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Slowly I felt the floor beneath me. The slightly rough surface of the carpet. Scent of dust, wax, my home. I knew we were in the same room.
He had taken Louis's chair at the desk, and I lay there on my back, staring at the ceiling, my chest bursting with pain.
I sat up, crossed my legs, and looked at him defiantly.
He was puzzled. "It makes perfect sense," he said.
"And what's that?"
"You're as strong as one of us. "
"No, I don't think so," I said furiously. "I can't grow wings; I can't make music. "
"Yes, you can, you've made images before for mortals. You know you can. You've wrapped them in spells. You are as strong as we are. You have achieved a very interesting stage in your development. I knew I was right about you all along. I'm in awe of you. "
"In awe of what? My independence? Look, let me tell you something, Satan, or whoever you are. "
"Don't use that name, I hate it. "
"That's likely to make me pepper my speeches with it. "
"My name is Memnoch," he said calmly, with a small pleading gesture. "Memnoch the Devil. I want you to remember it that way. "
"Memnoch the Devil. "
"Aye. " He nodded. "That is how I sign my name when I sign it. "
"Well, let me tell you, Your Royal Highness of Darkness. I'm not helping you with anything! I don't serve you!"
"I think I can change your mind," he said calmly. "I think you will come to understand things v
ery well from my point of view. " I felt a sudden sagging, a complete exhaustion, and a despair.
Typical.
I rolled over on my face and tucked my arm under my head and started crying like a child. I was perishing from exhaustion. I was worn and miserable and I loved crying. I couldn't do anything else. I gave in to it fully. I felt that profound release of the utterly grief-stricken. I didn't give a damn who saw or heard. I cried and cried.
Do you know what I think about crying? I think some people have to learn to do it. But once you learn, once you know how to really cry, there's nothing quite like it. I feel sorry for those who don't know the trick. It's like whistling or singing.
Whatever the case, I was too miserable to take much consolation just from feeling good for a moment in a welter of shudders and salted, bloodstained tears.
I thought of years and years ago, when I had walked into Notre Dame and those fiendish little vampires had lain in wait for me, Servants of Satan, I thought of my mortal self, I thought of Dora, I thought of Armand in those days, the immortal boy leader of Satan's Elect beneath the cemetery, who had made himself a dark saint, sending forth his ragged blood drinkers to torment mortals, to bring death, to spread fear and death like pestilence. I was choking with sobs.
"It is not true!" I think I said. "There is no God or Devil. It is not true. "
He didn't answer. I rolled over and sat up. I wiped my face on my sleeve. No handkerchief. Of course, I'd given it to Dora. A faint
perfume of Dora rose from my clothes, my chest against which she'd lain, blood sweetness. Dora. I should never have left Dora in such distress. Dear God, I was bound to look out for the sanity of Dora! Damn.
I looked at him.
He was still sitting there, his arm resting on the back of Louis's chair, and he was simply watching me.
I sighed. "You're not going to leave me alone, are you?"
He was taken aback. He laughed. His face was marvelously friendly, rather than neutral.
"No, of course not," he said in a low voice, as if careful not to unbalance me any further. "Lestat, I've been waiting for someone like you for centuries. I've been watching you yourself for centuries. No, I'm afraid I'm not going to leave you alone. But I don't want you to be miserable. What can I do to calm you? Some small miracle, gift, anything, so that we can proceed?"
