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How stiff and lifeless it looked, how unlike the shining Veil.
"Do they show the Veil on the evening news?"
"Over and over. " He smiled. No mockery. Only love.
"What did you think, Louis, when you saw the Veil?"
"That it was the Christ I once believed in. That it was the Son of God I knew when I was a boy and this was swampland. " His voice was patient. "Come home. Let's go. There are . . . things in this place. "
"Are there?"
"Spirits? Ghosts?" He didn't seem afraid. "They're small, but I feel them, and you know, Lestat, I don't have your powers. " Again came his smile. "So you must know. Don't you feel them?"
I shut my eyes. Or, rather, my eye. I heard a strange sound like many, many children walking in ranks. "I think they're singing the times tables. "
"And what are those?" Louis asked. He squeezed my arm, bending close. "Lestat, what are the times tables?"
"Oh, you know, the way they used to teach them multiplication in those days, they must have sung it in the classrooms, two times two makes four, two times three makes six, two times four makes eight. . . isn't that how it goes . . . They're singing it. "
I stopped. Someone was there, in the vestibule, right outside the chapel, between the doors to the hall and the doors to the chapel, in the very shadows where I had hidden from Dora.
It was one of our kind. It had to be. And it was old, very old. I could feel the power. Someone was there who was so ancient that only Memnoch and God Incarnate would have understood, or. . . . Louis, maybe, Louis, if he believed his memories, his brief glimpses, his brief shattering experiences with the very ancient, perhaps. . . .
Still, he wasn't afraid. He was watching me, on guard, but basically fearless.
"Come on, I'm not standing in dread of it!" I said. And I walked towards it. I had the two sacks of books slung over my right shoulder, the fabric tight in my left hand. That allowed my right hand to be free. And my right eye. I still had that. Who was this visitor?
"That's David there," said Louis in a simple placating voice, as if to say, See? You have nothing to worry about.
"No, next to him. Look, look more deeply into the blackness. See, the figure of a woman, so white, so hard, she might as well be a statue in this place?
"Maharet!" I said.
"I am here, Lestat," she said.
I laughed.
"And wasn't that the answer of Isaiah when the Lord called? 'I am here, Lord'?"
"Yes," she said. Her voice was barely audible, but clear and cleaned by time, all the thickness of the flesh long gone from it.
I drew closer, moving out of the chapel proper and into the little vestibule. David stood beside her, like her anointed Second in Command, as if he would have done her will in an instant, and she the eldest, well, almost the eldest, the Eve of Us, the Mother of Us All, or the only Mother who remained, and now as I looked at her, I remembered the awful truth again, about her eyes, that when she was human, they had blinded her, and the eyes through which she looked now were always borrowed, human.
Bleeding in her head, human eyes, lifted from someone dead or alive, I couldn't know, and put into her sockets to thrive on her vampiric blood as long as they could. But how weary they seemed in her beautiful face. What had Jesse said? She is made of alabaster. And alabaster is a stone through which light can pass.
"I won't take a human eye," I said under my breath.
She said nothing. She had not come to judge, to recommend.
Why had she come? What did she want?
"You want to hear the tale too?"
"Your gentle English friend says that it happened as you described it. He says the songs they sing on the televisions are true; that you are the Angel of the Night, and you brought her the Veil, and that he was there, and he heard you tell. "
&nb
sp; "I am no angel! I never meant to give her the Veil! I took the Veil as proof. I took the Veil because. . . . "
