Confessions of a Vampire
Confessions of a Vampire
By
Lady MoonHawke
I first came to the Crescent City to wait for death. And it was here that I learned to truly live. So, in the end, I suppose what happened was worth it.
I had been fighting the cancer for years. Operations, chemotherapy, radiation; anything and everything to keep the disease at bay. The battles went back and forth. One for me, one for the disease. Every time it got the upper hand, I fought back that much harder, a combination of inner strength and desperation at times. And by the time I was 20, I thought I had licked it for good. Or at least good enough. I wanted my own life, the life that the cancer had denied me thus far. I packed my bags and left, looking for a place like no where I’d ever been before.
New Orleans was the answer to my prayers. Life in the Big Easy is like nothing else on Earth. I remember seeing the city for the first time as the plane landed, glittering like a string of diamonds along the gentle curve of the Mississippi, and floating gems gliding slowly along its surface. It was another world, and I wanted it to be mine.
I was incredibly fortunate, finding a job in the French Quarter at the Café du Monde, and a small walk-up flat nearby. And it was in the French Quarter that my life changed forever...
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Louis seated himself at a table outside Café du Monde, enjoying the ebb and flow of humanity around him. Mojo leaned against him, panting slightly, and Louis chuckled softly. The poor thing had trotted quickly to keep up, and it seemed to Louis that he had put on some weight. Perhaps he would suggest some sort of diet for Mojo when Lestat returned. It was, after all, Lestat’s dog.
A waitress worked her way over to them, a girl Louis hadn’t seen here before though something about her features seemed familiar.
“Good evening, sir,” she greeted him, her accent giving away her status as a recent arrival. “What can I bring you?”
“A latté, sil vous plait. And an order of beignets and milk for my friend here.” He ruffled Mojo’s ears fondly.
She smiled. “Aren’t you cute?” she cooed to Mojo, letting him sniff her hand. He chuffed agreeably and slurped her wrist. “I guess we’re friends now,” she laughed.
Louis allowed himself a small smile. “So it would seem, Mademoiselle.” He watched her go back inside, allowing his preternatural sight to filter through the smoke and falling darkness of the night. Her soft, mortal features pleased him for some reason; the blond hair held up in an elastic band, and the soft blue eyes he glimpsed as she came nearer.
She transferred the plate of beignets and the coffee to the table, then held up the milk. “I though you might like a bowl for him.” When Louis nodded, she set the bowl she’d brought on the flagstone walk and poured the milk into it. The she rose gracefully. “Can I bring you anything else?” she asked. When he shook his head, she slid the check under the edge of the plate and started to leave.
“Wait!” Louis called impulsively. He wanted more time to study her, to understand what it was about her the affected him so. “What’s your name?” he asked, desperate to keep her near if just for a moment more.
“I’m sorry. I completely forgot to introduce myself.” She put out a slim, pale hand. “I’m Claire Durant.”
He took it gingerly, hoping she would attribute his cool hands to the breeze that chilled the air. “Louis.” She made no comment about his hands, and her own didn’t seem as warm and soft as those of other mortals. He could feel the fine bones easily, and took great care not to squeeze or bruise them. “How long have you been in New Orleans?”
“Not long at all. How did you know?” she asked.
“Your accent,” Louis replied, wrapping his hands around the cup and savoring its warmth.
She laughed gently. “I guess it would give me away.” She clutched the tray to her chest, arms folded across it. “You sound like you’ve been here forever.”
“There are times, cheré, when I would agree with you completely.” He watched as she slipped away with a regretful smile, beckoned by a customer. Before she could return, he slipped away, a pile of bills on the check.
Claire returned to the table to find Louis gone. The beignets were devoured, but the coffee was still cooling in the cup.
Midnight ushered in with it the beginnings of quiet in the French Quarter. Claire hung her apron and collected her purse, then left, pausing for a moment to drop some coins into the case of a lone sax player under a streetlight near the cafe. His smoky jazz improvisations had kept her company through the evening, and she paused for a moment to express her appreciation.
Dumaine Street itself was growing quiet, but she could hear music and chattering voices as she approached Royal. She slipped into a dark alley, hoping to avoid the crush of tourists and shave a bit of time from her trip. Light from the streets was almost cut off, and the voices quickly dropped in volume.
Claire realized the magnitude of her mistake a moment too late, when a fluttering sound behind her became an arm across her throat and a knife point against her back, under her ribs.
“Don’t scream,” a harsh voice ordered, the arm squeezing against her windpipe in warning. She shook her head ‘no’ praying silently to escape this ordeal alive.
“Throw the purse behind you,” the voice directed. She groped, trying to gather the bag into her hand to throw. She tossed it, and heard it land somewhere in the litter behind her. Then a dog barked, somewhere close, and her assailant was yanked away from her. Her purse was slapped into her hand, and a voice hissed in her ear.
“Run!”
She heeded the insistent advice, racing for the light and relative safety of the far end of the alley. Claire stood under a streetlight, staring back the way she had come. A figure approached from the darkness, and she shrank back from the entrance, preparing to flee. The figure drew closer, and resolved itself into a man and a familiar dog.
Louis regarded the young waitress with disappointment. “Don’t walk through alleys, Claire Durant. It’s too easy to die in New Orleans, and easier still in the Quarter. If you must walk at this hour, stick to the streets.”
“It’s easy to die anywhere,” Claire replied softly. “If it happens here, at least I chose this city.”
“You’re too young to be so pensive. You should look forward to living in the Crescent City. Not dying in it.” Louis pulled Mojo from where he was snuffling at the ground. “Don’t waste your life waiting for death.”
“I’m not waiting for it. I’m racing with it, and it’s a race I’m not going to run much longer,” she snapped. Then she softened. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken like that. It’s just that some days I’m so tired of the fight.”
“You don’t owe me any explanations,” Louis told her.
“I’m fairly certain you saved my life back there. I certainly owe you honesty at the very least,” she countered.
“Do you work tomorrow night?” he asked. When she shook her head no, he nodded to himself. “Then meet me at the Café at 10 tomorrow night. If you still want to explain, I’ll listen then. If you’ve changed your mind, I won’t see you there. Can you do that?”
She nodded slowly.
“Then au revoir, Claire Durant.” He slipped back into the alley and was gone.
Claire sat in Jackson Square watching the sun slip down beside the St. Louis Cathedral. Tourists milled around, remarking over the sights and sounds of the French Quarter. Honeymooning couple strolled by, arm in arm, and for a moment, Claire envied them their bliss. She’d spent so much of her life just trying to remain alive that thoughts of marriage and family had been a distant, vague dream. Now she didn’t know if those things were even possible. The measures taken to extend her life could well have ended her chances of having children, and even if she could, she wasn’t sure she wanted to take the chance of leaving a family behind to mourn her.
Police were gently herding people out of the Square, preparing to close it for the night, and Claire joined them, reluctantly abandoning her bench in the sliver of dying sunlight. Outside the gates, she stared up at the cathedral, its triple spires reaching up into the darkening sky overhead. The afternoon rain left the air heavy, and the days heat lingered in the air redolent with cooking smells from the Quarter, and the scent of flower blooming throughout the city. Slowly she began to wander the quarter, waiting for time to pass.
By ten o’clock, she was comfortably ensconced at a table outside Café du Monde, sipping from a café au lait and nibbling now and then on a beignet. The same lone saxophone player stood nearby, and on impulse, she sent him a large coffee to counteract the oncoming chill in the air.
It was just being delivered to him when a voice behind her said, “That was very generous of you.”
She whirled to see Louis standing behind her, looking over at the musician. She turned back to see him accepting it gratefully, and she smiled. “On nights when I work, I like to leave some of my tip money for him. He makes the hours seem to pass faster.”
Louis seated himself across from her, leaning back comfortably in the chair. “You wanted to explain something to me,” he said, reminding her of their last conversation.
She nodded. “Yes, I do. Can I get you something first?”
He shook his head slightly. “I placed an order inside, and they know where to find me. So, Claire Durant. What is the great mystery of your life?”
“I’m dying,” she said simply. “I know what you’re thinking. Either ‘So is everyone else’ or ‘How sad.’ Everyone thinks those same thoughts when I tell them.”
Instead, he merely asked a question. “How?”
“Cancer,” she replied. “For several years now. I’m in remission right now, but it won’t last long; it never has. But this time when it ends, I’m not going back for treatment. I feel worse getting well than I do when I’m sick. Anyway, that’s what I meant last night. About not wanting to run the race anymore.” She swallowed deeply from her coffee.
Louis thanked the waitress who delivered his. “Are you ready for it?” he asked, wrapping his fingers around the warm cup.
She shook her head. “Not at all. There are so many things I still want. Not so much to do, but places I wanted to see, and things I wanted to experience. I want so badly to live, but not tied to an IV for the rest of my life, or worrying about the next round of treatment. That’s why I’m here. New Orleans was the top of my list. To live here and put it out of my mind for a while. And maybe to die here, too.” She dunked the last bite of her beignet into her coffee, then popped it into her mouth. “I swear these are the best thing about New Orleans. I have never had a better pastry in my life.”
Louis had to smile. “Perhaps independence is a secret ingredient.” He watched her lick the powdered sugar from her fingers with relish. “I don’t believe I have ever seen anyone enjoy a beignet so much. I’d like to thank you for sharing the experience with me.”
“Would you like some? I’ll get some really fresh, so hot they almost burn your fingers,” she offered.
Louis shook his head. “No. I’m quite full, and it’s enough to see you enjoy them.” He feigned sipping from his coffee. “What will you do when New Orleans has lost its glamour?”
“New Orleans lose its glamour? I could live here forever, I think. Anything that’s not here now eventually stops by, from what I can tell. I could almost stay in the French Quarter. There’s not much outside it I need at the moment.” She finished her coffee. “I have to run. I have an early date with dreamland tonight.”
He rose as she did. “Bon nuit, Claire. I hope to see you again.”
She offered her hand, and he kissed the back of it gallantly. “You know where to find me,” she said, gesturing to the open café behind them. She retrieved her hand and skittered away across the street.
Louis remained standing, watching her until she was well up Dumaine Street. When he turned back to sit down again, the chair Claire had occupied was filled with the dominating presence of the Vampire Lestat.
Louis smiled, and his emerald eyes lit up. “Welcome home, Lestat. I didn’t expect you so soon.”
Lestat toyed with the empty cup. “Were you entertaining before dinner, as it were?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Louis said, turning away. “Sometimes you are the most outrageous creature.”
“Oh, Louis,” Lestat sighed. “Don’t be so gloomy. So who is the girl?”
“Just a waitress, here at the café. I met her last night. She was foolish enough to walk down and alley and nearly get her throat cut.”
Lestat smirked. “And you were her knight in shining armor? Louis, you never change.” He dragged one finger through the powdered sugar and touched it delicately to the end of his tongue.
“Good?” Louis asked.
“Mm-hmm.” He caught Louis’ eyes with his own, and something unseen flashed between them. Lestat jumped up, offering a hand to Louis. “Come home with me,” he said suddenly.
Louis rose smoothly. “Always,” he replied, taking Lestat’s hand.
*****
Louis and Lestat settled into chairs outside Café du Monde close to midnight. The afternoon rain had lasted until after nightfall, though it was gone now. Umbrellas still covered some tables, and the crowd was rather thin.
A waitress noticed them and came over. “What will it be this evening, gentlemen?”
Louis looked around, and glanced inside the building. “Is Claire off tonight?” he asked.
“You’re Louis, right?” He nodded, and she went on. “She was supposed to work tonight, but she didn’t make it. She called in about three, and left a message for you. I’ll just go get it.” She disappeared into the building, then returned with a folded paper. She set it in front of Louis, then discreetly moved off.
Louis stared at it, unwilling to touch it. Lestat didn’t need the ability to read Louis’ mind to know what he was feeling. “I’ll read it,” he offered, reaching across the table for it.
He scanned the few lines briefly. “She’s at the Medical Center of Louisiana - East. It’s the cancer. She’s refusing all but the most basic treatments. Will you please come so she can say good-bye.” Lestat looked up to see the blood tears forming in Louis’ eyes. “Go. I’ll meet you there.” Louis pressed on elegant hand to Lestat’s tanned cheek, and was gone, faster than the human eye could follow.
Louis sat by the bed, holding the wasted little hand. The harsh lights made his pallid face even more chalky, and when he came in Lestat could see the faintest traces of red beneath Louis’ eyes, where the blood tears had run their course.
“Turn her for me,” Louis whispered.
Lestat’s grip on the footrail tightened. “What did you say?”
“You heard me. Turn her for me. Bring her over. Give her the Dark Gift. I can’t stand to see her like this. It’s killing me.” The blood tears started to track down Louis’ face once more. “When have I asked you for anything, Lestat? 'I will give you the choice I never had.' When does anyone choose death over life? Just do this. Not for her, but for me. Because you gave me this cursed existence, and because of you I lost the only thing that made it bearable.” He turned away, dashing the crimson tears from his eyes.
Lestat set his stance at the foot of the bed, and turned his back to the blond angel struggling to breathe on the bed. God, it could be two hundred years ago! And still the jealousy welled up inside of Lestat, more dangerous and black than the blood lust he would face every night forevermore. “She's not Claudia! You can't bring her back by asking me for this girl!”
“I know it. But maybe I can bring ME back. I was at peace then, and I want that peace again.”
Lestat gave a snort of thinly veiled contempt. “It's always about you, isn't it? You can never be happy, you were never satisfied! You were always squalling at me about what I had made you, what you were, what we were.” At a ragged exhale from the girl, he whirled and stared at her for a moment, then clenched his hands around the brass footboard, his preternatural strength bending the metal.
“And you told me NOTHING! You LIED about what you knew! About Armand, about Marius, about your own MOTHER, for the love of God. Be honest with me for once. Do what you will. If you won't, then I will. And she'll be weak. And I'll love her anyway.”
Lestat looked at him. “So now you will break your vow? She means that much to you, that you are willing to curse another to this existence, as you so love to put it?”
“She wants to live, Lestat. And I can’t cure her. This existence is all I can give her.” Louis stroked the thin hand.
Lestat sighed, the weight of ages on his shoulders. “You know I could never deny you anything, Louis. We will do it together.”
Louis smiled softly. “Despite what you might think, I do love you, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” replied Lestat. “I'm sure it'll be the death of me one of these nights.” He looked out into the hall. “Gather her up quickly. Once those monitors go off, we won’t have long to get away.” He opened the doors to the tiny balcony. “Ask her first, Louis. We’re not doing this if she doesn’t want to go through with it.”
Louis rubbed her cheek gently, and she stirred a little. “Claire? Claire, wake up. I need to ask you something.”
The pale blue eyes opened, looking blearily at Louis. “You came to say good-bye?”
“Not exactly, cheré. Listen to me. Do you want to go? Are you ready now to die?”
She head shook weakly. “No. Still haven’t seen it all. Don’t seem to have much choice, though.” Her voice was thin and weak.
“Claire, I can help you. But it will be different. It will not be the life you know. It will be dark, and may be terrifying, but you are strong enough to deal with it, I think. Will you come?” Louis watched the monitors carefully, hoping she had enough time.
“I don’t want to go, Louis. Don’t let me go.” Her head turned on the pillow, and she faded into unconsciousness.
Louis scooped her up, yanking away wires and lines, and ran for Lestat on the balcony. Lestat gathered them both close and they rose effortlessly into the night sky.
They settled on the flat’s balcony, and Lestat forced the French doors with his mind, Louis following with Claire clutched tightly in his arms.
“Bring her into the bathroom,” Lestat directed, storming through the main suite.
“Why the bath?” Louis asked, though he followed without pause.
“Practicality, cher Louis. Both the girl and the room will be easier to clean.” He snapped a pillow from the head of the bed on his way by. “Put her in the tub,” he instructed.
As Louis lowered her into the claw-footed tub, Lestat set the pillow under her head. Her blonde hair lay limply on it, and her skin was nearly as pale as the white ceramic. “How are we going to do this?”
Lestat studied Claire intently. “She’s not close enough yet. I’m going to have to drain her, then you will take the Dark Blood from me, and give it to her.”
“Will it work?” Louis whispered.
“I believe it will. She will inherit my strength, and share the bond of maker and child with you. You know you won’t be able to read her mind?” Lestat lifter her hand, gently removing the Heplock needle.
“I know. But she will be my daughter, and that is what counts.” Louis brushed at the fine hair.
“All right, then. Let’s not waste anymore time.” He woke Claire with a gentle mental nudge. “Claire, we’re going to help you, and it will be painful. But Louis believes you have the strength to survive it, and so do I. Are you ready?” When she nodded, he smiled. “Good girl. Stay here with us, and it will all be better very soon.” He kissed the inside of her wrist, then very gently, bit it and began to drink.
Louis turned away, feeling of self-loathing welling up inside him. How could he allow this, much less participate? But Claire was worth it to him, and her desire to live and experience life to its fullest in the face of terminal illness touched him deeply.
Lestat saw him turn, and caught his arm. Pulling Claire’s wrist from his mouth, he gently pulled Louis down to their level. “This is not time to change your mind, Louis. Gather all of you strength, your gentleness, and your humanity, and share it with her. Channel my strength, and temper it with your love.”
Staring into Lestat’s eyes, Louis bit deeply into his wrist, and pressed it to Claire’s pallid lips. For one endless moment, there was nothing. Then, he felt the pull as she started to drink. “Now,” he whispered, and tasted Lestat’s own wrist, already bitten, against his own lips. He drank deeply, feeling the fire of the ancient blood flow into him, and through him to Claire.
The pain build slowly, and his heart beat in rhythm with Lestat’s. He could feel the swoon reaching for him, and he set himself to hang on longer, to give Claire every bit of the strength he could muster. Her finger were wrapped around his forearm, digging in, and pulling to get it still closer.
Claire suddenly thrust his wrist away, her breathing harsh and back arching. Louis released Lestat, and sat on the floor. Leaning against the tub, he tried to comfort Claire as she shook in the throes of the transformation.
Lestat leaned tiredly against the wall, gripping his wrist. “Is it working” he asked in a strained voice.
Louis nodded. “It’s happening,” he whispered.
Claire thrashed in the tub as her mortal body died, moaning and panting in turn. The Dark Gift took possession of her slowly, making her skin paler still, and sharpening her teeth. But her form, like that of Lestat’s mother, was resuming a youthful shape, filling out and firming.
When it was done, she pulled herself into a sitting position slowly. “Louis?” she called timidly.
“I’m here, Cheré. Are you all right?” He pulled himself to his knees and examined her, taking in the curled blonde hair and bright blue eyes.
“I... I think so. Everything looks so different...” Her head swiveled from side to side, trying to take in everything.
Lestat came over to take her hand and help her up. “I know, Claire. Let us help you, then we will explain everything.” Once she was steady, he reached over to turn on the taps. “Have a shower, clean up, and we will go from there.”
Several nights later, Louis took Claire out in the early hours of the evening. Together they walked the Quarter, never stumbling on the un-even bricks of the sidewalks. Deliberately, they walked through an alley, and when a mugger approached them, Louis immobilized him, and allowed Claire to feed. When she left him alive, Louis finished him, then erased the bite marks, casually broke his neck and cast him into a pile of rubbish.
Claire walked beside Louis, her footfalls so faint he could hardly hear them.
“You're very quiet tonight, ma fille,” he commented after some time. She was silent so long that he almost gave up the idea of conversation altogether.
“How do you decide, Louis?”
He knew without further explanation what she was asking. “I don't, really. I take whomever crosses my path when the mood strikes.”
“Why not me?”
“The night we met? Because there was a light in you I didn't want to see put out. Something in you cried out for more in life. It's part of why I wanted to bring you over.” He walked a few more steps in silence. “And there was something familiar in you.”
“Claudia,” she said slowly, rolling the name around in her mouth.
“You've read the books,” he said by way of agreement. “But there are things that weren't mentioned, you must remember.”
“I know. Lestat told me, but I think he doesn't like to talk about it.”
“No, he doesn't, cheré. I don't care to much either. But neither do I want to keep information from you. It was the bane of my early years, and I want it to be easier for you.”
“So how do I decide?” she asked.
“Who to kill? That, petite, is most likely the one answer I cannot give you. It is a decision you must make for yourself.”
“Lestat says the evil-doer has the best... taste,” she offered hesitantly.
“He has certainly tried the widest variety, so perhaps he is correct,” Louis chuckled. “And he is skilled at covering the kill, which you must remember at all times.”
“Do I have to kill?” she asked timidly.
“It is not necessary, but it is hard to avoid. The feeling is... exquisite.” He sighed softly. “I may have done you no favor in passing on the Dark Gift to you, Claire, and you may come to hate me one day.”
She wrapped one thin arm around his waist. “I wanted more out of life than I had a chance of getting, and you gave it to me. For that, Louis, I will always, ALWAYS be grateful.”
Once home, Louis waited until Claire had retired to her room, the room that had been Claudia's, before he went in search of Lestat.
He found is maker in the study, headphones on and eyes closed, listening to music in a wing chair. Louis waited just inside the door, soaking up the sight of Lestat and smiling softly at the movements Lestat made to the music which Louis could hear leaking from the headphones.
“I know you're there,” Lestat said suddenly without opening his eyes. “You should bathe. The smell of mortals is all over you.” He reached up and unerringly shut off the stereo.
Louis nodded slightly. “Whatever pleases Monsieur le Rock Star. I only wanted to inform you that we were back.”
“Did Claire feed?” Lestat asked, returning the headphones to the antique armoire.
“She did,” Louis replied. “I... helped her with the details.”
“She'll have to learn to do it on her own soon, Louis,” Lestat advised. “You can't shelter her forever.”
“I know,” he replied a bit sadly. “I just want her to find her own pace.” When Lestat made no reply and continued to fiddle with the stereo, Louis turned slowly to leave.
He found himself spun back around and wrapped in Lestat's embrace, his maker's lips pressed seductively to his own.
“Perhaps I should help you with the details of your bath,” Lestat whispered when he finally broke away.
“It is quite possible that you are worse than the devil himself, Lestat. Are you aware of that?” Louis' diatribe was completely without venom, and his lips only a fraction of an inch from Lestat's.
“That... is what... makes him... so terribly... jealous,” Lestat murmured.
Claire was not yet awake the next evening when misfortune presented itself, in the person of David Talbot.
“Louis!” Lestat exclaimed. “Look what I found on the front stoop.” He gained possession of David’s coat and tossed it on a divan.
David wasted no time in coming to the point. “Look, you two are in big trouble...again...”
“When have I not been in trouble, David?” Lestat laughed. “I think sometimes I was born in trouble.”
Louis, sitting in the corner, couldn't help a chuckle from behind his newspaper. “Good evening to you, too.”
“And you, Louis,” David went on. “You've always been so careful about what you do. You swore you would never make another.”
The paper rustled closed, and now Louis' eyes could be seen, flashing rare green fire. “I'm terribly sorry if what I want to do so discommodes everyone else, though I hardly see how that's possible.”
“Careful, youngest fledgling of mine. Your older brother is sensitive about his daughter.” Lestat couldn't suppress a chuckle
“As usual, Lestat, you fail to see the seriousness of this whole business. “ David frowned at the one who had given him the Dark Gift, lapsing back into his prior role at the Talmasca. “You both know that Marius strictly forbids the making of children. Your Claudia taught us all a lesson, one I should hope you would never forget.”
“Claudia was a mistake. I freely admit it.” Lestat paused thoughtfully. “But Claire is an adult, and was at death's door. Was Maharet wrong in saving her darling Jesse? Did Armand make a mistake in taking Daniel? Why should mon cher Louis not have the pleasure of a child? I have many such treasures, though they irritate me sorely sometimes.”
“Marius himself turned Armand to save his life,” Louis chimed in. “He really hasn't a leg to stand on. And that’s not even bringing up Benji and Sybelle.”
David opened his mouth, then shut it again. Lestat laughed at him from the depths of his blue eyes, knowing he had won again. David sighed heavily. “It's not that there isn't precedent. It's about ethics, Lestat, something you've never been one to pay much heed to.” He smiled fondly. “Although that's one of the things that those of us who love you, love most about you.”
“Well, if it never bothered me before, it shan't bother me now. Will it, Louis?”
“I suppose not,” Louis chuckled.
“Where is the girl now?” David asked, changing the subject.
“Why?” Louis asked.
“Well, I though I might as well have a look at her,” David replied, flustered.
“Just leave it be, David,” Lestat advised gently. “Louis will show her off when he's ready, and not before.”
David sighed again, hands on hips in the center of the room. “Well, I did try.” He looked at his watch. “I suppose I should get going, then.”
Louis scowled darkly from his corner. “And you go to tell Marius?”
“No, I'm not a tattletale. This will all hit the fan soon enough, believe you me.”
“Well, it was marvelous to see you again. my dear boy,” Lestat gushed. “Do stop by again sometime. Perhaps Louis will be more sociable then.”
David collected his coat from the divan, eyeing the two of them; one blond, the other dark, one charming, the other brooding. “You'll definitely be hearing from me soon, of that I have no doubt. In the meantime, try to lay low, all right?”
Lestat clapped David on the shoulder, opening the front door for him and seeing him out onto the porch. The streetlamps cast amber pools of light on the sidewalk, broken only by David's shadow. “Of course, of course.” He smiled to himself. “You know me, David.”
The words came back with a slight tinge of sarcasm. “Yes. I do know you, that's what I'm afraid of.”
The door had hardly closed behind him before Claire appeared at the stairs. “He doesn’t like me much, does he?” she asked sadly.
Lestat turned to her. “Ma cheré petite Claire, he does not know you like we do. Now get dressed. You’re coming out with me tonight, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
“You never do,” Louis murmured from the corner.
Claire went over to him. “Do you mind if I go out with him, Louis?”
He smiled at his fledgling. “No, ma cheré fille. Go, and enjoy yourself. Lestat and I will deal with David and the others. They won’t risk his anger, or mine. I have a habit of setting alight that which tries to take what’s mine.” He kissed her forehead gently. “Go, Claire. Go and enjoy your chance. The others will have to come around soon.” He watched her upstairs, then turned to Lestat. “It won’t happen again. I won’t let them take her like-” His eyes were green fire again.
Lestat was near him in an instant, one hand behind Louis’ neck, their foreheads pressed together. “No. WE won’t let it happen. None of them will take her from us.” He pressed a kiss to Louis’ cold lips. “You should go out and feed as well. Meet us at du Monde, and we’ll find something to do.”
Louis smiled. “You will take care of her, won’t you?”
“Of course I will, cher. You have nothing to worry about.”
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So this is where my story ends, for now.
I’m still coming to grips with the Dark Gift, and learning about my abilities. I seem to have most of Lestat’s abilities, though Louis has acquired them as well.
It seems the others have yet to make up their minds about me, and it bother’s me a little. Nothing like wondering every night if I’m going to turn into vampire flambé, but both Louis and Lestat assure me it won’t happen. Lestat entertains ideas about taking me to Maharet and presenting me as a faít accompi. He hasn’t said anything about it yet, but it’s there.
Louis’ mind is closed to me, the veil of maker and child between us. He shares almost every thought with me, though, so I don’t mind so much.
It’s certainly not the life I expected when I left home, but, all things considered, I wouldn’t change it. I’d far rather be what I am now than dead.
Claire Durant du Lac
March, 2000
Characters from “The Vampire Chronicles” are the property of Anne Rice, etc., and used here without permission. No copyright infringement or plagiarism is intended. The character of Claire Durant is the property of the author. This story is a work of speculative fiction, and no money is being made from it.
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