“Don’t be a common fool!” The terror cut through Lestat’s bitterness and he fell to sobbing again. He babbled almost incoherently, clutching at David and the mortal woman feverishly, repeating his incredible story. This demon taking him to Heaven and then Hell. The invitation to drink Christ’s blood.
He will be the ruin of us all.
Common, indeed. Armand’s mind remained closed, the petty insult brushed aside and his expression unchanged, rapt before the tumult wrought by the yellow-haired vampire. As he had always been. He could do nothing more. Long ago he had tried to evoke a deeper understanding from this provincial vampire, but there had never been more than the glimmer of comprehension, clinging as Lestat did to his aristocratic sentiments.
Why with this one must there always be but one answer, one absolute truth?
Lestat’s mind was open now, inviting, challenging. Love me. Accept what I tell you. Believe in me.
Charlatan.
Lestat had played this game before, of course. The auburn-haired vampire knew exactly how aware Lestat was of his love. He’d never concealed that love from Lestat. It was Armand’s greatest gift. He was incapable of any real hatred. There was only love, and degrees of love. Lestat knew this.
There was no time for such games now.
The mortal woman.... Her mind was rampaging, dreams of wielding divine power surfacing in flashes. Visions of eternal glory. She must be stopped. But that, only Lestat could do. He had foolishly put his protection around her.
Her dark angel.
David seemed unaware of the lurking disaster and continued prodding Lestat for details. Why could they not see?
Armand was a believer. It made no sense to be otherwise. There was elegant simplicity in having one belief to argue. He would happily defend his convictions for centuries, if allowed. No other vampire was more accomplished in this than he. Lestat knew this as well.
One belief, yes. But truth was a diamond, each facet a new color, and each color unique. Every cut important or the luster was repressed.
But there was no time to ponder the truth of Lestat’s tale. It mattered not at all whether Armand believed. Not now, not with this woman collapsing under the pressure of it all. More coherent than most, but she had been damaged nonetheless when Lestat revealed himself to her. And it grew steadily worse, multiplying with every passing moment.
Armand attempted to placate the frenzied Lestat, offering assurances to convey that nothing had changed, that he was still wanted.
Lestat would not be comforted. The fool still wanted to join with the mortal world! He would reveal their most unfathomable secrets and then hold himself up to be glorified before them. Lestat’s grand delusion! He had not changed. He never changed, his mind could not accept that possibility. Armand changed, with every age. Yet Lestat could never see beyond his young frame. Ironic, when the vampire’s own visage was so puerile.
Immutable, yes, as the need for blood. Such a thing might deter the crazed vampire from this destructive course. Armand asked for what he had always asked, to drink from Lestat.
“Back away from me,” Lestat snarled and launched into another tirade about the relic, the Veil of Veronica.
Armand watched helplessly. He saw it coming, Lestat’s hand fumbling in his vest. He fell to his knees as the ancient cloth was drawn free, loosed upon the mortal woman.
She snapped.
He felt the blood tears tumbling inexplicably down his cheeks as Lestat’s mass thundered to the floor beside him. David alone stood, dumbfounded, as the woman danced maniacally around the flat, declaring the cloth to be her god.
No, he understood the tears. He’d had the first recognition of how this night would end. Armand squeezed his eyes shut. There must be another way!
Chaos erupted as Lestat and David pleaded with the demented mortal. Why did they bother? Her mind was gone. And yet they fawned over her like newborn fledglings, as if she was their maker.
Armand’s thoughts blazed ahead, envisioning clearly the fervor with which this revelation would be received. A tidal wave of religion to drown them all! How to stem the tide? Again he saw what he knew he must do, but the horror of it kept his mind searching.
Such zealotry would die of its own accord, but after how long? And after how many of their remaining number had been tortured? Here was physical evidence that the supernatural was among them. The books Louis and then Lestat had written would be reexamined and they would be hunted. All of them. Their names were known. How long would it take for someone to recognize her dark angel?
There might not be another way.
He took a fleeting instant to search his golden-haired friend’s frantic, unfocused eye. The hollow socket was as ugly as Lestat had ever wished for in his quest for goodness. Armand allowed his most secret and quietest silent voice to whisper to Lestat.
What has happened to you will haunt you, beloved. What I may need to do will haunt you. Dark days await us both. We can survive to speak of this another day, when you have found your peace. I can be patient. I will survive because I know what I face. You may not. Seek out Louis, wherever he wanders. He alone will comfort you, as he has always done. Our fledglings’ love is our greatest strength. This I believe.
No comprehension showed in Lestat’s face, but he had expected none.
Armand rose, following after the woman had danced out of the flat. He knew what she meant to do. He was powerless to stop her. Any move against her would be halted by the two he felt following behind him. Lestat would arise from his lethargy as surely as David would pommel him with questions about his motivations.
But they would not stop her.
There would be no stopping the dam burst he saw, making his way into the New York winter and through the unplowed street as she screamed at the doors of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The realization chilled him more than the snow drifting about his feet. There would be no escaping this fate. He remained in the doorway as the gathering crowd of mortals swept inside, quietly conjuring to himself the images that would protect him.
Dawn was upon them. He had one moment to jam a wedge into this disaster. One he could later pull free to bring it all crashing down. Yes, he would be Lestat’s believer!
David was already dragging the inconsolable Lestat toward shelter as he told them what he would do. They had disappeared as he chose his place carefully, stretching his arms wide.
Every soul in the cathedral heard his declaration and watched as the sun’s first rays touched his flesh. For an instant, he was lost in the sheer magnificence of the sight before the long-forgotten warmth engulfed him.
Then he was burning. Burning.
He heard Lestat’s anguished cries as he hurled himself with preternatural speed away from the holy place, faster than mortal eyes could see, leaving behind the roiling fireball to blind them. Down into the subway, through the early crowds, a wisp of smoke all that marked his passage, and into the dismal tunnel, which was the deeper crypt. Collapsing finally in an eternally dark corner, still he heard Lestat’s lament.
“Armand, Armand.”
Learn to live in your hell, Lestat, for you cannot die. As I cannot die.
The agony of his burns filled his senses, blessedly pushing the night’s events from his mind.
Time to think, yet no time to think.
A tear faltered on its path down his blistered flesh and a word escaped his cracked lips as the welcome oblivion of Death’s sleep descended. A word that had been quietly echoing through his mind the entire night.
“Daniel.”
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