June 1999
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine. They belong to Anne Rice and her publishers.
SPOILERS: IWTV, TVL, QOTD
‘A rose that autumn withers away
Is still in essence sweet.
That scent is still its incense to heav’n
As the rose its maker greets.’
Louis laid the pen down and cupped his chin in his hands. It was strange to capture emotions and ideas in this from; poetry, a form that had been so popular in his youth. Especially in this way, when machines would take down every word. Most particularly in this manner, dipping the antique pen into the small ink pot and scraping the elaborate letters onto the paper. He tilted his head to one side, allowing the free black hair to cover his arm. His head sank lower, finally resting on his forearm.
"Well, I should have expected that you’d be doing something or other boring." Louis looked up, green eyes brightening at first to see Lestat. The mocking expression on that perfect, tanned face dulled the flare almost immediately. Louis turned away, back to his desk. He closed the leather-bound journal and turned back to face his antagonist. He tried to keep a slight smile on his face. "What would you like, Lestat?" "Oh, nothing. Just bored. Thought I’d see what you were up to. What are you doing, anyway?" The curiosity overrode the feigned boredom in his voice. Louis considered the hazards of telling Lestat. Was honesty best? "Just looking at my financial situation." Lestat snorted crudely. "Financial situation? Don’t worry, Louis. You’re taken care of ‘til kingdom come." He walked out, his laughter echoing behind him. "Taken care of," Louis mused. He picked up the pen again.
‘I fly beyond the heavens reach
To search for my angel there.
But he turns off and leaves me alone
With just a touch of his golden hair.’
"Very nice, Louis. I didn’t know you wrote." Louis turned to his right warily to find David reading over his shoulder. David backed away slightly.
"I’m sorry, Louis, if I have offended. That was inconsiderate of me."
"No, no, David. You can read it; I don’t mind." David raised his dark eyebrows.
"But you mind if Lestat reads it?" Louis looked down, running a finger along the edge of the journal.
"He laughs at everything I do. He insulted my book more than you can imagine. I’m sure his reaction to my ‘silly scribblings’ would be no different." David was about to respond when Louis inhaled sharply and pulled his finger away from the paper. Holding his finger, he laughed shakily.
"Paper cut." David smiled.
"Well, Louis, I think your poetry is sweet. Definitely 18th century French style. Perhaps Lestat would understand it." Louis shook his head once.
"No, I don’t think he would. It’s alright, though; I write it for myself mainly. I’ve never written like this before."
"Do as you like, Louis, but I think you should show it to someone." David grinned ruefully. "I can read it, but I’m not an expert. I’ll see you later tonight?"
"Yes, I’ll probably be downstairs by two." David nodded and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Louis turned his attention back to his finger.
"May I help with that?" The voice issuing from the dimly -lit corner of the room made Louis look around.
The figure stepped out of a wall, it seemed, and stood before Louis. Unkempt brown hair, eyes a strange russet in the half light. Louis squinted to see the figure better, but couldn’t pierce the duskiness.
"Poetry is such a wonderful expression. I have always enjoyed it." It was a vampire, slender as Louis was slender, dusty as Louis was dusty. His clothes were antiquated, knee breeches and tattered velvet frock coat. He moved swiftly towards the green-eyed vampire, holding out his hand.
Louis retreated slightly. The other vampire tilted his head and quickly grabbed Louis’ hand. The strange vampire’s hand was deathly cold, dry with callused fingers. While Louis stared, the brown-haired vampire brought Louis’ hand to his mouth in a slow, hypnotic manner. He quickly licked at the small cut on his finger.
Louis’ eyes closed in surrender, then shot open when he realized what was going on. He pulled away, holding the healing finger in his other hand.
"Who are you?" In reply, the other vampire laughed.
"Oh, just someone making the rounds; I like to see how my lovers are doing."
"Lovers? I don’t know you." This only made the other laugh harder. He took a step back, striking a stiff theatrical pose.
"When one has traveled far, it’s true,
From those he’s left behind,
He finds his soul has carried on,
Though somehow still unwinds."
The vampire laughed again and making a low bow, vanished from the room. Louis closed his eyes and shook his head.
"I’ve not fed yet; that must be it. I’ll just write the date at the bottom of this page, then go out." He sat in his chair, flipping through the book to find the correct page. The room still seemed hazy about him, as though he were in a dream. He had an almost giddy feeling, which he suppressed quickly.
Louis found the page, and skimmed through, making a quick search for mistakes. The page looked yellowed, though the journal was new. The ink had that sharp scent to it that Louis had not smelled in decades.
At the very bottom of the page, there was a brief stanza scrawled in an untidy hand, not at all like Louis’ copperplate penmanship. Confused, Louis looked closer and began reading.
‘When one has traveled far, it’s true- ‘ Louis stopped, shocked. The exact words of that mysterious vampire were written in his poetry book. They hadn’t been there two minutes before. And the book had remained closed during the entire encounter.
Slamming the journal closed, Louis got up and left the room, taking care to firmly shut the door behind himself. He walked quickly down the stairs, only pausing at the foot to step into the sitting room.
Lestat was lounging on the floor, rubbing Mojo’s silky ears. The dog perked up when Louis entered the room, and he absently bent to rub his head as he made his way to the couch. David smiled at him, then went back to translating his newest literary acquisition.
Louis sat down carefully, feeling weak and tired. Lestat got up and sat down beside him.
"What’s the matter, Louis? Are you upset because I made a little joke earlier?" Louis shook his head. Lestat rolled his eyes.
"Do I have to drag it out of you?" He scrutinized Louis’ face. "Well, you obviously haven’t fed. Mon Dieu, Louis, your lips have a slightly bluish tint. Will you go hunt already?" He touched Louis’ face gently, shaking his head like an indulgent father. For no reason, this incensed Louis.
"Stop treating me like a child! I can take care of myself much better than you can take care of me." Face set, he left the house, uncharacteristically slamming the door behind him.
Lestat’s eyes widened. His newest fledgling looked at him, and he flinched away. He went back to the kitchen, muttering to himself, "As if I don’t know what to do with my children!"
When Louis returned, David was folding his newspaper and slipping it into the wooden magazine holder beside his chair. Louis’ face seemed very flushed, with dark circles around his dark green eyes.
"Are you a little calmer, Louis?" David queried quietly. Louis’ angry face settled into its normal placid expression and he smiled a little.
"Yes, David, thank you. I’m just a bit weary, I think. Where is Lestat?"
"He went into the kitchen just after you left. That was several hours ago. He didn’t come back out here, but he may have left by the side door." Louis nodded slowly, then walked to the piano. Stroking the keys lovingly, he seemed to be lost in a thought that never quite made it to his eyes. Then he wandered upstairs, leaving David alone once more.
His journal lay open on the desk, pen all ready on the right side of the paper. Louis sat down quickly, taking off his jacket and half unbuttoning his shirt as he sat. He grabbed at the pen in a rush, then stopped. What did he have to write?
"Let me think; what can you write?" The mysterious figure stepped out once again, lightly stroking his chin as he pondered the question. Louis’ will seemed to melt before this vampire. He rose and walked toward him.
"Do you like music?" the strange vampire asked seriously. Louis nodded, puzzled. "That’s always a noble matter for verse. Music calms the savage breast, induces a storm of emotions. There is nothing so strong, so subtle. So . . . seductive."
Louis took a deep breath to clear his head. Tried to think logically. The other vampire watched with a faint smile, his brown eyes glinting. They glittered wildly in the candlelight; Louis was fascinated by them.
"Yes, I suppose music is a good thing to write about." Louis walked mechanically back to his chair and sat down, pen in hand. The other vampire began pacing at a quick speed, displacing papers around him. Louis looked up at him.
"But I’m so uninspired. I don’t know much about music." The jewel -eyed one stopped, and swiveled like a puppet.
"Not know about music?" He sounded very upset. "But you must know. Music is the wind in the branches of the mind; always there, but not always felt. It is a fantasy of sound, which plates the silence in silver and gold. It is stillness alchemized into movement by passion and pain." He rocked back and forth in rhythm with his words. He reached into an invisible box and held nothing in his hands that Louis could see. "See, my instrument. The violin. I know about music. Je suis la musique."
His body went through the motions of pulling a bow across nonexistent strings. Louis watched, transfixed. As the vampire played, a tiny breath of melody was born in the air. The shape of his instrument grew solid until Louis could see the glossy finish of the violin. The song intensified; Louis found himself swaying in time to the pulsing beat, his hands reaching for the divine instrument. The other vampire laughed and skipped out of reach. Instead, Louis sought to touch him.
He dragged one hand down the vampire’s smooth cheek, smearing the blood sweat there. The skin felt transparent and ethereal, like the music. The vampire pulled back, smiling like a madman.
"Now, write, Louis. Write for me." Obediently, Louis returned to his chair, the pen in his hand, verse flowing through the ink.
"Lovely phrases fraught with terror,
Ruffled hush of angel’s wing,
Soaring down to meet its maker,
‘Infernal,’ sings the violin."
The unkempt vampire laughed and danced about the room. His hair was a brown cloud about his pale face, the hands shaking as he brought the song to a close. Louis offered him the journal.
"Do you want to read it?" The vampire laughed harder and harder, shaking his head, hair tumbling this way and that.
"I don’t need to, Louis. I might as well have written it, non?" He struck a discordant note on the violin and disappeared.
Lestat knocked almost hesitantly on Louis’ door. He had not seen his fledgling in two nights, and heard no sound from the bedroom. David had said that he went out to feed, but that was all. David also reported that when Louis returned from the hunt, blood smeared his mouth and he was often smiling. The blonde vampire decided it was time for discussion. He prayed that it would end in tenderness, and end quickly.
No one answered his knock; unlatching the door from the inside with his mind, he slipped inside.
Louis was sprawled on the bed, a tattered journal lying beside him. There was blood on his mouth. It didn’t look at all like Louis, his shirt open, feet bare. Lestat shrugged, and sat on the side of the bed. He himself had been known to go through strange phases. It probably was good for Louis to have some of his own.
Lestat leaned down and kissed the blood from Louis’ lower lip. He jerked back immediately. It was not mortal blood he had tasted. It was the blood of a vampire, but the flavor was stale and old, like dead mortal blood. What had Louis done?
Louis awoke suddenly and sat up in one fluid movement.
"What are you doing in here? I didn’t invite you." He jumped off the bed and began pacing the room savagely, clutching his book protectively to his chest. Lestat sat with his jaw hanging open. He shook his head in disbelief.
"Louis, I was worried about you-"
"Well, isn’t that wonderful. I didn’t even think of you. Now leave me; I have much to write." Lestat stared at his beautiful Louis. His hair was mussed, clothes messy-he looked familiar in a different way, Lestat couldn’t put his finger on exactly how.
"What are you writing?" he asked carefully.
"Does it matter? It doesn’t concern you, it never does." Louis sat down at the writing desk, rocking slightly as the pen scratched across the paper. The smell of ink was sharp in the air, the scent of ink not used in several hundred years. Lestat left the room, vaguely disturbed by the fact that Louis didn’t even glance up once.
Later that night, David approached his maker. Lestat was brooding at the kitchen table, tearing a cloth napkin to pieces. David tapped his shoulder and he jerked around.
"Lestat, come into the living room."
"Why? What’s in there?" David shifted a little uncomfortably. Lestat frowned at him; it was strange for David to be ill at ease.
"It’s Louis." Lestat snorted rudely.
"If I need to see him, I know where to go." David shook his head.
"You’ll understand if you come." Lestat sighed and got up. He was tiring of Louis’ little games.
As he swung open the door to the living room, he was surprised to hear piano music. When Louis was alone in a room, he very rarely put music on to keep him company. He preferred the silence. Lestat almost swallowed his tongue when he looked closer into the room.
Louis was seated on the piano bench, fingers pounding out the complicated song on the keyboard. He was lost in the music; Lestat had never even seen him sit at the instrument before.
"Louis?" Lestat walked up to him, speaking in a hushed voice. Louis’ eyes were closed, his whole being concentrating on the sounds of his creation. The song was chaotic, yet beautiful in its amorphous quality. "Louis?"
Lestat looked back at David, who shook his head discreetly. Lestat made a questioning gesture toward his fledgling. David shrugged, puzzled. Lestat pursed his lips. He shook Louis’ shoulder.
The music stopped abruptly as Louis flung himself away from Lestat’s touch.
"Leave me in peace! Are you unable to do that?" Lestat sputtered, trying to formulate an answer. Nothing came to mind while Louis glared at him. Finally, he forced out his question.
"Louis, when did you start playing?" Louis smirked.
"I learned as a child, Lestat. And I’ve watched you so many times; I’m sure I can do it myself. But of course, you wouldn’t like it. You don’t appreciate anything I do." With that, he slid off the bench and ran up the stairs.
The mysterious vampire was waiting for Louis when he returned to his room.
"Lestat is not an artist. He doesn’t understand us. Write more, Louis; write from your soul."
"Couldn’t you play the violin again for me?" Louis asked wistfully. The vampire smiled tenderly, but shook his head.
"No, you don’t need that madness. Just write. I’m here for you. You are me in many ways, Louis." The vampire stroked the raven hair. "Perhaps if I had looked like this, he would have loved me."
"Who would have loved you?" The vampire laughed.
"Oh, it doesn’t matter anymore. Just write." Louis looked toward the door. The mysterious vampire became enraged. "What are you looking for? Lestat? Don’t depend on him, don’t desire him. He destroys everything he touches."
"No, that’s not true. He loves more than any other of our kind." The vampire slapped Louis across the face. Louis raised his hand to the burning spot on his cheek.
"Ungrateful one! I gave you my Muse, I gave you my music. Inspiration means nothing to you, does it? Fine! My blood then. I shared my blood with you. You are me! Don’t you understand? You’re supposed to be me."
Louis backed away until the backs of his thighs hit the edge of the desk. That harsh, seducing music was wrenching the air again. Someone was pounding on the door. Louis heard Lestat’s strong voice through the thin wood.
"Louis, who’s in there? Louis! Louis!" The other vampire grabbed Louis’ chin in his hand and forced Lestat’s fledgling to look into his eyes.
"Me, do you understand? You have to take my place. He made you to be me. Live up to that, can’t you?" Blood tears were running down the vampire’s face. Louis was in a panic. Wouldn’t Lestat just break down the door?
Suddenly, his face was pressed into the vampire’s throat.
"You should be me." Louis heard the words through a haze of blood.
Lestat finally burst through the door, head swinging wildly. He could find no trace of forced entry into Louis’ room, and indeed, Louis himself seemed perfectly fine sitting at the desk, journal open before him.
"What was going on in here?" Louis raised dark-circled green eyes to his maker.
"Nothing. Did you hear anything?" Lestat nodded, then shrugged, then made some indistinct little noises of disbelief. Louis smiled slowly, then stood up and came toward Lestat. There was something faintly eerie in his movements. He walked with a new self-possession, his step a wildcat stride that showed off his long legs to advantage. Lestat raised a golden eyebrow.
Louis pressed himself to Lestat’s body. This was unlike Louis, Lestat thought. Louis was humming a little; the tune was something familiar. Then Lestat was completely surprised when Louis pressed his lips to his cheek.
"My lord, the Wolfkiller." Lestat gasped and stepped back. He pushed Louis away.
"Oh, God, Nicki!" Louis just came to him again, slowly biting his bottom lip. "No, this isn’t Louis; it’s Nicki!" He shouted at the air, "You let him go, Nicolas; you hear me? This has nothing to do with him."
"Oh yes it does!" Lestat whirled around to face the voice behind him.
Nicolas de Lenfant, dead for two hundred years, stepped out of the dusky shadows and into the mellow candlelight. He bared his fangs, and Lestat rocked back as though he’d been struck. Louis moved away from the imminent confrontation; he sat at the desk, one pale hand on this poetry book. He stroked the battered cover lovingly, his eyes never leaving Nicki’s face.
Nicolas’ brown hair was tangled and wet with blood. It continually fell in his eyes, causing him to shake his head wildly when it interfered with his vision. The glossy violin was in his left hand. Lestat backed up a step, then stood his ground until his fledgling was directly in front of him.
Nicki pointed at Louis with his doomed instrument.
"That one! You made him to be, but he’s not. He doesn’t have the fire, the passion." He stopped for a moment, trying to catch his breath. "I had those. But they weren’t good enough for you. Too much competition." He sneered.
"Nicki, it’s not like that. And I am not going to stand here apologizing to you for your own folly. You asked for it." Lestat blinked several times to clear away the forming tears. The violinist laughed hoarsely, then gestured Louis to come toward him. Louis came with a blank expression to stand before him.
"My folly? No, no; they’re all your follies. This one you can’t blame on anyone else." He played with Louis’ fine hair. "Pretty one, this. I’m not going to kill him, just infuse him with enough to stand against you." Lestat swallowed hard.
"What, Nicki? What are you going to infuse him with?" Nicki pushed Louis away and moved to stand with his face in Lestat’s.
"Don’t talk to me like a child. I’ll do what I want! And that’s what I’m teaching him. Giving him bits of me so that he will be exactly what you want." Lestat stared at this twisted logic. It was unclear who Nicki was trying to help-Louis, himself, or Lestat.
Nicki licked his lips and closed his eyes, leaning in as though to kiss his maker. Lestat struck out in panic, then gasped when his hand flew through Nicolas’ body. Nicki danced back laughing.
"Did you think you could hit me? Did you think your immortal force could stop me? Oh, no; even the slight limits that give you pause have no effect on me, love. I’m dead, remember?" He waved his hand as a conductor would. "Louis?"
"I taste the sunlight in your breath
That dawn that’s in your eyes.
But I can still sense twilight death
And darkness never lies."
By the time Lestat had gotten to Louis’ side to stop him from speaking, Nicolas’ disembodied laughter had already flooded the room. But the mad violinist was gone.
Lestat paced back and forth in front of David, who was flipping through the evening newspaper without actually reading a single word on the page. Louis was sitting on the couch where Lestat had made him sit. He watched the blonde vampire with a faint smile of knowledgeable amusement. His fingernails tapped out a rhythm on the cover of his ever-present journal.
Every once in a while, David would attempt to start a civil conversation. His valiant efforts were batted aside by Louis caustic answers. Lestat paced faster and with more force. Louis actually chuckled softly under his breath at his maker’s agitation.
Suddenly, Lestat swooped forward like a golden bird of prey. He snatched the book from Louis’ hands and pushed his fledgling back onto the couch with all his strength. Louis moaned as he fell and the sound echoed through the night. Lestat greedily opened the front cover, while David rushed to Louis’ side.
Lestat read the page eagerly.
‘Joker wild with flashing fangs
Beckons you to his magic box.
Aching hunger, feel the pangs,
A shame you couldn’t stand the shock.’
His blonde eyebrows drew together. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?" he muttered to himself. Before he could read another line, David called him.
"Lestat! What in hell did you do?" Lestat frowned and lowered the journal. David was holding Louis, who was a veritable rag doll on his arms. His green eyes were open wide, and his mouth was in a silent scream. His face was a transparent white and there was blood at the corners of his mouth. Lestat dropped the book and grabbed his lover from David.
He shook him gently, calling his name softly. Louis didn’t react, his head falling forward, his dark hair covering his staring eyes. Lestat cradled Louis to his chest. David picked up the fallen journal, examining the outside.
"Did you buy this for him?" Lestat looked up wearily.
"Yes, a while ago. He never used it before." He turned his attention back to his lover. "Louis, come on. You’re alright. Come on."
"He had started writing poetry in it. I read some of it before it became…became like this." His voice dropped to a confidential whisper. "It was all about you, Lestat, but he didn’t want you to read it. He was afraid you’d insult it."
"The same way Nicki did," Lestat finished for him. "Oh, God, this is horrid. What have I done?" David patted his shoulder, but Lestat had eyes only for Louis. Suddenly, Louis took a deep breath and pushed away from Lestat.
"Don’t touch me!" He stood in one fluid movement and pulled his journal from David’s limp grasp. "If I wanted you to touch me, I’d ask." His pale fingers played lightly on the cover of his book. "And don’t touch my book, either." He fled the house, again slamming the door.
David winced as the flat shook with Louis’ exit. Lestat stood staring at the closed door.
"Louis," he whispered. David put his arm around his shoulders.
"What can I do, David? I didn’t know what to do last time!" Red tears trailed in a crimson rain down his tanned cheek. David wiped them away.
"Lestat, blaming yourself and wallowing in it will definitely not help. Louis, or Nicolas, feels apart from you." He looked away. "Perhaps it is my fault, in part. Since I have come, you don’t spend time with him. Did you ever even really speak of what happened? Without bitterness and anger?" Lestat shrugged and walked to the front window. "You are pushing him away the same way you did Nicolas."
"You didn’t know Nicki! Everything was passion for him, but he hid it. Until he let it out at the Theatre." David grabbed his arms.
"Lestat, Louis doesn’t even have a Theatre to vent everything. You are his everything, and he can’t hate you the way Nicki could. Or, maybe, like Nicki, he tries to pretend. It’s in his poetry, all of it. But he is terrified of your mocking attitude about everything he does."
"I never mocked Nicki! His playing was wonderful, and I told him so."
"When he most needed to know? After he was a vampire, I mean. That’s when he needed your support. Now, I don’t know the ins and outs of your relationship, as I am not completely clear on yours and Louis’. But I tell you this: Louis’ pain opened him to a spirit who was never understood. It found a commiserator in Louis. So the only way to end that is to take away the pain that binds them together."
Lestat looked at David in exasperation.
"How in Hell am I supposed to do that?" David shook his head.
"You’re the only one who knows how he feels pain, Louis and Nicolas. You are the only one can heal the rift. Fill in what’s lacking." Lestat sighed and started up the stairs.
"Fine, but if I get flattened by my own fledgling, either one of them, you’re going to pay, Mr. Coven Psychiatrist!" David smiled sadly as Lestat mounted the stairs with hesitant, resigned steps.
The drawing, bittersweet tones of a dulcet violin greeted Lestat as he arrived at the top of the stairs. He knocked once, loud enough to be heard, but not irritating. There was a flurry of activity behind the door, then an indignant voice,
"Who is it and what do you want?" Lestat swallowed the angry retort on his tongue.
"It’s Lestat and I want to talk with you." He hesitated. "Please."
The sigh came very clearly through the thin door, exaggerated and theatrical.
"Very well." Lestat turned the knob and opened the door slowly, half expecting something, or someone, to attack him. When no assault came, he pushed the door open the rest of the way.
Louis sat at his desk, writing. The room was blessedly only occupied by Lestat’s fledgling. Lestat crept up behind Louis; the black-haired vampire did not turn around or give any indication he’d heard. Lestat stood just behind Louis, and read the freshly inked words on the page.
‘Angel, spread your wings in darkness.
Master, lover, protecting me.
My fluttering hand reaches up to you
This time, my love, embrace me.’
Lestat caught his breath, and brought one gentle hand down on Louis’ shoulder. He leaned down to whisper in Louis’ ear.
"That is beautiful, cher." Louis gasped and looked into Lestat’s eyes. For once, there was no mockery, no flippant compliments. Warm blue, his eyes spoke pure love. One crimson tear slipped down Louis’ marble cheek. Lestat smiled.
"Now, now, we mustn’t lose all composure." He kissed Louis’ lips and pulled him up in his arms. "Shall we dance, sing; what do you want to do, love?" Louis rested his head on his lover’s shoulder.
"Just be with you, Lestat." His lips met Lestat’s once more.
A scream tore through the room. Nicolas strode into the center of the small room. He brandished the violin like a weapon.
"Oh, that’s the way you do it! Pretend to love, it doesn’t matter." He was breathing in pants, chest heaving. Lestat untangled himself from Louis’ arms.
"Nicki." He reached out to stroke the ghost’s cheek. Nicolas pulled away hastily.
"Don’t touch me! If I wanted you to touch me, I’d have asked."
Lestat spoke quietly.
"May I?" Nicki stopped. His fingers toyed with the violin’s strings. He glanced from Louis to Lestat and down to the floor.
"Oui." His voice was infinitely quiet, but Lestat heard him. In an instant, the tormented vampire was in Lestat’s arms. Nicki was limp in Lestat’s embrace, as if he had fainted. Lestat peered into his pale face.
"Nicki?" There was a breeze in the room and a sharp chord of violin; the vampire Nicolas was gone.
Lestat went back to Louis and held him. They remained, just holding one another, until the breeze gave one last strong gust that flipped the pages of Louis’ journal, then died. Louis walked to the desk and drew in a sharp breath.
"Lestat!" His voice held wonder and sadness. Lestat picked up the open book and read the page.
‘My music always falls apart
Before love’s passioned call.
I wanted you to be my guide,
Not the instrument of my fall.’
Lestat closed the book on a soft sigh. Taking Louis’ hand, he led him to the door.
"Let’s go see what David’s up to. It’s his turn to be annoyed." Louis’ frown made Lestat laugh. "Well, now you know I have to!" He pushed Louis ahead of him, pulling the door closed as he left.
"Bonsoir, Nicki," he said softly, "I love you." He kissed Louis’ shining raven hair. "I love you, too, Louis."
The door closed on an empty room. A breath through the open window murmured,
"I love you, too, Lestat."
FINIT