by Rice, Anne
“As David knows, I learnt the secrets of the body switch that had removed David from the elderly body in which I’d always loved him with all my heart. But I didn’t need a secret narrative written by my friend Aaron Lightner to tell me what had become of David’s soul.
“I learnt the truth when I flew to London, after the death of that elderly body, that body which we called David Talbot, to pay my respects, alone with the body in the coffin before it was forever sealed. I knew when I touched the body that David had not suffered death in it, and at that unique moment my ambitions began.
“Only a short time later, I found Aaron Lightner’s papers, which made it clear that David had indeed been the happy victim of a Faustian Switch, and that something unforgivable in Aaron’s mind had taken David, within the young body, out of our world.
“Of course I knew it was the vampires. I didn’t need popular fictions masking facts to figure how Lestat had had his way with David at last.
“But by the time I read those curious pages, with all their euphemism and initials, I had already made a potent and age-old spell. I had made it to bring David Talbot, whatever he was—young man, vampire, even ghost—back to me, back to the warmth of my affection, back to his old sense of responsibility for me, back to the love we’d once shared.”
She stopped speaking, and reached down and drew up a small cloth-wrapped parcel from her bag. There came the acrid smell again, which I could not classify, and then she opened the cloth to reveal what appeared to be a yellowish and somewhat molded human hand.
It was not that old blackened hand I had more than once seen on her altar. It was something altogether more recently alive, and I realized what my nostrils had failed to tell me. Before it had been severed, it had been embalmed. It was the fluid that caused the faint noxious odor. But the fluid had long since dried up and left the hand as it was, fleshly, shrunken, and curled.
“Do you recognize it, David?” she asked me gravely.
I was chilled as I stared at her.
“I took it from your body, David,” she said. “I took it because I wouldn’t let you go.”
Lestat gave a small laugh that was tender and full of easy pleasure. I think that Louis was too stunned to speak.
As for me, I could say nothing. I only stared at the hand.
In the palm was engraved a whole series of small words. I knew the tongue to be Coptic, which I could not read.
“It’s an old spell, David; it binds you to come to me, it binds the spirits who listen to me to drive you towards me. It binds them to fill your dreams and your waking hours with thoughts of me. As the spell builds in power it presses out all other considerations, and finally there is one obsession, that you come to me, and nothing else will do.”
Now it was Louis’s turn for a small smile of recognition.
Lestat sat back, merely regarding the remarkable object with a raised eyebrow and a rueful smile.
I shook my head.
“I don’t accept it!” I whispered.
“You had no chance against it, David,” she insisted. “You’re blameless, blameless, as Louis was blameless for what ultimately happened to me.”
“No, Merrick,” said Louis gently. “I’ve known too much genuine love in my years to doubt what I feel for you.”
“What does it say, this scribble!” I demanded angrily.
“What it says,” she answered, “is a particle of what I have recited countless times as I called my spirits, the very spirits I called for you and Louis the other night. What it says is:
“ ‘I command you to drench his soul, his mind, his heart with a heat for me, to inflict upon his nights and days a relentless and torturous longing for me; to invade his dreams with the images of me; to let there be nothing that he eats or drinks that will solace him as he thinks of me, until he returns to me, until he stands in my presence, until I can use every power at my command on him as we speak together. Do not for a moment let him be quiet; do not for a moment let him turn away.’ ”
“It wasn’t like that,” I insisted.
She went on, her voice lower, kinder:
“ ‘May he be a slave to me, may he be the faithful servant of my designs, may he have no power to refuse what I have confided to you, my great and faithful spirits. May he fulfill that destiny which I choose of my own accord.’ ”
She let the silence fill the room again. I heard nothing for the moment, except a low secretive laughter from Lestat.
But it was not mocking, this laughter. It was simply eloquent of astonishment, and then Lestat spoke:
“And so you are absolved, gentlemen,” he said. “Why don’t you accept it, accept it as an absolutely priceless gift which Merrick has the right to give?”
“Nothing can ever absolve me,” said Louis.
“Let it be your choice, then, both of you,” answered Merrick, “if you wish to believe you are responsible. And this, this remnant of your corpse I’ll return to the earth. But let me say, before I put a seal on the subject for both of your hearts, that the future was foretold.”
“By whom? How?” I demanded.
“An old man,” she said, addressing me most particularly, “who used to sit in the dining room of my house listening to Sunday Mass on the radio, an old man with a gold pocket watch which I coveted, a watch which he told me, simply, was not ticking for me.”
I winced. “Oncle Vervain,” I whispered.
“Those were his only words on the matter,” she said with soft humility. “But he sent me to the jungles of Central America to find the mask I would use to raise Claudia. He had sent me earlier, with my mother and my sister, to find the perforator with which I would slash Louis’s wrist to get the blood from him, not only for my raising of a spirit, but for the spell with which I brought Louis to me.”
The others said nothing. But Louis and Lestat understood her. And it was the pattern, the intricate pattern which won me over to accept her utterly, rather than keep her at a remove, the evidence of my awful guilt.
It was now close to morning. We had only a couple of hours left. Lestat wanted to use this time to give Merrick his power.
But before we disbanded, Lestat turned to Louis and asked a question which mattered to us all.
“When the sun rose,” he said, “when you saw it, when it burnt you before you were unconscious, what did you see?”
Louis stared at Lestat for some few minutes, his face blank, as it always becomes when he is in a state of high emotion, and then his features softened, his brows knitted, and there came the dreaded tears to his eyes.
“Nothing,” he said. He bowed his head, but then he looked up helplessly. “Nothing. I saw nothing and I felt that there was nothing. I felt it—empty, colorless, timeless. Nothing. That I had ever lived in any shape seemed unreal.” His eyes were shut tight, and he brought up his hand to hide his face from us. He was weeping. “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all.”
25
No amount of blood from Lestat could make Merrick his equal. No amount could make any of us his equal. But by the relentless blood exchange, Merrick was immensely enhanced.
And so we formed a new coven, lively, and delighted in each other’s company, and excusing each other all past sins. With every passing hour, Lestat became more the old creature of action and impulse which I had loved for so long.
Do I believe that Merrick brought me to herself with a spell? I do not. I do not believe that my reason is so susceptible, but what am I to make of Oncle Vervain’s designs?
Quite deliberately, I put the matter away from my thoughts, and I embraced Merrick as truly as I ever had, even though I had to endure the sight of her fascination for Louis, and the fascination which he held for her.
I had Lestat again, did I not?
It was two nights later—nights of no remarkable events or achievements, except for Merrick’s ever increasing experience—that I put the question to him that had so troubled me about his long sleep.
He was in the beautifu
lly appointed front parlor in the Rue Royale, looking quite wonderful in his sleekly cut black velvet, what with cameo buttons, no less, and his handsome yellow hair shimmering as it ought to do in the familiar light of his numerous lamps.
“Your long slumber frightened me,” I confessed. “There were times when I could have sworn you were no longer in the body. Of course I talk again of a form of hearing denied to me as your pupil. But I speak of a human instinct in me which is quite strong.”
I went on telling him how it had so completely unnerved me to see him thus, to be unable to rouse him, and to fear that his soul had taken to wandering and might not return.
He was silent for some moments, and I thought for a split second that I saw a shadow fall over his face. Then he gave me a warm smile and gestured for me to worry no more.
“Maybe some night I’ll tell you about it,” he said. “For now let me say that there was some truth in your conjecture. I wasn’t always there.” He broke off, thinking, even whispering something which I couldn’t hear. Then he went on. “As for where I was, I can’t now explain it. But again, maybe some night, to you, above all others, I will try.”
My curiosity was dreadfully aroused and for a moment I was maddened by him, but when he began to laugh at me, I remained silent.
“I won’t go back to my slumber,” he said finally. He became quite sober and convincing. “I want you all to be assured of it. Years have passed since Memnoch came to me. You might say it took all my reserve to weather that terrible ordeal. As for the time when I was waked before by Sybelle’s music, I was more nearly close to all of you than I came to be some time later on.”
“You tease me with hints that something happened to you,” I said.
“Perhaps it did,” he answered, his vacillations and his playful tone infuriating me. “Perhaps it did not. David, how am I to know? Be patient. We have each other now again, and Louis has ceased to be the emblem of our discontent. Believe me, I’m happy for that.”
I smiled and I nodded, but the mere thought of Louis brought to mind the gruesome sight of his burnt remains in the casket. It had been the living proof that the quiet omnipotent glory of the daily sun would never shine upon me again. It had been the living proof that we can perish so very easily, that all the mortal world is a lethal enemy during those hours between dawn and dusk.
“I’ve lost so much time,” Lestat remarked in his habitual energetic fashion, eyes moving about the room. “There are so many books I mean to read, and things I mean to see. The world’s around me again. I’m where I belong.”
I suppose we might have spent a quiet evening after that, both of us reading, both of us enjoying the comfort of those lushly domestic Impressionist paintings, if Merrick and Louis had not come so suddenly up the iron stairs and down the corridor to the front room.
Merrick had not given up her penchant for shirtwaisted dresses and she looked splendid in her dark-green silk. She led the way, the more reticent Louis coming behind her. They both sat upon the brocade sofa opposite, and straightaway Lestat asked:
“What’s wrong?”
“The Talamasca,” said Merrick. “I think it’s wise to leave New Orleans. I think we should do it at once.”
“That’s sheer nonsense,” said Lestat immediately. “I won’t hear of it.” At once his face was flushed with expression. “I’ve never been afraid of mortals in my life. I have no fear of the Talamasca.”
“Perhaps you should have,” said Louis. “You must listen to the letter which Merrick has received.”
“What do you mean, ‘received?’ ” asked Lestat crossly. “Merrick, you didn’t go back to the Motherhouse! Surely you knew such a thing couldn’t be done.”
“Of course I didn’t, and my loyalty to the rest of you is total, don’t question it,” she fired back. “But this letter was left at my old house here in New Orleans. I found it this evening, and I don’t like it, and I think it’s time that we reconsider everything, though you may lay it down as my fault.”
“I won’t reconsider anything,” said Lestat. “Read it.”
As soon as she drew it out of her canvas bag, I saw it was a hand-delivered missive from the Elders. It was written on a true parchment meant to stand the test of centuries, though a machine had no doubt printed it for when did the Elders ever put their own hands to what they wrote?
“Merrick,
We have learnt with great dismay about your recent experiments in the old house in which you were born. We order you to leave New Orleans as soon as you possibly can. Have no further discourse with your fellow members in the Talamasca, or with that select and dangerous company which has so obviously seduced you, and come to us in Amsterdam directly.
Your room is already prepared for you in the Motherhouse, and we expect these instructions to be obeyed.
Please understand that we want, as always, to learn with you from your recent and ill-advised experiences, but there can be no miscalculation as to our admonitions. You are to break off your relations with those who can never have our sanction and you are to come to us at once.”
She laid it down in her lap.
“It bears the seal of the Elders,” she said.
I could see this wax stamp plainly.
“Why are we to care that it bears their seal,” demanded Lestat, “or the seal of anyone else? They can’t force you to come to Amsterdam. Why do you even entertain such an idea?”
“Be patient with me,” she spoke up immediately. “I’m not entertaining any such idea. What I’m saying is that we’ve been carefully watched.”
Lestat shook his head. “We’ve always been carefully watched. I’ve masqueraded as one of my own fictions for over a decade. What do I care if I’m carefully watched? I defy anyone to harm me. I always have in my fashion. I’ve rarely … rarely … been wrong.”
“But Lestat,” said Louis, leaning forward and looking him directly in the eyes. “This means the Talamasca has made what they believe to be a sighting of us—David and me—on Merrick’s premises. And that’s dangerous, dangerous because it can make enemies for us among those who truly believe in what we are.”
“They don’t believe it,” declared Lestat. “No one believes it. That’s what always protects us. No one believes in what we are but us.”
“You’re wrong,” said Merrick before I could speak up. “They do believe in you—.”
“And so ‘they watch and they are always here,’ ” said Lestat, mocking the old motto of the Order, the very motto printed on the calling cards I once carried when I walked the earth as a regular man.
“Nevertheless,” I said quickly, “we should leave for now. We cannot go back to Merrick’s house, any of us. As for here in the Rue Royale, we cannot remain.”
“I won’t give in to them,” said Lestat. “They won’t order me about in this city which belongs to me. By day we sleep in hiding—at least the three of you choose to sleep in hiding—but the night and the city belong to us.”
“How so does the city belong to us?” asked Louis with near touching innocence.
Lestat cut him off with a contemptuous gesture. “For two hundred years I’ve lived here,” he said in a passionate low voice. “I won’t leave because of an Order of scholars. How many years ago was it, David, that I came to visit you in the Motherhouse in London? I was never afraid of you. I challenged you with my questions. I demanded you make a separate file for me among your voluminous records.”
“Yes, Lestat, but I think now things might be different.” I was looking intently at Merrick. “Have you told us everything, darling?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, staring before her as if at the workings of the very problem. “I’ve told you everything, but you see, this was written some days ago. And now everything’s changed.” She looked up at me, finally. “If we’re being watched, as I suspect we are, then they know just how much everything has changed.”
Lestat rose to his feet.
“I don’t fear the Talamasca,” he decla
red with heavy emphasis. “I don’t fear anyone. If the Talamasca had wanted me it might have come for me during all the years I’ve slept in the dust at St. Elizabeth’s.”
“But you see, that’s just it,” said Merrick. “They didn’t want you. They wanted to watch you. They wanted to be close, as always, privy to knowledge which no one else possessed, but they didn’t want to touch you. They didn’t want to turn your considerable power against themselves.”
“Ah, that’s well put,” he said. “I like that. My considerable power. They’d do well to think on that.”
“Please, I beg you,” I said, “don’t threaten the Talamasca.”
“And why not threaten them?” he asked of me.
“You can’t think of actually doing harm to members of the Talamasca,” I said, speaking a bit too sharply, in my concern. “You can’t do this out of respect for Merrick and for me.”
“You’re being threatened, aren’t you?” asked Lestat. “We’re all being threatened.”
“But you don’t understand,” said Merrick. “It’s too dangerous for you to do anything to the Talamasca. They are a large organization, an ancient organization—.”
“I don’t care,” Lestat said.
“—and they do know what you are,” she replied.
“Lestat, sit down again, please,” said Louis. “Don’t you see the point? It isn’t merely their considerable age and power. It isn’t merely their resources. It’s who they truly are. They know of us, they can resolve to interfere with us. They can resolve to cause us great harm wherever we might go, anywhere in this world.”
“You’re dreaming, handsome friend,” Lestat said. “Think on the blood I’ve shared with you. Think on it, Merrick. And think on the Talamasca and its stodgy ways. What did it do when Jesse Reeves was lost to the Order? There were no threats then.”
“I do think of their ways, Lestat,” Merrick said forcefully. “I think we should leave here. We should take with us all evidence that would feed their investigation. We should go.”