and explained the security measures to
Marius.

	"That's useful to know," Marius said, and he seemed pleased.

	The bathroom door opened, leaking steam into the room, and
Lestat and Armand emerged, both with wet hair, but looking much
cleaner than before. "Hurry up, Armand," Lestat complained, moving
around him to get to the dresser. He was barefoot, but dressed in a
clean shirt and pants, and he shook his wet mane of hair back
impatiently. "We can't waste any more time."

	"Lestat, it's too late for that. " Marius said. "You can't go calling
on an old woman at five-thirty in the morning."

	Lestat looked dangerously at Marius, his light manner
suddenly absent. "I can do," he said, "whatever I like."

	Marius stared coolly back at him, and no one said anything for
a minute or two.  The silence lengthened, and David wondered what
was flying between Lestat and Marius; he tried not to move or do
anything at all to disturb them. Armand, wrapped in one of the black
silk robes, stayed still as well, like a small shadow by the door, an
oddly haunted expression on his face.

	But Lestat finally banged the dresser drawer shut and turned
away from Marius. He looked close to tears.

	Marius got up and went over to Armand, who was standing
by the window. Armand had been uncharacteristically quiet, and
except for the images from the shower, he had left David alone,
which actually seemed odd, since he had been teasing David at
every opportunity before. Marius said something to him, too low for
David to hear, and they spoke quietly for a few minutes.

	Lestat, by the dresser, stayed with his back to David as he
changed from his shirt and pants into a robe as well. When he turned
around, his eyes were a little wet. "We're wasting time," he repeated,
though his voice lacked passion now. "This is taking too long. The
longer he's gone, the more dangerous it gets."

	"I know," David said. He could not think of anything better.

	Armand left the window, blinking a little at the light that was
beginning to come through it, and climbed into bed, pulling the
roughly woven blue and cream blanket over him; not from cold it
seemed, but from a need to have something protecting him.

	Marius looked down at him, a little strangely, then turned and
gathered his things, heading for the bathroom himself. There was soot
on the back of his red shirt. He stopped to lay a hand lightly on
Lestat's shoulder, and then he shut the door behind him.

	David shook his head. "Let's go to sleep, Lestat," he said.

    __________________________________________________________________________
    
    SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 2: Chapter 7  (AUTHOR: Susie)
    __________________________________________________________________________
    
    
    	Marius and Armand were walking down the Avenida de las
    Flores, surrounded by the Carnival crowds. It was only a little after
    sunset.
    
    	This time, as they were getting up, Marius had remarked to
    Lestat rather pointedly that they could get moving more quickly if no
    one stopped to fight. Lestat had glared at him, but they had all four
    gotten out the door without any further difficulty. Lestat and David
    had gone to call on the old lady from the pension, and Marius and
    Armand had set out to find out what they could about the strange
    symbol.
    
    	"I want to hunt," Armand said, eyeing the passing figures. "I
    can meet you, Marius, I'll only be a little while."
    
    	Marius frowned. He found himself reluctant to let Armand out
    of his sight, even for a little while; they still had no idea what they
    were dealing with. Armand was far more able to defend himself than
    Louis, of course, but Marius saw no reason to take unnecessary risks.
    
    	"I'll wait, Armand," he replied.
    
    	"Never mind then, I'll do it later," Armand muttered. He
    seemed moody and out of sorts, which was unusual for Armand. 
    And if that was how he seemed, it was not likely to be how he
    actually was. Marius shook his head. He still found it painful
    sometimes, what Armand had become; he was still sorry for his
    mistake, though he knew it didn't make any difference now.
    
    	"Are you sure?" Marius asked. Maybe Armand needed to hunt,
    though he did not look hungry enough for that to be what was
    bothering him. Maybe it was Marius himself who needed to; flying
    took a great deal of effort, and it always unsettled him.
    
    	Marius did not hunt often; he needed the blood only rarely
    now. He went out only infrequently, and killed even less often, but
    he did still feel hunger for blood. He suspected that it was part of
    what kept him more human than the other Old Ones; he knew Lestat
    still hunted most nights and he had a feeling this was true for Lestat as
    well. But right now he did not want to spend time on it.
    
    	"Yes, come on." Armand started walking again.
    
    	Marius looked at him, but he could not read anything from the
    small perfect features. Because he had made Armand, Armand's mind
    was closed to him; he was both blind and impervious to Armand's
    telepathic maneuverings. He supposed the impervious part was
    useful, although Armand had never needed telepathy to manipulate
    Marius. But it was sometimes extremely frustrating to be unable to
    read him at all. Armand was acting strangely and Marius had no idea
    why.
    
    	He let it go, for now. "All right," he told Armand simply.
    
    	Armand remained quiet as they kept going through downtown
    Rio. Marius was struck by the wildly mismatched buildings. Low,
    stucco buildings painted pastel colors, with corrugated tin roofs and
    overly-garish lighted signs that jutted far into the street, were mingled
    with tall modern skyscrapers and ornate Spanish colonial edifices. He
    wondered where they ought to begin. Actually, he would not have
    minded having David with him; David was the one who knew about
    the Brazilian occult, not to mention what he knew from the
    Talamasca. Marius had never been to Brazil, nor had Armand as far
    as he knew.
    
    	"Let's try here," he said, and nodded toward a bar on the
    bottom floor of a large arched building, which seemed to have a
    number of foreigners among its clientele. With Armand's red hair and
    pale skin, and Marius' own white-blond hair and noticeable height,
    they were not going to pass for natives. Marius was fluent in almost
    thirty languages, both ancient and modern. Unfortunately,
    Portuguese wasn't one of them.
    
    	"Have you ever been here before, to Rio?" he asked Armand,
    as they made their way to the bar.
    
    	"To Rio?" Armand looked up at him as he slid onto the only
    empty barstool. "No."
    
    	Marius leaned on the bar and asked for two beers. The place
    was crowded, most of the people packed into it very young. He had
    worn jeans and a simple red shirt; he had wanted to look as ordinary
    as possible, and he had prevailed upon Armand to dress similarly.
    Now he was glad of it.
    
    	"Mmmm," Armand said, as a young man brought Marius the
    beer; he had soft curly hair and golden skin. He was delicately, finely
    built, and his eyes were so dark they seemed black.
    
    	Marius sighed, pouring one of the beers into a glass. He set it
    in front of Armand and said. "Find someone who actually lives here."
    
    	There weren't many. Marius scanned to either side, but found
    only a girl from France, a couple from San Francisco, and three young
    men from Denmark. 
    
    	"He does," Armand said, grinning, and indicated the
    bartender. Marius had been avoiding that, because there were lines
    of people ordering drinks, but he relented. "All right," he said, and put
    a hand lightly on Armand's back. "I'll do it. See who else you can
    find."
    
    	Armand snickered, but got off the bar stool and let Marius sit
    down, then like a phantom was no longer there. Marius emptied his
    beer into one of the dirty glasses next to him with the deftness of long
    practice, and pushed his empty glass and bottle forward as he caught
    the young man's attention.
    
    	He asked for another round; when the young bartender
    returned, he pushed a very generous tip forward and explained that
    he was a university professor studying South American history. He
    turned over the little cardboard coaster that his drink had come on,
    took a ballpoint pen out of his pocket and drew the symbol they had
    seen on the pension wall.
    
    	The young bartender looked at it, and looked back at Marius.
    "You're American?" he asked. He had interrupted Marius' attempt at
    Portuguese, amused; his English was almost unaccented.
    
    	Marius was momentarily taken aback. It had been quite some
    time since someone had casually asked him his nationality, and he
    realized he was not really sure of the answer. He sounded American
    when he spoke English, because that was where he had learned it,
    from the televisions and radios in his Alaskan hideaway, and the rare
    times he had ventured into the great cities.
    
    	He had told Lestat, two hundred years ago, that he wanted to
    live a human lifetime again. To walk city streets and take a name, to
    do things. But he had not done that; instead he had only watched.
    He had guarded Those Who Must Be Kept, and he had spent his
    time surrounded mostly by ice, in a fortress without real nationality or
    even companionship, knowing that to keep them hidden was more
    important than whatever he might have wanted to do.
    
    	Marius did not know where he was from, any more.
    
    	"Yes," he said at last, "I'm from Miami."
    
    	"I thought so." The young man smiled warmly, and then his
    expression changed a bit as Armand suddenly materialized, and slid
    an arm around Marius' waist. Marius shot a nasty look at Armand,
    and said, "I know I speak terrible Portuguese. Have you seen that symbol
    before?"
    
    	"I think you're wasting your time with that. Probably just that
    New Age stuff a lot of people are into. I'm at the university here, some
    of the people I hang out with are really psyched about it. Crystals and
    auras, that kind of thing."
    
    	Marius touched the boy's mind lightly, as one of the other
    bartenders, a tall woman, was yelling at him to "get off his butt," in
    Portuguese, a sentiment which wasn't really in need of translation.
    He found little more than the boy had told him, although the boy
    actually had seen the symbol before, at a friend's house, and he
    associated it with black magic. But this young man did not believe in
    black magic. He watched American movies starring Arnold
    Schwarzenegger, and played war games over the university computer
    network, and right now he was thinking only of his tips for the night,
    and whether it would have been possible to seduce a rich American
    university professor who was pretty amazingly good-looking for an
    older guy.
    
    	Marius was amused, although not enlightened.
    
    	"I gotta go, man." The boy cast a glance over his shoulder.
    
    	"Thank you," Marius said. He got up and pulled Armand with
    him.
    
    	Armand was grinning. "You had better let me do the next one,"
    he said. He had not let go of Marius. "I think you're rusty at this."
    
    	Marius scowled at him as they fought their way out the door.
    He started to turn away, meaning to ignore Armand, but then before
    he could think better of it, he turned and caught Armand up close to
    him, holding him so that Armand's full length was pressed tight
    against him as they stood in the heat of the crowded street.
    
    	"Rusty?" he breathed, leaning down from his greater height
    and darting his tongue into Armand's ear until he felt Armand shiver
    against him. Marius bit his own tongue then, very slightly. He seized
    Armand's chin and tilted his face up, slid his other hand deep into the
    auburn hair and then all the way down Armand's back, until he
    reached the delicate curve of the spine. He pulled Armand up against
    him again, roughly enough that Armand would not be able to mistake
    Marius' strength.
    
    	Armand's eyes flashed fire at him, but his body told a different
    story, leaning hard into Marius' embrace. And then Marius kissed
    him, his mouth on those velvety lips, and his tongue seeking between
    them, and the few tiny drops of his own blood spilled into Armand's
    mouth. Armand responded as if without thought, passionate and
    hungry, drinking in the taste and the power.
    
    	Marius released him, though not without kissing him again as
    he drew back, delicately and regretfully. He started walking again,
    and tried to run a hand through his hair. He had forgotten that he'd
    put it in a ponytail, and only succeeded in messing it up. A fine
    example for him to set! He had told them all not to waste any more
    time, and he knew that it was his responsibility to remain in control.
    
    	Armand made him crazy, Marius thought ruefully. But he had
    already admitted that to himself, and it didn't really help to think 
    it again.
    
    	He at least had the satisfaction of watching Armand need a
    moment to compose himself, blinking and running his tongue
    absently once more across his pale coral lips. He did not look at 
    Marius, but away from him.
    
    	Marius had recovered his own composure, and turned back
    to the matter at hand. "How long is this Carnival?" he asked Armand,
    looking around in some frustration at the masses of people who
    choked every available inch of the sidewalk. They were spilling into
    the street, which was jammed with cars where it hadn't been
    cordoned off.
    
    	"A week," Armand said, still a little absently. Marius nodded,
    wondering briefly how Armand had known that.
    
    	Then he stopped walking, catching Armand's arm so that
    Armand had to stop too. The crowd eddied around them. Armand
    looked curiously at him. "What is it?"
    
    	"I need something to write with," Marius said. He did not like
    employing his mental powers on a large scale, but they were running
    out of time, and he had lost patience with talking to people one by
    one. It was too slow. He had spent last night trying to calm Lestat, but
    he too knew that speed was desperately important.
    
    	He looked around, spotted several young women on a
    second-floor balcony, making a banner under their porchlight. There
    were cans of paint around them.
    
    	"Get one of those cans of paint, and a brush," he told Armand.
    
    	Armand looked as if he really did not want to do that, but
    finally he slinked over to the building, and was back in moments with
    black paint and a big wide nylon brush. The girls had not even
    looked up.
    
    	"Perfect," Marius was pleased. "Now, make sure no one looks
    at me, all right? Everyone walking past is just going to happen to look
    elsewhere. You can do that, can't you?"
    
    	Armand stared at the crowd."Yes," he admitted. "But there are
    a lot of them. Not for very long."
    
    	"I only need a second. Do it now." Marius took the brush and
    paint, and chose the stucco building nearest them, a sort of seedy
    looking store that advertised "ROPA AMERICAN!" He crouched in
    front of a low section of blank wall, and started painting a large
    version of the symbol on it. And for just a moment Marius thought of
    painting frescoes in Venice. Kneeling with a paintbrush in front of a
    wall, with Armand watching him; once they had been so happy that
    way. He had not known love like that, since then. He had not even
    painted anything in two hundred years.
    
    	Marius finished it and moved, phantom-like also for a
    moment, to stow the paint and brush in a nearby alley, and was back
    next to Armand. "There, was that fast enough?" he asked.
    
    	Armand sighed. He seemed apprehensive. "Why didn't you
    just write, "Hi, here we are, please come kill us?" he said, but his heart
    didn't seem to be in the sarcasm.
    
    	Marius patted his shoulder. "We'll scratch it out in a second,"
    he said, reassuring. "We won't leave it there. Now, we look for
    anyone who recognizes it."
    
    	It was not a long wait, nor did it even really require Marius and
    Armand's mental powers. Almost everyone who walked by reacted
    visibly to the symbol. Many crossed themselves, especially if they
    were old; a few of the younger ones looked curiously at it, then
    stopped to scan the surrounding area closely. Only non-Brazilians
    seemed to be indifferent.
    
    	"They *all* know it," Marius whispered, incredulous. He
    touched several minds, and gathered a mixture of impressions.
    _Satanic_,he caught, from a frightened old lady, and _the devil
    worshipers! the jungle cult!_ from another. From one of the black
    clad, tattooed young men who had stopped to look at it, he heard
    _His sign! But where are the messages?_
    
    	Marius pushed harder with this one. Images of a place of dark
    worship deep below the city, small and squalid. Blood on the slimy
    stone floor, and rats, dead rats, their heads cut cleanly off so the
    blood would flow easily. Symbols on the floor, painted in the rats'
    blood. And he saw this symbol among them, and he heard the name
    of the devil they worshiped, the drug-runners and the college kids
    with their pierced nipples and dyed black hair.
    
    	Memnoch.
    
    	"Armand," he said softly. "Memnoch. Do you know what that
    means?" The man was gone down the street now.
    
    	Armand looked up at him, brown eyes deep and shining.
    "No."
    
    	Marius was troubled. So many of them! Was devil-worship
    really rampant here? And did it have anything to do with Louis, or
    had the cult simply claimed a burnt and broken building?
    
    	Then his attention was caught by an older man who was
    casting furtive glances at the wall. He was running a tamale stand,
    cooking them over a three-legged brazier that glowed orange in the
    darkness, and keeping the hot ones warm in a little clay pot. The light
    flickered on his lined face, and then his keen eyes met Marius', all the
    way across the crowded sidewalk.
    
    	Marius was startled. He touched the man's mind... and met
    resistance. That was rare in a mortal. He tried to push past it, and
    astonished, found he could not. It was like trying to read Armand, that
    same absolute blankness.
    
    	"Armand!" he whispered urgently. "Can you read him?
    Armand looked over and realized who he meant. A look of pain
    crossed his face; he bit his lip.
    
    	"You can't either?" It was a moment before Armand nodded.
    
    	That was impossible. There should not be any way a mortal
    could block them out, unless he had a great deal of mental power,
    and training such as the Talamasca or other rigorous mental
    discipline provided.
    
    	_David_ Marius called silently. _David, we need your help._
    
    __________________________________________________________________________
     
    SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 2: Chapter 8.1  (AUTHOR: Mick)
    __________________________________________________________________________
    
    David and Lestat quickly traversed the soft, tropical night, arriving in a
    matter of moments at the house David had seen in the old woman's mind. 
    A sharp knock on the door brought a quick response. 
    
    As they were shown into the foyer David registered a moment of surprise,
    recognizing the old Senora's brother as the owner of the burned *pension*.
    
    The man was bowing profusely, mumbling "Such a tragedy" and, "My
    family is at your disposal in your time of trouble," as he led them into
    a small sitting room.
    
    The old woman was seated, but rose and moved to embrace them as they
    entered the room.  "Ah, my young gentlemen," she exclaimed.   "I was
    surprised to receive your call.  Tell me what I might do for you.  You
    have only to ask."
    
    She led then into the sitting room gesturing toward a small sofa, and
    settled herself in a high backed arm chair.
    
    Instead of taking a place beside David on the sofa, Lestat settled himself
    on the floor at her feet, his back resting against the chair.  He laid his
    head against her bony knee and closed his eyes.  She didn't seem the least
    surprised by his actions.  She simply reached out her small, frail hand to
    smooth his shining hair.  "May I offer you some refreshment?  It is a very
    warm night."
    
    David covered his astonishment at Lestat's actions by answering her
    question. "No thank you, good lady.  We will try to take as little of your
    time as possible.   There is, however, something you can do for us.  You
    see, I remembered your telling my friend," he nodded in Lestat's
    direction, "that you'd heard something.  Sounds coming from my cousin's
    room."  The lie of kinship flowed smoothly from David's lips.  "Would
    you mind terribly, telling us what you heard?"
    
    "Ah," she said, fixing David with a soft look, "you were of the same
    blood.  Yes.  You seemed much alike, the two of you, with your books
    and your quiet ways."  
    
    David flinched at her words, his eyes on Lestat, but Lestat remained
    motionless, his eyes closed.
    
    She sighed heavily, her eyes on the golden head resting against her knee. 
    "Of course I will tell you what I heard."
    
    "There *were* sounds,"  she continued.  "My brother said I imagined it,
    but I heard them.  I thought it was strange, because your friend, your
    cousin," she corrected herself, "was so quiet, not like most young men
    who must at times express themselves with shouts and noise.  But there
    *were* shouts, and the sounds of things falling, glass breaking."   She
    nodded to herself, remembering.  "Someone was with him, I know it.  I
    told the police but they would not listen.  You see, my brother had
    already told them there was no one there."  She shrugged, "I am an old
    woman.  The police do not listen to the old.  They think we are like
    children.  I am not a child. I know what I hear." Her voice was firm in her
    conviction.  "There was someone there."
    
    She continued hesitantly, her hand stroking Lestat's hair, "The police said
    they found no trace of your cousin.  Perhaps he left with this person."  
    
    "That is our hope as well, Senora."  David replied.
    
    "Of course now they think he may have burnt the place down, and is
    afraid to show himself." she said wryly.
    
    David could see the edge of a smile appear on Lestat's lips.
    
    "Your brother, Senora, why is he so certain there was no one with my
    Louis?"  Lestat interrupted suddenly, twisting his long lean frame to look
    up at her, never noticing the slip that revealed Louis's name.
    
    David was struck suddenly by the fact that he knew the answer to this
    question and Lestat did not.  He keenly felt the loss of the mind to mind
    communication he had shared with Lestat during his years as a mortal.
    
    The old woman touched Lestat's cheek gently, moved by the hope she saw
    blazing from his brilliant eyes.  "It was his establishment, the *pension*. 
    He manned the desk every night.  He said he would have known if anyone had
    come to see your friend, Louis, I believe you said."
    
    "Could it have been someone else staying at the *pension*?"  David asked
    hastily, hoping to distract her from Lestat's slip.
    
    "No." She shook her head slowly.  "Aside from your cousin, everyone
    was accounted for, once the two of you arrived.  My brother said that all
    the other guests, aside from Papa and myself, had gone out."
    
    "You say your brother owned the *pension*?" Lestat spoke again, still
    looking up at her.
    
    She returned her gaze to him.  "Yes.  It was he who let you in.  This is
    his home.  Papa and I are not wealthy, as he is," she shrugged
    self-deprecatingly.   "He let us stay at the *pension* during the carnival,
    even though he lost his fee for the rooms.  We are most grateful to him. 
    It was the only way for us to attend the ceremonies.  The cost of the bus
    ride took all the money we had, and there was no room for us here."
    
    David raised his eyebrows at the last statement.  This house appeared to be
    quite large.  There should have be plenty of room for a tiny old woman and
    her husband.
    
    "Why didn't you stay here in the first place, Senora?" Lestat asked.
    
    "My brother's wife is a very busy, very important.  We would have been in
    the way here.  She has many guests, many parties to give.  The *pension* 
    was the best place for us to stay, so as not to disturb anyone."
    A thoughtful look crept into Lestat's eyes.  He rose suddenly, and taking 
    the old woman's fragile hands in his own, he gently helped her to her feet.
    
    "We must be going, Senora," he said bowing over her hands, kissing them one
    after the other. "Thank you for receiving us at such a late hour.  I'm
    afraid the day simply got away from us."  He smiled sweetly at her,
    raising one of the gnarled hands to his heart.  "Your kindness overwhelms
    us, and shall not be forgotten."
    
    The old woman blushed at this display, saying, "I thought you a bit of a
    rascal Senor, but when it suits you, you have the manners of a young
    prince.  Though I don't suppose that makes you any less the rascal."
    
    Lestat laughed softly.  "As you say, Senora, I am indeed a rascal."  He 
    kissed her wrinkled forehead through the springy grey curls that rested
    there.
    
    She blushed again, disentangled her hands from Lestat's and moved toward
    David.   "If I can be of any further assistance, even if it is just to
    talk, please  come to me, no matter what the hour.  I am old," she smiled,
    giving a small shrug, "I do not require much sleep.  These days, I find
    myself awake for the better part of the night.  I find I like the night.  
    It has its own special appeal."
    
    David took her extended hand and bowed quickly over it, hiding the
    flicker of the grin which threatened to escape him at the irony of her
    words.
    
    Lestat reached to open the heavy carved door, and they stepped into the
    foyer practically colliding with the brother, who had been lurking in the
    hall.  He bowed and scraped as he ushered them to the door. 
    
    Lestat extended his hand. "Thank you for your hospitality, Senor.  You have
    been most kind."  
    
    As the man reached out and took the extended hand, Lestat drew him closer
    and fixed him with a steely glare, penetrating his thoughts, rifling
    through his mind, searching for images of the evening of the fire.  
    
    Through the man's mind Lestat saw a finely dressed man, a "gentleman", 
    cultured and smooth.  He saw the dazzling smile and the thick curling dark
    hair, the sculpted features surrounding the roman nose, the golden, glowing
    eyes like those of a sleepy lion, and the pale luminous skin that screamed
    vampire. 
    
    The mysterious vampire had asked to see Monsieur de Pointe du Lac.  The
    *pensioner* was confused, there was no Monsieur de Pointe du Lac at his
    *pension*, but suddenly he knew the stranger meant the wealthy young Senor
    with the black hair and green eyes.
    
    The *pensioner* had told the stranger that the Senor and his companions had
    paid handsomely to insure their privacy.  One of their stipulations was
    that no one was to disturb them.  There were to be no visitors unless they
    themselves brought them home.  The *pensioner* had rubbed his fingers
    together suggestively.  The stranger had smiled at him and handed over a
    thick pile of brightly colored bills.  The *pensioner* returned the smile,
    thinking that his wife need never know of this little transaction, and of 
    a lovely young Senorita who would be most grateful for the gifts he would
    bring her, thanks to this unexpected windfall.
    
    Lestat blinked, pulling himself from the man's thoughts.  Then, narrowing
    his eyes, he fixed him with a long, slow smile.  _I shall be seeing you
    again, Senor._   He sent the thought directly into the man's mind, pulling
    his lips back just enough to expose the extra length of his fang teeth.  He
    smiled to himself as he felt the man's heart skip several beats.
    
    The man blanched, and tried to pull his hand from Lestat's.  A moment
    before the tugging became frantic Lestat released him, and the *pensioner*,
    babbling incoherently, hustled them out the door and onto the darkened
    street.  The sound of locks turning and bolts being slammed home echoed in
    the darkness.
    
    __________________________________________________________________________
     
    SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 2: Chapter 8.2  (AUTHOR: Mick)
    __________________________________________________________________________
    
    Lestat pulled David into the shadows of the house.  "I *saw* him!" he hissed.
    
    "Another of our kind."  Lestat began an agitated pacing. "He came in search
    of Louis!  He asked for him David, by his true name.  Lestat paused, his
    hands bunching into fists, "And I saw something else as well.  A certain
    someone did not lose his fee for his sister's rooms."
    
    "What do you mean?" David watched the pacing Lestat anxiously.
    
    "That villain took *payment* for betraying Louis."  Lestat was furious.  
    "He had been paid handsomely to safeguard our privacy, but it was not 
    enough for him.  
    
    "Oh, there will be additional payment for that night's work," he said softly,
    "Payment in blood!  And it begins tonight, with the owner of a burnt-out 
    *pension*, and it shall finish with a presumptuous vampire who was foolish 
    enough to lay hands on my Louis."
    
    "Lestat," David said carefully, "did you ever stop to think that perhaps
    Louis knows this vampire, that he might have gone with him willingly?"
    
    Lestat was still for a moment, considering the thought before brushing it
    away. "Nonsense, David.  For one thing, Louis never willingly goes
    anywhere, and for another, I know everyone he knows."
    
    "You can't be sure of that, Lestat," David interrupted.  "There were many
    years the two of you did not share.  Perhaps he met this individual during
    that time."
    
    "Well if he did, he never wrote it down in his journals, and he writes
    *everything* down in his journals."
    
    "Lestat!" David said in a horrified whisper.  "Tell me you haven't read
    Louis's private journals."
    
    "Of course I have.  How else am I to know what he's thinking?  He never
    *tells* me anything."  Noticing the apoplectic color David's face was taking
    on he continued quickly, "Now is not the time to have a hissy over the
    issue of personal privacy.  My point is that Louis writes down every little
    detail of his existence in those journals of his.  He even keeps a catalog
    of those he kills,...`I killed an old woman tonight and was forced to take
    her husband as well, as her dying wish was that he not be left alone...' 
    Ugh, it is too pathetic.  Honestly David, if we could be arrested for what
    we do, Louis would be locked up for centuries based on the evidence
    recorded by his own hand."
    
    "Lestat," David said wearily, "do you have any idea how wrong it is of you
    to read someone's private writings?"
    
    "Of course I do," Lestat snapped.  "What do you take me for, some
    uncultured lout?"  He glanced at David, and received a stony look in
    return.  "It's just that I feel it's necessary in order to keep down the
    misunderstandings."  
    
    Seeing that his reasoning was being met with increasing disgust, he steered
    the conversation back to the subject.  "As I was saying, if Louis had met 
    this vampire, he definitely would have recorded it."
    
    "Unless it was a secret." David interposed.  "One doesn't write secrets
    down on paper.  There is always a possibility that another will read them."
    This remark was accompanied by a pointed look.
    
    "What are you implying David?"  Lestat, his anger rising, leapt to a 
    conclusion David hadn't even considered.
    
    "Are you saying that Louis has found someone else?  He loves *me*.  He
    wouldn't go off with someone else, letting me think he was hurt or dead. He
    would at least have told me.  He said he wouldn't go off without telling
    me.  He promised."
    
    David was silent for a moment, thinking.  "You're right, Lestat.  Louis 
    would not have left without at least saying goodby."
    
    Lestat barely heard him, his mind suddenly flashing on Louis, trembling in
    his arms, saying "...I'm not good for you, nor you me..." and later,
    "...Leave me *alone* Lestat."  
    
    Lestat was shaken in his conviction.  Had Louis gone finally?  Had he left 
    with this unknown, golden-eyed vampire?  Was this an attempt on his part to 
    stave of the creeping despair that threatened to claim him?  
    
    Lestat grimly determined to find Louis and ask him these questions.  If
    this is what *had* occurred, if Louis had willingly gone off with this 
    creature, well then, Lestat would just have a word or two with the strange 
    vampire about the proper way to care for Louis de Pointe du Lac, if it was 
    Louis's choice to remain with him.  
    
    Of course, Lestat amended the thought, this person will not keep my Louis 
    forever.  But for a while it may be necessary, just until Louis is himself 
    again.
    
    With a mental shake he again turned his mind to the residents of the house
    behind them.  "David," Lestat said removing a pair of thin black leather
    gloves from his jacket pocket, tugging them on one by one.   "Remind me to
    take care of our dear little Grandmama."
    
    David blanched, remembering another old woman Lestat had wanted to
    take care of, and how wrong that had gone.  "What do you mean Lestat?" 
    
    "She is to have the best of everything."  Lestat replied, flexing his now
    leather covered hands into fists.  "She shouldn't have to worry about a
    place to stay for Carnival.  She shouldn't have to worry about anything at
    all.  She is to have everything she needs until the day she draws her last
    breath, she *and* her Papa."
    
    David shook with relief, intensely grateful that Lestat had not noticed his
    reaction, nor was privy to his thoughts of a moment earlier.
    
    "Lestat, why is this old woman affecting you so?"  David had to know, the
    question had been puzzling him, and would not go away.
    
    Lestat stared a point on David's shoulder, not looking at him.  He was
    quiet for a moment before answering.  
    
    "I'm not really sure myself.  
    
    "I suppose it's because I've never really had any sort of "motherly" affection.  
    Don't misunderstand me, I love Gabrielle dearly, but she definitely was
    not like any of the mothers I saw around me as I grew up.  The great 
    outpouring of affection, the hugs and kisses, the cuddling they lavished 
    on their children was... absent... in my home.
    
    "Do you know I never sat on my mother's lap?  Not even to be nursed.  We
    were nobility you see, there were wet nurses for that."  There was a trace
    of bitterness in Lestat's voice.  "My mother hardly touched me as a child. 
    She told me later, it was to avoid getting too close to me, to all her 
    children.  She couldn't bear it, as so many of them had died.
    
    "I don't blame her, really I don't.  It's just that I've missed that sort of
    feminine affection and the Senora, well, she simply touched the place in my 
    heart that longed for it.  She somehow knew I needed comfort and even
    though I was a stranger to her, she opened her arms to me.  
    
    "I will not forget that."
    
    David was quiet.  He had not expected Lestat to reveal something so
    personal.  It seemed he was becoming the "father confessor" of his new
    family.  It was not a position he was sure he cared to accept.
    
    Lestat misunderstood David's silence, and slightly worried expression.  He 
    said with a small laugh, "Don't worry, David.  I'm not about to make myself
    a vampiric grandmother, to pat me and give me hugs whenever I want them."
    
    David's eyes went wide with astonishment.  That thought had not occurred to
    him, and the fact that it had occurred to Lestat was truly frightening.
    
    "Stay here while I see to the brother." Lestat said calmly, bringing his
    gloved hands together in a soft clap.  "He may know something else."
    
    "Perhaps I should accompany you," David began.
    
    "No, David."  Lestat smiled patiently at him.  "I don't think so.  You
    wouldn't like it.  You wouldn't like it at all.  Just wait here.  This will
    only take a minute.  By rights it should take infinitely longer, but
    unfortunately I have only a minute to spare for that vermin."
    
    The look on Lestat's face as he vanished from the street made David very
    glad his presence had not been required.  He melted into the shadows to
    await Lestat's return.
    
    ______________________________________________________________________
    
    SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 2: 9.1  (AUTHOR: Mick)
    ______________________________________________________________________
    
    The pervasive sound of the Samba floated from the street into the
    little bar that was located off the lobby of Maria's hotel.  David and
    Lestat sat at one of the little tables, waiting for Marius and Armand,
    surrounded by the sound of a myriad of voices raised in song and
    laughter.
                    
    Maria had unplugged the old Wurlitzer jukebox that stood in the
    corner, half hidden among the potted ferns and palms that dotted the
    bar and lobby of the hotel.  During Carnival music was plentiful and
    free for all to enjoy.  There would be no competing with the
    *baterias*, the percussion sections of the neighborhood Samba schools,
    called *blocos*.
    
    The small *blocos* were not as sophisticated and organized as the
    large Samba schools, but what they lacked in sophistication they more
    than made up for in enthusiasm.  And their members were just as
    dedicated to the art of Samba.
    
    Most of the these groups would never set foot inside the *Passarela do
    Sambo* stadium where the great Samba schools vied for recognition and
    prize money, but each *blocos* performed as if they would.  They
    poured their hearts into the special songs and dances devised each
    year, just for their particular group.  The floats were as elaborate
    as each *blocos* could make them and the costumes just as wildly
    fantastic, bedecked with all manner of feathers, spangles and beads.
    
    They moved down the Avenida Grande in a kaleidoscope of color, song,
    and of course, dance.  A great whirl of life, it flowed in a never
    ending stream of noise and merriment past the arched portals of the
    hotel bar.  
    
    Hordes of tourists and a few locals swarmed in and out of the
    archways, the noise level rising and falling as each new Samba club
    passed.  And to think, all this noise and merriment on a street that
    was not even a main thoroughfare!
    
    How anyone human could last through days of this was a mystery to
    David--and at least to some of the humans as well.  Many of the locals
    fled to the surrounding countryside every year to avoid the madness
    that was Carnival.  
    
    Of course, the festivities made an excellent hunting ground for
    vampires.  A party that lasted for five days and nights always had
    fatalities, and the body count would be a little higher this year,
    what with so many of his kind in the area.
    
    Even as David watched the swirling crowds, a beautiful local girl
    whirled up to their table, her skirts flying, revealing an expanse of
    satiny cafe au lait thigh.  She paused briefly to drape a paper lei
    around his neck, and then Lestat's, before disappearing back into the
    crowd on the small dance floor that had been made by jamming the
    tables and chairs back against the walls.  It made for close quarters
    with the revelers, but at this time, it was the same all over Rio. 
    And Maria's establishment was a lot less hectic than most of the
    others.
    
    Lestat muttered something to himself, and ripped the colorful paper
    from around his neck and flung it to the floor.  David watched him
    scrape the top of the small wooden table with his fingernails,
    carving slivers out of the old soft wood.
    
    He reached out to cover Lestat's hand with his own, trying to make him
    see what he was doing.  Lestat did not look at him, but snatched his
    hand away, and shoved it under the table out of sight.  
    
    David knew Lestat wasn't going to sit here much longer.
    
    Just as he was starting to worry, a white-blond head appeared at the 
    edge of the crowd and headed toward them, clearly visible against the 
    sea of shining dark hair that crowned most of the revelers.  David
    heaved a sigh of relief as Marius, with Armand in tow, finally
    breached the swarm of patrons.  He gave Marius an immensely grateful
    look and waved him to the extra chairs he had managed to save by
    fixing everyone who tried to claim them with an intimidating stare.
    
    As they settled into their seats, David was struck again by how much
    Marius really did look like Lestat, though an infinitely older and 
    calmer Lestat, if such a thing were imaginable.  
    
    It was certainly hard to imagine a calm Lestat at the moment.  Lestat,
    sitting beside David like an unexploded bomb, was staring darkly from
    beneath his loose golden hair.  Though he did not have a drink in front
    of him, he managed to look both drunk and furious.  The interrogation
    and subsequent demise of the *pensioner* had only momentarily improved 
    his temper, and now he was impatient to be doing something, anything, 
    to find Louis.  
    
    At the moment, he was occupying himself by scanning mortals,
    tirelessly and rather brutally, locking onto their minds as they
    passed and sifting roughly through their memories for any sign of a
    green-eyed, dark-haired young man, either alone or in the company of a
    striking fellow with dark curly hair and amazingly golden eyes.
    
    It left them all a little stunned, and many of them changed their
    minds about drinking in that particular bar and went right back out
    the door they had come in; only the most determined and foot weary had
    claimed seats at the tables around David and Lestat.  But it was by
    far the most harmless thing Lestat had done since finding Louis gone,
    and David was only relieved that it was keeping him busy.
    
    Lestat did not stop doing it until Marius and Armand were sitting 
    down.  Then he looked up and fixed his attention on them instead.  The 
    expression on his face was almost impossible for David to look at.  
    
    Armand ran his hand absently through his tangled auburn hair; he looked 
    deeply preoccupied with something, and David wondered if Armand and Marius
    had uncovered something of import from their captive.
    
    "I found out something."  Lestat began, impatient to tell what he had
    learned.  He quickly recounted the information he had uncovered from
    his visit to the old woman and the brother, the owner of *pension*.
    
    "Another vampire, Marius!" Lestat exclaimed.  "One that I've never
    seen before.  He must have escaped Akasha's purge somehow.  Remember
    David, I told you how during my travels, before I went back to the Rue
    Royale, I could from time to time feel others of our kind.  It would
    appear that one of them has taken my Louis."
    
    "But we don't know that for sure Lestat." David broke in.  "We only
    know that he went up to see Louis..."
    
    "And there were sounds of a fight, and the building burned down.  And
    there was no trace of Louis.  Armand searched the rubble for him.  If
    there had been any trace of him there, Armand would have found it,
    which means Louis...Was...Not...There.  Lestat was adamant.
    
    "Not necessarily, Lestat..."
    
    "Oh come on David, does someone have to draw you a picture!"
    
    "If what you say is true, this argues for caution, Lestat." Marius 
    interrupted.  "If this vampire managed to escape Akasha's purge and
    can shield Louis from David, Armand and I, it could mean he is very
    old or very strong.  In either case he could be formidable."
    
    "Marius, I don't care how old or how strong he is; if Louis has been
    harmed in any way, being "formidable" won't help him at all!"
    
    David listened as Lestat recounted the details of his "interview" with
    the now departed *pensioner*.  When he gave the description of the
    strange vampire he'd taken from the man's mind, David noticed a sudden
    movement from Armand.  He shifted his gaze and found himself looking
    at the top of Armand's head.
    
    He couldn't see Armand's expression, but the small white hands, which
    had been resting quietly against the edge of the table, begin to
    flutter across the table top, fiddling with the stem of his wine
    glass, tearing pieces off the damp napkin under it, twisting the tiny
    glass bud vase set in the middle of the table back and forth.
    
    The nervous movements stilled suddenly, and Armand raised his head and
    met David's questioning gaze with calm eyes and a placid smile.  David
    wondered briefly what could be troubling Armand.  But Armand was not
    his concern, Lestat was, and he turned his attention back to the
    heated discussion going on between Lestat and Marius.
    
    Armand heaved a silent sigh of relief when David abandoned his
    scrutiny and rejoined the argument Lestat and Marius were having. 
    
    Armand had to concentrate for all he was worth to keep his rising
    sense of panic from the others.  He knew who the strange vampire was. 
    Knew without a doubt, now that there was a description of the culprit.
    
    Juliano.
    
    And Armand was sure Juliano had taken Louis, and he had a fairly good
    idea why.  During his last visit to Rio several years ago, Armand had
    made the huge mistake of talking to Juliano about his feelings for
    Louis.
    
    Juliano, who was jealous of anyone and anything that took Armand away
    from him.  Juliano, who was to put it mildly... unbalanced.
    
    He remembered his frantic prayer when they had found the symbol on the
    wall, that Juliano was not involved in Louis' disappearance.  But now
    it seemed that once again, Armand's prayers had gone unanswered.  He
    was now right in the middle of this mess, and yet it was not his
    fault.  He had only meant to help.
    
    Armand knew his only chance to make things right, and to escape
    Lestat's wrath, was to go after Louis and bring him back himself.
    
    He returned his attention to the heated discussion taking place
    between the others.  Marius was telling Lestat and David about
    painting the symbol on the wall and the pervasive knowledge of it in
    the minds of the people, but Lestat cut him off. 
    
    "Yes, yes.  I'm sure that's all very interesting, but did you find out 
    anything about Louis?"
    
    "No, but..." Marius tried to tell him about the mortal he and Armand
    had taken prisoner.  Marius had consulted David, and David had told
    them where to find a group of Candombles who would keep the mortal
    with the strange blocking ability prisoner until they had decided what
    to do with him.  The Candombles would not try to pierce the man's
    shields.  They had only agreed to keep him until Marius returned.
    
    Lestat cut him off, again.  "I know you and David find this
    fascinating, but Louis' whereabouts are more important than some evil
    rising up against humanity from the depths of the jungle."
    
    A look of weary patience came over Marius' features. "It may not be
    directly connected to Louis, Lestat, but I feel there *is* a
    connection."
    
    "Why?  Have you found something earth shattering that you're not
    telling me about?"
    
    Armand held his breath at this point.  If Marius told Lestat about the
    cult member they had captured, Lestat would demand to interrogate the
    man, and undoubtedly find the answers he was seeking, answers that
    would include Armand.
    
    To Armand's surprise, Marius did not immediately answer.  But Lestat
    appeared to be so caught up in his own thoughts that he failed to
    notice the quick glance David and Marius exchanged.
    
    "Well we..." Marius began, but again Lestat interrupted him, completely
    out of patience.
    
    "You're grasping at straws Marius.  It's time to try something else."
    
    "But Lestat, I tell you this is important..."
    
    "I don't want to hear any more about it Marius.  Talk to me when you
    have something "important" to tell me that actually involves Louis".  
    Lestat was glowering at Marius and David, and a heavy silence fell
    over the group.  
    
    As Lestat studied the two, seemingly about to insist that they do
    something other than talk, Armand slipped his hand under the table and
    slid it into Lestat's, twining their fingers together.
    
    Lestat turned to look at him, his brow wrinkling as he studied Armand's 
    strained face.
    
    _What's wrong, Armand?_
    
    _I... _  Armand could not bring himself to tell what he knew.  The
    words would not come.  
    
    Lestat mistook the reason for Armand's upset.  _Don't worry Armand, 
    we'll get Louis back and everything will be all right again._
    
    Armand made a small sound in his throat and threw his arms around
    Lestat's neck, trembling slightly. 
    
    Lestat patted him awkwardly, and Armand fought to control himself.
    
    David and Marius broke off the silent conversation that they had been
    engaged in, concern sharpening their features as they tried to find
    out what had just occurred.
    
    Lestat shrugged it off.  "It's nothing.  Armand and I were having a
    private conversation, and for once no blows were exchanged."  This
    last with a pointed look at Marius.
    
    David drew a deep breath and began, "Lestat, this afternoon Marius
    found a priest from this cult..."
    "Not that damned cult again!  I don't want to hear any more about it!
    
    "But Lestat, you must listen..."
    
    "ENOUGH!" Lestat roared, banging his fist down on the table, sending
    the glasses and the small bud vase leaping into the air.
    
    "Come, petite." Lestat turned his attention back to Armand.  "Help me
    find Louis.  I know *you* know what he means to me, if no one else
    does.  We'll leave these two to their witch hunt, since they don't
    seem to be good for anything else.  I need to be doing something.  All
    this talk is accomplishing nothing."
    
    As Lestat rose from the table and made for the door, pulling Armand
    behind him, Armand turned his head back toward the table.
    
    _What should I do?_  he asked David, trying not to look panicked.
    
    David looked at Marius for a moment before sending to Armand's quickly 
    vanishing form, _Nothing.  Don't do anything Armand, just stay with
    him.  If he tries to do something you feel is dangerous, just shout,
    and we'll come immediately.  Marius and I will talk this thing out
    while you two continue the search.  He needs someone with him who can
    hear Louis if he should call._
    
    By the time David's voice had faded from Armand's mind, Lestat had
    plunged them into the seething Carnival crowds.
    
    ______________________________________________________________________
    
    SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 2: 9.2 (Author - Susie)
    
    ______________________________________________________________________
    
    
    	David watched Lestat and Armand's retreating figures with far 
    less certainty than he had projected to Armand. Marius next to him 
    was staring in the same direction, and there was absolutely no 
    expression on his face; it was white and still, like some kind of marble 
    statue. His body was rigid.
    
    	Marius, David realized, was angry.
    
    	"Yes, though not even really at Lestat," Marius said. The 
    stillness of his face dissolved into a more usual, if slightly frustrated, 
    expression, and he glanced about them at the revelers. "I can't think 
    in here," he said abruptly.
    
    	"There's a garden, in the back." David said. "Maria locked the 
    gate so the crowd wouldn't tear it apart. I'm sure she wouldn't mind." 
    He got up and made his way to the small wrought-iron gate at the 
    back of the bar, wanted the padlock to come undone, and went out 
    into the little high-walled courtyard. Marius, coming after him, paused 
    a moment after shutting it behind them, and David heard the padlock 
    click back into place on the other side of the door.
    
    	The little courtyard was not lit, though the light from inside 
    filtered through the metal grillwork of the gate. The scent of camellias 
    filled the warm air, camellias and hibiscus that spilled over the stucco 
    walls. The sounds of the festival were muted now, the faint music and 
    the hum of voices too far away to make anything out clearly.
    
    	Marius sat down on a stone bench that looked almost too 
    small to hold him. He stretched out long legs, leaned back and put a 
    hand to his neck, all completely human movements. The light was 
    reflected off his platinum hair, and it looked as if it were shining on its 
    own.
    
    	David wondered if he himself moved like that. Or did he move 
    like Lestat? David had seen Lestat sometimes flicker, phantom-like, 
    from one place to another, if he wasn't paying attention.
    
    	"Do you think..." he began.
    
    	"Wait," Marius said, and his face went still again. David 
    frowned. It made him a little nervous, it was as if Marius weren't 
    *there* anymore. He was used to the practice of mental power, used 
    to the vacant faces of those who had left their bodies, but this wasn't 
    the same thing. It was what Lestat had described in his book, the way 
    that the ancient ones could seem to become statues. And Marius was 
    the oldest one David had yet seen. 
    
    	It made him uncomfortably aware that he was surrounded by, 
    possessed even, immense power that he only barely understood. He 
    had had so little time yet to learn it. But he did not say anything. He 
    leaned against the high wall and waited, and watched Marius' face.
    
    	"I can't," Marius said finally, almost to himself. He shut his 
    eyes, then opened them again, looked up at  David. "If there's another 
    of our kind here, then he is older or stronger than I am, because I 
    can't sense him. Not anywhere. And I am very good at finding them. I 
    needed to be, when I had Those Who Must Be Kept. They would 
    come, the other vampires, seeking the power. But I always knew 
    where they were."
    
    	"Could he have gone so far you can't hear him now?"
    
    	"Yes. That's a possibility. But it would need to be a very long 
    way." Marius drew up a leg on the bench and looked at the hibiscus 
    on the walls. "The other vampire, wherever he came from, is likely 
    part of it. But I don't know how Lestat thinks we can find him. If the 
    mortal who saw him didn't know where he went, and we can't sense 
    him, then I would not know where to start. We can't search every 
    mortal mind in Rio.
    
    	"No, it has to do with that cult, David. It has to. I won't believe 
    it's only a coincidence. Mortals can't block us, they just can't. Even 
    you," and he smiled at David, suddenly warm and almost teasing, 
    "though you could read Lestat quite well as a human, you could not 
    block him out of your mind entirely. And you were very talented, and 
    highly trained."
    
    	David considered for a moment. He asked, hesitating a bit, 
    "Did you, ah..." There wasn't a delicate way to put it. "Did you drink 
    from him, from that mortal you found? Did you see anything in his 
    mind then?"
    
    	"No," Marius said. "I did drink from him, though I only took a 
    little bit. Armand and I both tried, before we took him to the 
    Candombles you contacted. But he blocked even then, which I have 
    never heard of. It was as if he were already dead. Nothing." He shook 
    his head. "There's incredible power here, David, incredible evil. And 
    now it knows that we are here. Or maybe it has known all along."
    
    	"The Candombles have known for some thirty years that it was 
    that strong," David said. "And the Talamasca knew too. I didn't put it 
    together at first, that the evil that was corrupting the Candombles was 
    part of the Satanic worship we had been tracking through South 
    America. But they are the same."
    
    	"Yes! I can't believe that what's happened to Louis isn't part of 
    it. That symbol was *there*, at the pension. Power knows power. 
    And it's a threat in itself, both to us and to mortals, if it can do what it 
    has done."
    
    	David shifted against the stucco wall; its texture was poking 
    into his back. "Why would the cult want Louis?"
    
    	"I'm not sure," Marius said. "But we, our kind, could be a 
    threat to it. We may well be likely to get in the way of what it wants. 
    They could use Louis either to make us do something, which doesn't 
    seem likely because they would have let us know they were holding 
    him, or to take his power for themselves."
    
    	"But Louis doesn't have much power," David wondered. "He 
    can't even read mortals' minds."
    
    	"He could give the Dark Gift," Marius said. "Or it could be 
    taken from him."
    
    	David winced at the sudden image of Louis trapped in 
    deathlike sleep, with the sun risen outside and someone bent over 
    him drinking his blood, a human as ambitious and clever as Magnus 
    had been.
    
    	And he felt, next to all this ancient power, strangely young. 
    David Talbot the old man, the Superior General, had been so in 
    control, the elder scholar directing his world from the safety of his 
    rooms, from the desk beside the fireplace. But now he remembered 
    what he had hated so much about being young; how you felt as if 
    everyone were against you, as if the world wanted one thing and you 
    wanted another, as if there were something they all knew and you 
    neither knew it nor wanted to know it.
    
    	He looked at Marius, and was suddenly overwhelmed; that 
    unreadable stillness that he'd seen too many times tonight terrified 
    him. And he was afraid for Lestat, Lestat who was one moment 
    destroying buildings and the next crying in Marius' arms, Lestat who 
    did not seem even to hear David when he spoke anymore. Lestat 
    who he loved, but could not reach. "Have they done that to Louis? 
    Have they killed him?" David whispered dully. "Do you know? Do 
    you know, but you didn't tell us? You didn't tell Lestat about the 
    mortal who blocked you."
    
    	Marius was standing immediately. "No," he said. "No, no. I 
    would not ever keep that from you, nor from Lestat. I only know what 
    I've told you. We tried to tell Lestat about that man, and we'll tell him 
    as soon as we can make him listen." He came to David, touched his 
    shoulder gently and then turned David to face him, meeting his eyes 
    steadily. And David realized that Marius had opened his mind to him, 
    as he himself had done for Armand before.
    
    	Concern washed over him, concern, anger, apprehension. 
    Strength and doubt, and yes, loneliness; what you showed to another 
    that way could not really be controlled, once you let them in. But not 
    deceit, not anywhere.
    
    	David had already known that.
    
    	He withdrew as quickly as he could. "You didn't need to," he 
    said to Marius, not looking at him, sorry for what he'd said. "I'm sorry, 
    I knew better."
    
    	"You're strong," Marius said gently. "So strong that Lestat 
    forgets how young you are. It's hard for all of us, in the beginning. 
    And you did not choose this."
    
    	David shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know 
    what I did, anymore."
    
    	Marius reached out a hand, and David let Marius pull him 
    close and hold him. Marius' presence itself was vastly comforting, all 
    that quiet strength and surety. But the heat that filled David as he was 
    pulled against Marius' cool, solid body was a response to more than 
    that. He felt himself flush, and hoped Marius could not see his face.
    
    	But Marius drew back slightly then. David could not help 
    looking at him, the fine, even features, and the eyes that you could 
    not look away from, that were sometimes blue but now seemed grey, 
    with the lines at the corners that came and went as he smiled.
    
    	David did not know which of them moved. But Marius' 
    mouth was on his then, and he had hold of Marius, and his hands 
    were stroking the shining hair and then running down that sculpted 
    back. And they were kissing deep and hard, and Marius' body was 
    not all cool smoothness, there was heat there, all right. Heat, and 
    blood; David took in a deep breath as their lips gently parted, and 
    was suffused in the hot salt scent.
    
    	And then Marius let him go, though his fingers brushed 
    David's face lightly as he did so. He seemed as confused as David 
    felt. His face was far from expressionless, there was even a flushed 
    streak across either cheekbone, and he didn't look at David directly 
    this time. And David realized, strangely, irrelevantly, that he was just a 
    little taller than Marius was. He had thought them the same height.
    
    	Marius turned around and looked behind them at the bar, 
    then up at the sky, and David was aware again of the slight, warm 
    breeze and the music in the distance. He did not want to move, but 
    there was already too much space between them now.
    
    	"We should go." Marius said finally, his voice was low, almost 
    husky. The color was beginning to fade from his face.
    
    	"Yes," David said, though it was not what he wanted to say at 
    all. "We should."
    
    ______________________________________________________________________
    
    SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 2: 9.3 (Author - Mick)
    ______________________________________________________________________
    
    Lestat and Armand cut a swath through the crowd, and many heads turned
    as they passed.  It was hard not to notice two such attractive people,
    one tall and blond, the other petite, with a mass of curling red hair.
    
    But tonight they had to compete with a thousand other distractions,
    and the noise and glitz and swirling mass of humanity soon erased any
    memory of their passing from the minds of those who had taken note of
    them.  They traversed all the main thoroughfares, Lestat barely
    managing to keep his pace to human levels, reaching back from time to
    time, putting an arm around Armand to hurry him along.
    
    They wove in and out of the clubs, which were only marginally less
    riotous than the streets.  But at this time of night, or rather early
    morning, all they could uncover was mindless drunkenness, vague
    worries about making it back to the hotel in one piece, and whether or
    not an entire evening had  been wasted trying to get someone else into
    bed.
    
    They settled finally on the top of a stucco wall, the Spanish tile
    that lined the upper edge cool under their palms.
    
    The silence deepened between them as they scanned the passing throng.
    
    Armand spoke all at once, his voice coming out of him in a soft rush.
    
    "I will tell you a truth Lestat. It has been on my mind because of
    something David said to me."
    
    "Hum?"  Lestat was only half listening, his thoughts centered on
    finding traces of Louis in the trivia filled minds of the humans
    passing beneath him.
    
    "It's about that business with Raglan James."
    
    Armand could feel that he had Lestat's complete attention now.  It was 
    a bit frightening, but he plowed ahead, determined to finish what he
    had begun.
    
    "I wanted to come.  But I couldn't.  No, that's *not* true.  I
    wouldn't.  It was selfish of me, terribly, horribly, selfish.  And
    petty.  
    
    "The truth is, I didn't want you to be my fledgling."  Armand said
    harshly, as if he were tearing out some vital part of himself, and
    giving it over to Lestat.  "I wouldn't give up the one thing I've always 
    had with you."
    
    "Our ability to speak to each other, mind to mind."  Lestat said
    softly, in complete understanding.
    
    "Yes."  Came the agonized whisper.  Armand would not look at Lestat,
    could not if he was to go on.  "I knew I could never have your love.  
    You'd proved that to me time and again."
    
    "But, I do love you, Armand.  We had this discussion last night."
    Lestat said gently.
    
    "Not like you love Louis.  Not the way I wanted you to." The
    fierceness of the response startled them both.
    
    "Oh, Armand."  
    
    Armand flinched as Lestat reached out and grasped his hand from where
    it rested between them on the blue and white tile.  He knew Lestat
    would feel the trembling he could not control.
    
    "Don't you see?  If I had made you my fledgling I would never be able
    to hear you again.  You'd go right back to Louis, and have his love
    and his thoughts as well.
    
    "And I would be left with nothing.  You would have had no need for me;
    not that you ever had much before.  But being able to hear you was
    better than nothing.  At least I could lessen the loneliness of your
    thoughts... and you could lessen mine.
    
    "When we first found each other, centuries ago, I gave you a pompous
    speech about building a citadel against time with those whose thoughts
    you could hear; how the children you make, and the one who made you,
    can not ever bridge that particular loneliness.  
    
    "I said those things mostly to get my way, to have you stay with me,
    or to take me with you when you left.  I didn't know how true my
    words were.  How could I know.  I was alone then.  But now I know. 
    The two beings I love most in the world, Daniel and Marius, are deaf
    to me, and I to them.  
    
    "Since Marius made me, only you have ever known my true thoughts.  No
    one else knows the depths of my pain."
    
    "Or the size of your soul?"  Lestat gently gave Armand's own words
    back to him.
    
    Armand could no longer hold back the flood of tears, and his small
    body was  racked with sobs.  "We have hurt each other so much, you and
    I.  I... I never mean to hurt you, Lestat, not really.  But things
    happen, and I always seem to make the wrong choice, pick the wrong
    thing to do."
    
    His pain seemed to settle in his gut, like a white hot coal,
    causing him to bend almost double, his forehead almost brushing his
    knees.
    
    "Promise me," he gasped from behind the tumbled curls hiding his face,
    "that no matter what happens in our lives you will always forgive me,
    even if I pretend not to care.  You can do that; your heart is so much
    bigger than mine."
    
    "Oh ma petite, ma pouvre petite."  Lestat pulled Armand to him and
    rained kisses on the anguished, upturned face.
    
    "We have neglected you, bien ami.  All of us.  You should not have to
    beg for love, or attention *or* forgiveness.
    
    "Things will be better in our little family Armand, when this is over,
    and Louis is safe, I promise you.  You will not be isolated.  If ever
    you need me for anything, come to me.  I will not turn you away."
    
    Armand cried even harder at these kind words. They were like a cool
    rain, and quenched the fire burning in his stomach.  He could feel
    Lestat's concern wash over him.  That he could spare such sympathy for
    Armand's pain when he was so worried about Louis was a wonder to Armand.
    
    Lestat smoothed the curls back from Armand's face, and wiped away the
    tears with his ever-present handkerchief, and Armand permitted it
    because to have this kind of attention and affection from Lestat was
    something he had never dared to dream of.
    
    "Let's sit here for awhile." Lestat said, and as the strong arm came
    around him, Armand settled close against Lestat's side. "No need to go
    any further." Lestat continued.  "It seems everyone in town will pass
    by this spot tonight."
    
    Lestat went back to searching the minds of the mortals streaming past,
    and Armand let his thoughts drift for a moment, his head resting
    against Lestat's shoulder.
    
    >From their vantage point, he could easily make out the glowing figure
    of The Redeemer, the great Cristo who graced the peak of distant
    Corcovado.  A small part of him wished that he could once again feel
    the peace, the benediction that mortals derived from the sight of Him,
    rising above the city, His great arms outstretched so that His body
    took the form of a cross.
    
    Armand knew that if something dreadful happened to Louis because of 
    Juliano, only such a one as The Redeemer would be able to forgive him.
    
______________________________________________________________________

SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 2: 10.1  (Author - Susie with wardrobe
	consultation from Mick)
______________________________________________________________________


	Louis woke, and for a moment he did not know where he
was. He blinked at the lavish, velvet-draped chamber, at its carved
stone walls.

	Juliano's temple. Still.

	Louis looked about, but nothing had changed, and he did not
much want to try the door again. He stood up quickly, almost
tripping over the long red satin garment he had forgotten he was
wearing. At least Juliano had not been waiting for him to wake up
tonight. The thought of the other vampire there watching as he slept
made Louis shudder; it was against every preternatural instinct in him.
Protect where you lie, first and foremost. Lestat had taught him that
first of all.

	He paced the room in frustration. He had thought maybe,
last night, he had gotten through. He had nearly reached Juliano,
nearly touched the weakness and uncertainty that he had sensed
deep inside him. If Esteban had not been there, could he have drawn
Juliano away from this place? Louis did not put much faith in his own
powers of seduction, but he knew Juliano was in pain, and the pain
was something to work from. Not all evil, no. And he, Louis, if
anyone, should be able to forgive past crimes.

	But Esteban had swayed Juliano, and Louis had felt himself
shut out. He had lost access to that uneasy, tormented mind, had
seen it retreating into madness. And he did not have Lestat's mental
powers to try to follow what remained of Juliano's soul. He had only
words.

	He did not think that would be enough.

	Nothing in the room to help him. There had been a fire in the
grate, last night; he had watched it as he tried to fight off sleep. 
But the grate was cold now, and he wondered if it had burned out on its 
own or if Juliano had come back in to damp it, slithering past Louis 
while he slept. 

	Sounds outside the door. _Lestat,_ he thought, in sudden
hope. Could Lestat have found him? Lestat in all his power and his
snarling fury, Lestat who could have shattered the stone walls with a
thought, and set the very stone on fire for good measure.

	But it was Juliano. An over-the-edge looking Juliano, whose
golden eyes shone too brightly, casting about, never looking any one
place for too long. There was incredible power about him now,
power even Louis could sense, and Louis did not really have that
skill.

	"Louis," Juliano said, pleasure in that low voice. It was the kind
of voice a priest should have. Deep, sonorous, it fascinated simply
because of its sound. But his voice too seemed strained, too loud. He
almost sounded drunk. "Louis, hurry up and wash. We have things to
do tonight. I want you to look beautiful. It's time for you to meet my
Family. My children." He had an armful of fabric, all shimmering
blues and blacks. He set it down on the bed and said. "Put this on
when you're done. I'll come back."

	Louis went cold. No reason in him tonight, not anymore.
Something had happened to him, changed him.

	He did as Juliano asked, wringing out the wet length of
his hair when he had washed it and and tying it out of his
way. He could not figure out quite what to do with the complicated
pile of garments that Juliano had left him; he made his best guess and
put them on that way. He reached for the chain and cross about his
neck to lift it out of the way as he put on the shirt, and then
remembered he did not have it on anymore. Juliano had taken it.

	The door opened again. Juliano stood in the doorway,
surveyed Louis, and looked amused. "No, no, that's all wrong," he
said. "Come here."

	Louis stared at him, but could not move. Juliano chose to
ignore that, and came over to where he stood near the dresser and
mirror. He reached out and took the dark blue tunic off over Louis' 
head, taking his time, running his hands down Louis' body.

	"Like this," he said softly. He turned it around and slipped it 
back over Louis' head. The fine silk was tight over Louis' chest, 
revealing the lean lines of his body, and he tried not to shudder as 
Juliano smoothed it. It had full sleeves, tight at the wrists, and it flared 
slightly at his waist, so that it fell easily over the loose black silk 
trousers. Juliano bent and tucked them into the tops of the long black 
boots of fine leather.

	Then he picked up the shimmering heap of fabric that had 
confused Louis completely, and shook it out to reveal a long 
sleeveless garment, a flowing robe, made of heavy black satin shot 
through with glittering threads. He motioned for Louis to slip his arms 
through the openings, and settled the robe on his shoulders. The 
glittering robe shifted and flowed at the slightest motion.

	"Moonlight."  Juliano murmured, almost to himself.  
"Moonlight and shadow. That's what you remind me of, standing 
there.  I knew I made the right choice."

	He took a heavy silver necklace from inside the voluminous 
folds of his own heavy black robes, a chain of silver discs with the 
center of each disc set with a glowing moonstone. Juliano bent to 
fasten it around Louis' neck.

	Louis looked down at the chain; he felt Juliano's eyes on him 
and he did not want to meet them. The centermost disc was not set 
with a moonstone, instead it was slightly larger than the others and 
inlaid with bits of obsidian. The inlay formed a number of strange 
symbols set around and inside a circle that contained an inverted 
triangle. "That's my personal device, Louis. It is a great honor to wear 
it. It proclaims to all that I look favorably upon you."

	_That you own me_ Louis thought. _That you can kill me if 
you want to_.

	"Almost perfect," Juliano said, smiling, leaning close to Louis 
again and fingering the rich fabric. He was taller and broader than
Louis, and there was just a hint of threat in that possessive gesture.
"But we can't have your hair like that." He picked up the silver brush
that he had made sure was in the anteroom, and took hold of Louis'
hair to undo the knot.

	Louis stiffened, tried to hide it and failed. _You violate me, you
demean me._ The thought pounded through him, and his heart was
racing; he knew Juliano could read it in him, but he could not help it.

	Juliano seemed undisturbed. He brushed out Louis' wet hair,
dried it with the towel and brushed it again until it was soft and
shining. The touch was careful, delicate, but poisoned and insidious
now because Louis did not *want* it. It was force as surely as when
Juliano had hit him, and Louis knew what would happen if he
resisted. He would almost rather the hitting. At least that was more
honest.

	He only tried not to move, to have absolutely no expression
on his face, to think nothing. It was not easy.

	"There," Juliano said at last. "We're ready."

____________________


	Louis had spent many of the nights of his mortal and immortal
life wondering about Hell, and if there were one, what it would be
like. But when Juliano escorted him down the tunnel into the
cavernous underground temple, he knew that if there were a Hell, it
would look like this. A great vaulted space built of the ubiquitous
South American limestone, the Temple of Memnoch was lit within
only by bonfires and torches, so that it glowed evilly orange and
turned all the indistinct edges to black shadow, the very archetype of
Hell's flames. Like an amphitheater, rows of stone steps curved about
the altar and ascended into the blackness, and these were filled with
Juliano's worshipers.

	A hush fell over them as Juliano entered, and he drew Louis
aside for a moment. "Now," he said softly to Louis, "you will see my
power. You'll understand me. You'll understand what I can do, and
why I put up with *him*, that sniveling mortal priest. Don't be afraid,
no one will hurt you. And I haven't forgotten you. I have something
for you to do, near the end. I want to show you to them."

	Juliano left Louis with several mortal priests, and ascended the
stone steps that led up the great pyramid that faced the tiers of
followers. The altar was located on its flat top. Louis glanced to either
side and tried to estimate his chances of slipping past the four very
large mortals who were supposed to be watching him. He thought 
he could probably get past those four, but the problem was that it
was not just them. Juliano had left him among a knot of perhaps thirty
apparently high-ranking functionaries, standing about in their
ceremonial robes near the base of the pyramid with the altar, and
then there were all the worshipers.

	Still, it looked like his best chance yet, and there was no
locked door to burn him, at least. He started trying to figure out which
arched exit led to the outside.

	Juliano had reached the top of the pyramid now. There was
complete silence as he turned, and began speaking. He raised his
hands high, and spread out his shimmering black robes like the
wings of some malevolent bird.

	Portuguese. Louis shook his head. He did not know
Portuguese. But Juliano's exact words did not seem to matter much. It
seemed to be more the sound of his voice than what he was saying,
that and the power that Juliano was directing at them. Hypnotic, if he
let himself pay attention, hypnotic as the constant beating of the 
drums. Huge drums, they were placed all around the temple, 
pounding with the rhythm of a heartbeat. The worshipers swayed 
and stamped in the tiered stone seats.

	They were chanting the name Juliano had taken, now: 
Memnoch the Devil. "MEMNOCH! MEMNOCH!" They cried it out 
until the repetition drove it into senselessness and it was only sound.

	Memnoch the Devil. Juliano, who claimed to be Satan himself. 

	It reminded Louis terribly of Lestat's concert. The electricity of 
the crowd, their frantic cries, the near-worship. Juliano's voice was 
almost musical now, and the beat of the drums came up from the 
ground and through his body. It seemed to seize Louis' heart and 
force it into that rhythm. It promised release, freedom. Absolution, 
even, in that abdication of will. Give yourself over to darkness, to 
madness. No pain. No pain, in death.

	Louis could not help but think of Armand, who had been part of 
so many such cermemonies long ago. He thought of that fragile body whirling 
among them, thought of how long the vampiric Satan-worshippers had had him, 
the Children of the Night in Rome. It must have been a little like this. He 
shut his eyes. Like Armand, it was beautiful and terrible and utterly 
lost.

	His eyes were stinging, and he saw they had lit fires, in the pits 
that ringed the temple, the largest of them flaring at the base of the 
altar. As they caught, the the hellish glow in the cavernous arena 
brightened, and smoke rose from them in clouds, pungent, odd-
smelling, almost spicy. Louis blinked again, dizzied by it.

	Roaring. Pounding, swaying, the sound of feet in time with the 
drums. The acolytes were dancing. Whirling, their robes fluttering in 
the drafts rising up from the fire pits, crying out rhythmically. Juliano 
was still shouting, above it all, words that Louis did not think anyone 
could understand. It was only sound now, sound that rose and fell 
with the drums and the ever more abandoned dancing. And it 
sharpened the keen edge of blood-hunger in him, made him think of 
killing, with the hot desire of passion.

	Jubiliation, Louis thought. That was what it was. Such a 
biblical word. And yet it could not be called anything but religious, 
the power and the fervor that surrounded him.

	His vision swam. He felt his body swaying; he wanted it. 
Wanted to dance with them, wanted that release, to scream and spin 
unthinking, to call out Juliano's name. So unlike him, to want that, but 
it enthralled. Like Lestat's voice, it seduced him. 

	Maybe wanting it was not so unlike him after all.

	Louis looked up at Juliano. From even that distance, he could 
see the golden eyes, feel the power that Juliano wielded, that he 
directed. His arms raised, Juliano seemed enormous, and his beauty 
even greater. It seemed he looked right at Louis then, and he showed 
his fangs in a wild grin.

	The Devil laughing, Louis thought.  Like Lestat, on the stage, 
his body slick with blood sweat, the young mortals' own priest of 
darkness.

	So like that. When once in a while he could see the faces, in 
the shadowed watching masses, they were young.

	Two acolytes appeared at the top of the pyramid, one blond
and shaven-headed, one dark. Louis stilled himself with an effort, 
watched them for a distraction as he hugged himself, digging his nails 
into the skin of his arms, trying to use the pain as an anchor. And then 
their faces were seared into Louis' mind, because between them they 
led a little girl, maybe seven years old. He was still dizzy from the 
smoke, still lost in the drums, but he could not look away from the 
tiny figure. Draped in red satin, her black hair ornamented with
red flowers, she seemed frightened but struggling to do as she had
been told. She held a candle carefully in both hands, and she leaned
forward and lit it from the flame that burned at the head of the altar.

	Juliano knelt in front of her, caressed her face, and whispered
something to her. She nodded and then she took the candle and lit a
larger fire that was piled ready to one side, holding it there patiently as
the kindling slowly caught. She backed away as the fire blazed hotter.

	The acolytes caught hold of her then, the light one and the
dark one. They held her, and she tilted her head to look up at them;
she seemed scared. Juliano looked down at her, the light of the flames
reflected a thousandfold by the preternatural skin of his beautiful,
statue-like face. His deep voice rang out again, and Louis could make
out the words "devil" and "glory". And then the acolytes seized her
between them, and pushed her forward, into the flames.

	"No!" Louis screamed in horror. Without thought or will, he
was moving. In the light of the flames, the little girl's face had become
Claudia's, her black hair light, the dark eyes blue. "No! You cannot 
do this! You cannot!" With all his vampire's speed he ran up the
pyramid's steps. The ascent was lined with torches, and he flung out
his arms and knocked most of them over as he passed; there were
screams behind him as they tumbled end over end down the steps
and set little fires. 

	A priest ran directly in front of him, and Louis seized a handful 
of robes and cast the man one-handed through the air. He heard the 
scream as the body hit the stone steps, and kept falling. Another, and 
another. Louis struck at them with one of the torches; he saw the long 
robes catching and going up like oil-soaked rags. He did not listen to 
the screaming, he only kept moving.

	Juliano was turning, astonished, his face blank, confused.
Louis reached the top of the pyramid and pushed past him, flung
himself toward the fire. "No!" he cried again, because he saw that he
was too late. The small body was already burning, the ragged edges
of red satin still visible as the flames licked at them. And he realized
strangely that he was not stopping. He could not stop. "Claudia!" he
screamed again, and he stretched his hands out into the flames for
her, tried to pick her up and pull her close to him.

	But Juliano had him then, caught him up from behind and
lifted him up and away from the fire, then threw him in fury down
onto the stone floor. _What are you DOING?_ Louis heard Juliano's
voice in his mind, and he was lifted and flung down hard against the
stone again. Light exploded across his vision and he could not see or
hear anything for a moment.

____________________________________________________________________

SPEC: Memnoch the Devil - Vol. 2: 10  (Author - Susie and Mick)
______________________________________________________________________



	They were holding him, the two who had thrown the girl into 
the fire. Juliano was shouting down at the mob beneath, and Louis 
gave a bitter laugh. It was the sort of thing Lestat would have liked, 
chaos among the devil worshipers, as they struggled with the fires 
sprung from their own ceremonial flames. Lestat certainly would have 
laughed in the face of this pathetic vampire who thought he was the 
Devil.

	Louis had never wanted Lestat's powers before. He had
refused the blood Lestat offered. He had not wanted to become less
human, and he had never had Lestat's pride that he knew what
should be done with that kind of strength. But now he wished
desperately for it, wanted to be able to burn this place with a thought,
to ignite them all in little bursts of flame as Akasha had done with so
many of his kind. It was like the vampires of the Theatre all over
again. Louis wanted their deaths. He wanted to end this, all of it, to
rise up above the smoldering ruins as Lestat could have done; to look 
down and know that in its destruction he had done some good.

	But he did not have that power. Instead there was Juliano
before him and the human priests holding him, and the pain, where
his head had hit the stone. The roar of panic had begun to die down, 
and there was rustling; the crowd was quieting. They had gotten the 
fires under control, and all their attention was slowly focusing once 
more on their leader.

	 Juliano, the false god.

	And Juliano was looking only at Louis, his golden eyes alight.
He was calm now, too calm. He seemed almost tender as he
caressed the flat blade of a small, ordinary knife, the planes of his face
stunning in their perfection.

	Such a natural thing, to worship beauty. It was as natural as
worshiping sunlight, that same kind of primal human impulse. And
yet it seemed every human generation had to learn that lesson all over
again; that evil could be beautiful.

	"Why, Louis?" Juliano asked. "Why did you do that?" He
sounded, impossibly, as if he truly did not know. "Did you want to
shame me, to take my power for your own?"

	Louis shook his head. He did not even know where to begin. 
"No," he said helplessly.

	The priests were holding Louis down on his knees. Juliano 
bent over and carefully removed the heavy silver chain that bore his 
device from around Louis' neck, handed it to the hooded figure that 
stood silent beside him.

	Esteban, Louis realized in revulsion. Esteban, watching.

	Juliano bunched his fists in Louis' silken garments then, and 
ripped them off him in a great tearing motion. He flung them over his 
shoulder and into the flames, and the smell of scorched silk rose up 
like the reek of burnt hair. Then he caught Louis' left arm, with that 
inexorable strength, and turned it palm upward, held it there. "You 
can't do that." His voice was low, reasonable. "No one does that to 
me. I can't let that go. Not in front of them."

	And he took his little unornamented knife and made a deep 
cut all along the inside of Louis' arm, from the wrist to the elbow, 
deep and jagged so that it would bleed. He held Louis' arm out over 
the steps that led to the altar.

	Louis fought, but the grip on his arm was utterly unbreakable.
The crowd screamed at the sight of the blood, cries of horror,
fascination, approval, and Louis could only watch as the blood 
welled up from the uneven wound, ran down his arm onto the stone 
and over the steps like a dark thick waterfall, congealing as it cooled. 
Juliano watched the blood flowing calmly, a slight smile on his face 
and an almost clinical interest in his eyes.

	"Why Louis?" he asked again. "Tell me why," and he tore his
eyes away from the thin stream of blood to look at Louis' face.

	"You killed her," Louis whispered. "You killed her. The little
girl."

	Juliano looked surprised. "The little girl? " he said, for a
moment still uncomprehending. "The sacrifice?" Then he laughed.
"You didn't want me to kill her? Louis, she was mortal! You are the
same thing I am, the same thing Armand is. That's what you were
doing? Trying to stop me?"

	"Yes." Louis did not know what else to say.

	"Louis, you're a killer! You kill them every night. What
difference does it make? She died for something, didn't she?" The
flow of blood was slowing, as his skin tried to close over the wound.
Juliano twisted the knife again, and more spilled.

	The stone floor was tilting beneath Louis, the abyss that was 
the ceiling was spinning above him. Behind Juliano he could see the 
burnt body of the little girl; it had been cast to one side, as if it were
unimportant, as if the stilling of that small life had been nothing.  He
tried to recapture the words he had used last night, when Juliano had
looked at him with sense.

	 "Come away with me, Juliano," Louis whispered. It was an
effort to speak now, he knew he was slipping. "You don't need this
place. Leave here with me. I will show you how much else there is.
Please, you can't imagine. There are so many other things."

	And then it was not Juliano he was looking at, but the hooded 
figure behind him. It drew its hood back, and the eyes burned into 
Louis'. _It is me that you must convince, not him,_ it laughed silently. 
_I, Esteban, decide that. Not him. You should be pleading with me to 
take you, to choose you instead of him to wield my power for me._

	The mental contact dizzied Louis. He was losing his balance.  
_No!_ he managed. _Never!_

	Juliano shook his head sadly. "No, Louis," he said, and then he
rose to address his followers, still holding Louis' bleeding wrist. They
answered his cries with their own, shouting and chanting as one.

	_I told them you are a demon._ Now it was Juliano's voice in 
his mind. _A demon, one of my servants, who disobeyed me. I am
showing them the price of such an act. I have told them I can kill you,
and then make you rise again; that I can kill you every night for a
thousand nights, and bring you back, that I can give you such pain as
cannot even be imagined._

	_And I can, Louis. Is that what you want? To be tormented, 
night after night, as a lesson to my followers? I must do it, Louis. 
Unless you repent..._

	_No!_ It was Esteban, speaking to Juliano, but making sure, 
with a glance and a slow, terrible smile, that Louis heard him. _There 
is something owed here, my Master, for such a transgression. Your 
own have died, your servants lie dead because of this creature who 
has defied you. A debt of pain is owed. Not to you, and not to me. 
Azahram waits, my Lord. Will you deny him?_

	Juliano stiffened. He let go of Louis' wrist, his fingers covered 
with blood, and looked away from both Esteban and Louis for a 
moment. When he turned back, his eyes were empty, dull.

	"No," he breathed, to Esteban. "Azahrahm..."

	Esteban stared silently at Juliano, and Louis thought confusedly 
that they must still be speaking, only now he could not hear them. 
Azahrahm. The name did not mean anything to him. The eye-shaped 
medallion around Esteban's neck had begun pulsing with a dim, red 
glow.

	Juliano turned to the white-robed acolytes who ringed the 
altar. He began walking along the circle they made, as if he were "it" 
in some children's game.

	"You," he said, to one of them, reaching out and touching the 
acolyte's forehead with his still-bloody fingers. It left a little red smear 
of Louis' blood there, like a horrible Satanic echo of the ash-mark for 
Ash Wednesday. "You, and you, and you." Juliano marked some 
fifteen or twenty of them in this way.

	He came back to stand in front of Louis, looked down at him, 
still expressionless. Then he motioned to the acolytes, and they lifted 
Louis up onto the altar. Louis flung out his arms and tried to fight 
them, but they seemed somehow to have grown stronger. They 
forced him down onto the huge, flat stone, pushed his bare back 
against its cold, stained surface, and held him there.

	_Yes, fight!_ Esteban taunted him. Louis knew it was Esteban's 
silent voice, though they held him on his back and he could not see 
the hooded figure. _It will look all the more impressive when you die 
before us. When you rise again, and crawl, begging our forgiveness, 
begging for what you animated corpses call your life._

	Sounds then. Daggers, being drawn from their sheaths, the 
hiss of metal against metal. Each of the acolytes Juliano had chosen 
had a knife like the one Juliano had used to spill his blood on the 
steps; small, plain, very sharp. And now Louis saw the blades 
gleaming, making a deadly circle around him. No, he thought. Oh, 
no, please, no.

	_You are my chosen ones_ Louis heard Juliano speaking 
silently to his priests. _You are the vessels of this offering. You will 
drink the blood of the demon. We shall swallow his defiance, we will 
take it into ourselves. There will remain only obedience, only piety. It 
will be cleansed._

	"Ecce tua mortis! Provocat volantam Memnochi, dolorem 
ferrebit! Poenam dabit! Sanguis tuis sacrificium est, et cum sanguis 
purgabimus peccatum. Nominum Memnochi Diablolici laude!" The 
first priest screamed the torrent of Latin, as he plunged his dagger into 
Louis' chest. The others followed in quick succession, until his body 
was pierced by all the daggers at once.

	Louis had never felt such pain. He could not move. He did not 
know if he cried out. There was only the pain. _Lestat,_ he cried, with 
all his damnably small power. _Lestat! If I ever needed you, Lestat, if I 
ever loved you, please hear me._

	Lestat could not hear him. Louis knew that. But the cry was all 
he had left.

	And then the daggers were withdrawn, the blades tearing and 
twisting carelessly as they were pulled out, only to be replaced by the 
greedy, sucking mouths of the priests.

	It was worse than the daggers. The hands, the mouths on his 
body, all of them at once, all over him, sucking and tugging and 
pulling at him, drawing what was inside up and out of him. _Is this 
what mortals feel,_ he thought in revulsion, _when I kill them? This 
terrible violation, this helpless rage? It can't be so, it can't be. It was 
rapture, when Lestat took me._

	He shuddered, his whole body was shaking. The priests were 
letting go now, the blood running from their mouths, letting go of him 
one by one. _Not enough to change them, he prayed, _Oh God, let 
that not be enough. What if they become vampires, or worse, like 
those things in Europe?_ Mindless killing things, animate with his 
blood...

	The acolytes pushed Louis off the altar. He felt his body hitting 
the floor; he could not control it, though he wanted desperately to 
rise, wanted not to lie at Juliano's feet.

	Juliano stood over him. _Be still, Louis,_ he said. _Don't fight. I 
will only have to put you down again._

	Louis could not answer. Darkness threatened him, hazed the
edges of his vision. Blood covered him, covered the altar, covered the 
steps, in a dark wet pool, spreading like Lestat's blood had, when 
Claudia had cut his throat. Was this the other end of what Louis had 
done to Lestat, that he was in Lestat's place now? But Lestat would 
never want this, never. Lestat loved him.

	Didn't he?

	The blackness was coming up around him. And then he saw
the body of the little dead girl sitting up, heard the whimper of a child
who has had a bad dream. She was turning her head to look at him,
blood in her golden curls, and Louis saw that she had Claudia's face.

	She was speaking to him, or perhaps it was Juliano's voice. He
didn't know. But the words were very clear.

	"You will pay for what you have done!"


To be continued...