by Rice, Anne
No, “omen” is not the proper word. This did not come from anyone, this gift. It was merely something which put me more in mind of what I meant to do and why I meant to do it, and how little I really cared about the risks involved.
I stood beside the dog, petting him and stroking him and moments passed. It was a small garden, and the snow was falling again, deepening around us, and the cold pain in my skin was growing deeper too. The trees were bare and black in the silent storm. Whatever flowers or grass there might have been was of course not visible; but a few garden statues of darkened concrete and a sharp, thick shrubbery—now nothing but bare twigs and snow—marked a clear rectangular pattern to the whole.
I must have been there with the dog perhaps three minutes before my hand discovered the round silver disk dangling from his chain-link collar, and finally I gathered this up and held it to the light.
Mojo. Ah, I knew this word. Mojo. It had to do with voodoo, gris-gris, charms. Mojo was a good charm, a protective charm. I approved of it as a name for a dog; it was splendid, in fact, and when I called him Mojo he became faintly excited and once again stroked me slowly with his big eager paw.
“Mojo, is it?” I said again. “That’s very beautiful.” I kissed him and felt the leathery black tip of his nose. There was something else written on the disk, however. It was the address of this house.
Very suddenly the dog stiffened; it moved slowly and gracefully out of the sitting position and into an alert stance. James was coming. I heard his crunching steps in the snow. I heard the sound of his key in the lock of his front door. I sensed him realize suddenly that I was very near.
The dog gave a deep fierce growl and moved slowly closer to the rear door of the house. There came the sound of the boards inside creaking under James’s heavy feet.
The dog gave a deep angry bark. James opened the door, fixed his fierce crazy eyes on me, smiled, and then hurled something heavy at the animal which it easily dodged.
“Glad to see you! But you’re early,” he said.
I didn’t answer him. The dog was growling at him in the same menacing fashion and he gave his attention to the animal again, with great annoyance.
“Get rid of it!” he said, purely furious. “Kill it!”
“You’re talking to me?” I asked coldly. I laid my hand on the animal’s head again, stroking it, and whispering to it to be still. It drew closer to me, rubbing its heavy flank against me and then seated itself beside me.
James was tense and shivering as he watched all this. Suddenly he pushed up his collar against the wind, and folded his arms. The snow was blowing all over him, like white powder, clinging to his brown eyebrows and his hair.
“It belongs to this house, doesn’t it?” I said coldly. “This house which you stole.”
He regarded me with obvious hatred, and then flashed one of those awful evil smiles. I truly wished he’d lapse back into being the English gentleman. It was so much easier for me when he did. It crossed my mind that it was absolutely base to have to deal with him. I wondered if Saul had found the Witch of Endor so distasteful. But the body, ah, the body, how splendid it was.
Even in his resentment, with his eyes fixed upon the dog, he could not wholly disfigure the beauty of the body.
“Well, it seems you’ve stolen the dog too,” I said.
“I’ll get rid of it,” he whispered, looking at it again with fierce contempt. “And you, where do things stand with you? I won’t give you forever to make up your mind. You’ve given me no certain answer. I want an answer now.”
“Go to your bank tomorrow morning,” I said. “I’ll see you after dark. Ah, but there is one more condition.”
“What is it!” he asked between his clenched teeth.
“Feed the animal. Give it some meat.”
Then I made my exit so swiftly he couldn’t see it, and when I glanced back, I could see Mojo gazing up at me, through the snowy darkness, and I smiled to think that the dog had seen my movement, fast as it was. The last sound I heard was James cursing to himself ungracefully as he slammed the back door.
An hour later, I lay in the dark waiting for the sun above, and thinking again of my youth in France, of the dogs lying beside me, of riding out on that last hunt with those two huge mastiffs, picking their way slowly through the deep snow.
And the face of the vampire peering at me from the darkness in Paris, calling me “Wolfkiller” with such reverence, such crazed reverence, before he sank his fangs into my neck.
Mojo, an omen.
So we reach into the raging chaos, and we pluck some small glittering thing, and we cling to it, and tell ourselves it has meaning, and that the world is good, and we are not evil, and we will all go home in the end.
Tomorrow night, I thought, if that bastard has been lying, I shall split open his chest and tear out his beating heart, and feed it to that big beautiful dog.
Whatever happens, I shall keep this dog.
And I did.
And before this story moves any further, let me say something about this dog. He isn’t going to do anything in this book.
He won’t save a drowning baby, or rush into a burning building to rouse the inhabitants from near-fatal sleep. He isn’t possessed by an evil spirit; he isn’t a vampire dog. He’s in this narrative simply because I found him in the snow behind that town house in Georgetown, and I loved him, and from that first moment, he seemed somehow to love me. It was all too true to the blind and merciless laws I believe in—the laws of nature, as men say; or the laws of the Savage Garden, as I call them myself. Mojo loved my strength; I loved his beauty. And nothing else ever really mattered at all.
TEN
“I want the details,” I said, “of how you pushed him out of his body, and how you managed to force him into yours.”
Wednesday at last. Not a half hour had passed since the sun had set. I had startled him when I appeared on the back steps.
We were sitting now in the immaculate white kitchen, a room curiously devoid of mystery for such an esoteric meeting. A single bulb in a handsome copper fixture flooded the table between us with a soft rosy illumination, which lent a deceiving coziness to the scene.
The snowfall continued, and beneath the house the furnace gave a low continuous roar. I’d brought the dog in with me, much to the annoyance of the lord of the house, and after some reassurance, the beast lay quietly now like an Egyptian sphinx, looking up at us, front legs stretched straight before him on the waxed floor. Now and then James glanced at him uneasily, and with reason. The dog looked as if he had the devil inside him and the devil knew the whole tale.
James was far more relaxed now than he had been in New Orleans. He was entirely the English gentleman, which set off the tall, youthful body to powerful advantage. He wore a gray sweater, stretched fetchingly tight over his big chest, and a pair of dark pants.
There were silver rings on his fingers. And a cheap watch on his wrist. I hadn’t remembered these items. He was studying me with a little twinkle in his eye, much easier to endure than those horrid glaring smiles. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, off this body which might soon become mine.
I could smell the blood in the body, of course, and this ignited some low smoldering passion in me. The more I looked at him, the more I wondered what it would be like to drink his blood and be done with it here and now. Would he try to escape the body and leave me holding a mere breathing shell?
I looked at his eyes, and thought, sorcerer, and a rare and unfamiliar excitement completely obliterated the common hunger. I’m not sure I believed he could do it, however. I thought that the evening might end in a tasty feast and no more.
I clarified my question for him. “How did you find this body? How did you get the soul to go into yours?”
“I’d been searching for just such a specimen—a man psychologically shocked out of all will and capacity for reason, yet sound of limb and brain. Telepathy is quite an aid in such matters, for only a telepath could have reached th
e remnants of intelligence still buried within him. I had to convince him on the deepest unconscious level, so to speak, that I had come to be of help, that I knew he was a good person, that I was on his side. And once I’d reached that rudimentary core, it was fairly easy to plunder his memories and manipulate him into obedience.” He gave a little shrug. “The poor chap. His responses were entirely superstitious. I suspect he thought I was his guardian angel at the end.”
“And you lured him out of his body?”
“Yes, by a series of bizarre and rather ornate suggestions, that’s exactly what I did. Again telepathy is a powerful ally. One has to be psychic, really, to manipulate others in such a way. The first time he rose perhaps a foot or two, then slam, back into the flesh he went. More of a reflex than a decision. But I was patient, oh, very patient. And when I finally lured him out for the space of several seconds, that was sufficient for me to pop inside of him, and at once focus my intense energy upon shoving him down into what was left of the old me.”
“How nicely you put it.”
“Well, we are body and soul, you know,” he said with a placid smile. “But why go all through this now? You know how to rise out of your body. This isn’t going to be difficult for you.”
“I might surprise you. What happened to him after he was in your body? Did he realize what had taken place?”
“Not at all. You must understand the man was deeply psychologically crippled. And, of course, he was an ignorant fool.”
“And you didn’t give him even a moment’s time, did you? You killed him.”
“Monsieur de Lioncourt, what I did was a mercy to him! How dreadful to have left him in that body, confused as he was! He wasn’t going to recover, you realize, no matter what body he was inhabiting. He’d murdered his entire family. Even the baby in the crib.”
“Were you part of that?”
“What a low opinion you have of me! Not at all. I was watching the hospitals for such a specimen. I knew one would come along. But why these last questions? Didn’t David Talbot tell you there are numerous documented cases of switching in the Talamasca files.”
David had not told me this. But then I could scarcely blame him.
“Did they all involve murder?” I asked.
“No. Some involved bargains such as you and I have struck.”
“I wonder. We are oddly paired, you and I.”
“Yes, but well paired, you must admit. This is a very nice body I have for you,” he said of himself, placing an open hand on his broad chest. “Not as beautiful as yours, of course. But very nice! And exactly what you ought to require. As for your body, what more can I say? I hope you didn’t listen to David Talbot about me. He’s made so many tragic mistakes.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s a slave to that wretched organization,” he said sincerely. “They completely control him. If only I could have spoken to him at the end, he would have seen the significance of what I had to offer, what I could teach. Did he tell you of his escapades in old Rio? Yes, an exceptional person, a person I should like to have known. But I can tell you, he’s no one to cross.”
“What’s to stop you from killing me as soon as we switch bodies? That’s just what you did to this creature you lured into your old body, with one swift blow to the head.”
“Ah, so you have talked to Talbot,” he said, refusing to be rattled. “Or did you merely do the research on your own? Twenty million dollars will stop me from killing you. I need the body to go to the bank, remember? Absolutely marvelous of you to double the sum. But I would have kept the bargain for ten. Ah, you’ve liberated me, Monsieur de Lioncourt. As of this Friday, at the very hour when Christ was nailed to the cross, I shall never have to steal again.”
He took a sip of his warm tea. Whatever his facade, he was becoming increasingly anxious. And something similar and more enervating was building in me. What if this does work?
“Oh, but it will work,” he said in that grave heartfelt manner. “And there are other excellent reasons why I wouldn’t attempt to harm you. Let’s talk them through.”
“By all means.”
“Well, you could get out of the mortal body if I attacked it. I’ve already explained you must cooperate.”
“What if you were too fast?”
“It’s academic. I wouldn’t try to harm you. Your friends would know if I did. As long as you, Lestat, are here, inside a healthy human body, your companions wouldn’t think of destroying your preternatural body, even if I’m at the controls. They wouldn’t do that to you, now, would they? But if I killed you—you know, smashed your face or whatever before you could disentangle yourself … and God knows, this is a possibility, I myself am keenly aware of it, I assure you!—your companions would find me sooner or later for an impostor, and do away with me very quickly, indeed. Why, they would probably feel your death when it happened. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. But they would discover everything eventually.”
“Of course!”
“It’s imperative that you stay away from them while you’re in my body, that you don’t go near New Orleans, that you keep clear of any and all blood drinkers, even the very weak: Your skill at cloaking yourself, you must use it, you realize …”
“Yes, certainly. I’ve considered the entire enterprise, please be assured. If I were to burn up your beautiful Louis de Pointe du Lac, the others would know immediately, wouldn’t they? And I might be the next torch burning brightly in the dead of night myself.”
I didn’t answer. I felt anger moving through me as if it were a cold liquid, driving out all anticipation and courage. But I wanted this! I wanted it, and it was near at hand!
“Don’t go troubling yourself about such nonsense,” he pleaded. His manner was so like David Talbot’s. Perhaps it was deliberate. Maybe David was the model. But I thought it more a matter of similar breeding, and some instinct for persuasiveness which even David did not possess. “I’m not really a murderer, you know,” he said with sudden intensity. “It’s acquisition that means everything. I want comfort, beauty around me, every conceivable luxury, the power to go and live where I please.”
“You want any instructions?”
“As to what?”
“What to do when you’re inside my body.”
“You’ve already given me my instruction, dear boy. I have read your books.” He flashed me a broad smile, dipping his head slightly and looking up at me as if he were trying to lure me into his bed. “I’ve read all the documents in the Talamasca archives as well.”
“What sort of documents?”
“Oh, detailed descriptions of vampire anatomy—your obvious limits, that sort of thing. You ought to read them for yourself. Perhaps you’d laugh. The earliest chapters were penned in the Dark Ages and are filled with fanciful nonsense that would have made even Aristotle weep. But the more recent files are quite scientific and precise.”
I didn’t like this line of discussion. I didn’t like anything that was happening. I was tempted to finish it now. And then quite suddenly, I knew I was going to go through with this. I knew.
A curious calm descended on me. Yes, we were going to do this in a matter of minutes. And it was going to work. I felt the color drain from my face—an imperceptible cooling of the skin, which was still hurting from its terrible ordeal in the sun.
I doubt he noted this change, or any hardening of my expression, for he went right on talking as before.
“The observations written in the 1970s after the publication of Interview with the Vampire are most interesting. And then the very recent chapters, inspired by your fractured and fanciful history of the species—my word! No, I know all about your body. I know more about it perhaps than you do. Do you know what the Talamasca really wants? A sample of your tissue, a specimen of your vampiric cells! You’d be wise to see that they never acquire such a specimen. You’ve been too free with Talbot, really. Perhaps he pared your fingernails or cut off a lock of your hair while
you slept beneath his roof.”
Lock of hair. Wasn’t there a lock of blond hair in that locket? It had to be vampire hair! Claudia’s hair. I shuddered, drawing deeper into myself and shutting him away. Centuries ago there had been a dreadful night when Gabrielle, my mortal mother and newborn fledgling, had cut off her vampire hair. Through the long hours of the day, as she lay in the coffin, it had all grown back. I did not want to remember her screams when she discovered it—those magnificent tresses once again luxuriant and long over her shoulders. I did not want to think of her and what she might say to me now about what I meant to do. It had been years since I had laid eyes upon her. It might be centuries before I saw her again.
I looked again at James, as he sat there radiant with expectation, straining to appear patient, face glowing in the warm light.
“Forget the Talamasca,” I said under my breath. “Why do you have such a hard time with this body? You’re clumsy. You’re only comfortable when you’re sitting in a chair and you can leave matters entirely to your voice and your face.”
“Very perceptive,” he said, with unshakable decorum.
“I don’t think so. It’s rather obvious.”
“It’s simply too big a body,” he said calmly. “It’s too muscular, too … shall we say, athletic? But it’s perfect for you.”
He paused, looked at the teacup thoughtfully and then up at me again. The eyes seemed so wide, so innocent.
“Lestat, come now,” he said. “Why are we wasting time with this conversation? I don’t intend to dance with the Royal Ballet once I’m inside you. I simply mean to enjoy the whole experience, to experiment, to see the world through your eyes.” He glanced at his watch. “Well, I’d offer you a little drink to screw up your courage, but that would be self-defeating in the long run, wouldn’t it? Oh, and by the way, the passport. Were you able to obtain it? You remember I asked you to provide me with a passport. I do hope you remembered, and of course I have a passport for you. I fear you won’t be going anywhere, on account of this blizzard—”