It was five o’clock in the morning and I stood alone at the glass doors of the Carmel Valley ranch house. Gabrielle and Louis had gone into the hills together to find their rest.
A phone call north had told me that my mortal musicians were safe in the new Sonoma hideaway, partying madly behind electric fences and gates. As for the police and the press and all their inevitable questions, well, that would have to wait.
And now I waited alone for the morning light as I’d always done, wondering why Marius hadn’t shown himself, why he had saved us only to vanish without a word.
“And suppose it wasn’t Marius,” Gabrielle had said anxiously as she paced the floor afterwards. “I tell you I felt an overwhelming sense of menace. I felt danger to us as well as to them. I felt it outside the auditorium when I drove away. I felt it when we stood by the burning car. Something about it. It wasn’t Marius, I’m convinced—”
“Something almost barbaric about it,” Louis had said. “Almost but not quite—”
“Yes, almost savage,” she had answered, glancing to him in acknowledgment. “And even if it was Marius, what makes you think he didn’t save you so that he could take his private vengeance in his own way?”
“No,” I had said, laughing softly. “Marius doesn’t want revenge, or he would already have it, that much I know.”
But I had been too excited just watching her, the old walk, the old gestures. And ah, the frayed safari clothing. After two hundred years, she was still the intrepid explorer. She straddled the chair like a cowboy when she sat down, resting her chin on her hands on the high back.
We had so much to talk about, to tell each other, and I was simply too happy to be afraid.
And besides, being afraid was too awful, because I knew now I had made another serious miscalculation. I’d realized it for the first time when the Porsche exploded with Louis still inside it. This little war of mine would put all those I loved in danger. What a fool I’d been to think I could draw the venom to myself.
We had to talk all right. We had to be cunning. We had to take great care.
But for now we were safe. I’d told her that soothingly. She and Louis didn’t feel the menace here; it had not followed us to the valley. And I had never felt it. And our young and foolish immortal enemies had scattered, believing that we possessed the power to incinerate them at will.
“You know a thousand times, a thousand times, I pictured our reunion,” Gabrielle said. “And never once was it anything like this.”
“I rather think it went splendidly!” I said. “And don’t suppose for a moment that I couldn’t have gotten us out of it! I was about to throttle that one with the scythe, toss him over the auditorium. And I saw the other one coming. I could have broken him in half. I tell you one of the frustrating things about all this is I didn’t get the chance—”
“You, Monsieur, are an absolute imp!” she said. “You are impossible! You are—what did Marius himself call you—the damnedest creature! I am in full accord.”
I laughed delightedly. Such sweet flattery. And how lovely the old-fashioned French.
And Louis had been so taken with her, sitting back in the shadows as he watched her, reticent, musing as he’d always been. Immaculate he was again, as if his garments were entirely at his command, and we’d just come from the last act of La Traviata to watch the mortals drink their champagne at the marble-top café tables as the fashionable carriages clattered past.
Feeling of the new coven formed, magnificent energy, the denial of the human reality, the three of us together against all tribes, all worlds. And a profound feeling of safety, of unstoppable momentum—how to explain that to them.
“Mother, stop worrying,” I had said finally, hoping to settle it all, to create a moment of pure equanimity. “It’s pointless. A creature powerful enough to burn his enemies can find us anytime that he chooses, do exactly what he likes.”
“And this should stop me from worrying?” she said.
I saw Louis shake his head.
“I don’t have your powers,” he said unobtrusively, “nevertheless I felt this thing. And I tell you it was alien, utterly uncivilized, for want of a better word.”
“Ah, you’ve hit it again,” Gabrielle interjected. “It was completely foreign as if coming from a being so removed …”
“And your Marius is too civilized,” Louis insisted, “too burdened with philosophy. That’s why you know he doesn’t want revenge.”
“Alien? Uncivilized?” I glanced at both of them. “Why didn’t I feel this menace!” I asked.
“Mon Dieu, it could have been anything,” Gabrielle had said finally. “That music of yours could wake the dead.”
I had thought of last night’s enigmatic message—Lestat! Danger—but it had been too close to dawn for me to worry them with it. And besides, it explained nothing. It was merely another fragment of the puzzle, and one perhaps that did not belong at all.
And now they were gone together, and I was standing alone before the glass doors watching the gleam of light grow brighter and brighter over the Santa Lucia Mountains, thinking:
“Where are you, Marius? Why the hell don’t you reveal yourself?” It could damn well be true, everything that Gabrielle said. “Is it a game to you?”
And was it a game to me that I didn’t really call out to him? I mean raise my secret voice with its full power, as he had told me two centuries ago that I might do?
Through all my struggles, it had become such a matter of pride not to call to him, but what did that pride matter now?
Maybe it was the call he required of me. Maybe he was demanding that call. All the old bitterness and stubbornness were gone from me now. Why not make that effort, at least?
And closing my eyes, I did what I had not done since those old eighteenth-century nights when I’d talked to him aloud in the streets of Cairo or Rome. Silently, I called. And I felt the voiceless cry rising out of me and traveling into oblivion. I could almost feel it traverse the world of visible proportions, feel it grow fainter and fainter, feel it burn out.
And there it was again for a split second, the distant unrecognizable place I had glimpsed last night. Snow, endless snow, and some sort of stone dwelling, windows encrusted with ice. And on a high promontory a curious modern apparatus, a great gray metal dish turning on an axis to draw to itself the invisible waves that crisscross the earth skies.
Television antenna! Reaching from this snowy waste to the satellite—that is what it was! And the broken glass on the floor was the glass of a television screen. I saw it. Stone bench … a broken television screen. Noise.
Fading.
MARIUS!
Danger, Lestat. All of us in danger. She has … I cannot … Ice. Buried in ice. Flash of shattered glass on a stone floor, the bench empty, the clang and vibration of The Vampire Lestat throbbing from the speakers—“She has … Lestat, help me! All of us … danger. She has …”
Silence. The connection broken.
MARIUS!
Something, but too faint. For all its intensity simply too faint!
MARIUS!
I was leaning against the window, staring right into the morning light as it grew brighter, my eyes watering, the tips of my fingers almost burning on the hot glass.
Answer me, is it Akasha? Are you telling me that it is Akasha, that she is the one, that it was she?
But the sun was rising over the mountains. The lethal rays were spilling down into the valley, ranging across the valley floor.
I ran out of the house, across the field and towards the hills, my arm up to shield my eyes.
And within moments I had reached my hidden underground crypt, pulled back the stone, and I went down the crudely dug little stairs. One more turn and then another and I was in cold and safe blackness, earth smell, and I lay on the mud floor of the tiny chamber, my heart thudding, my limbs trembling. Akasha! That music of yours could wake the dead.
Television set in the chamber, of course, Marius had given them that, and the broadcasts right off the satellite. They had seen the video films! I knew it, I knew it as certainly as if he had spelled it out to the last detail. He had brought the television down into their sanctum, just as he had brought the movies to them years and years ago.
And she had been awakened, she had risen. That music of yours could wake the dead. I’d done it again.
Oh, if only I could keep my eyes open, could only think, if the sun wasn’t rising.
She had been there in San Francisco, she had been that close to us, burning our enemies. Alien, utterly foreign, yes.
But not uncivilized, no, not savage. She was not that. She was only just reawakened, my goddess, risen like a magnificent butterfly from its cocoon. And what was the world to her? How had she come to us? What was the state of her mind? Danger to all of us. No. I don’t believe it! She had slain our enemies. She had come to us.
But I couldn’t fight the drowsiness and heaviness any longer. Pure sensation was driving out all wonder and excitement. My body grew limp and helplessly still against the earth.
And then I felt a hand suddenly close on mine.
Cold as marble it was, and just about that strong.
My eyes snapped open in the darkness. The hand tightened its grip. A great mass of silken hair brushed my face. A cold arm moved across my chest.
Oh, please, my darling, my beautiful one, please! I wanted to say. But my eyes were closing! My lips wouldn’t move. I was losing consciousness. The sun had risen above.
THE END