Blood Canticle (The Vampire Chronicles 10)

"Aw, yeah!" I whispered, "you spiteful ghost, you thought you had me between the worlds, didn't you? Is that where you live forever, watching them pass you by? You didn't give a damn for Patsy's soul, did you? And did she not descend from you as surely as Quinn? And Mona? You did the beast with two backs in this very house with Patsy's ancestor too, did you not, you don't know your own descendants when they're not to your taste, you merciless astral panhandler. . . . "

I drifted deeper, brain descending into the sweetness of human exhaustion-far from the ring of the anvil between the worlds, far from the torrent of Heaven. Adieu, my poor doomed Patsy. Yes, and I had done it with a kiss, and yes, with a step, and yes, she had gone up, and wasn't it good? Had I not done good?

Could anybody deny it was good? Yo, Juanito, wasn't it good? Wasn't the exorcism of Goblin good? I sank back into the safety of know-nothing sleep. And round about, the golden lighted room protected me.

What could I do that was good for Mona and Quinn?

Two hours later I was awakened by the chiming of a clock. I didn't know where in the house it was or what it looked like and I didn't care. The room was wholesome and reassuring, as if the purity and generosity of Aunt Queen had totally infused it.

I was refreshed. The evil little cells in my body had done their dirty and inevitable work. And if I'd had any terrible dreams I didn't remember them.

Lestat was Lestat again. As if anyone cared. Do you care?

I sat up.

Julien was sitting at Aunt Queen's little round table, the table at which she had taken her meals, the table between the bed and the closet doors. He wore his fancy dinner jacket. He smoked a little black cigarette. Stella sat on the couch in her pretty white dress. She was playing with one of Aunt Queen's floppy boudoir dolls.

"Bonjour, Lestat," said Stella. "At last you wake, you handsome Endymion. "

"Everything you do," Julien said in French, "you do for your own selfish aims. You want these mortals to love you. You bask in their blind adoration. You devour it like blood. Are you tired of killing and destroying?"

"You're not making sense," I replied. "Being dead, you should know better. The dead should have an edge. You don't have one. You hang out in the alleyways of the other world. I saw you for what you are. "

He smiled a wicked little smile.

"Exactly what is your paltry plan?" he asked in French, "to send me through the cloudy Heavens the way you did Patsy Blackwood?"

"Hmmm. Why should I bother with your salvation?" I asked. "As I told you before, I'm getting used to you. I feel privileged, having these little t¨ºte-¨¤-t¨ºtes, no matter where you come from. And then there's Stella. Stella is a delight always. "

"Oh, you're so sweet," said little Stella. She held the doll up by the arms. "You know, Ducky, you present the most bizarre problem. "

"Do explain," I said. "Nothing delights me more than children who spout philosophy. "

"Don't be sure that I'm capable of a philosophical observation," she replied, frowning and smiling at me at the same time. She let the doll flop in her lap. She lifted her shoulders, then slowly relaxed. "This is what I think about you, Ducky. You have a conscience without a soul to back it up. Quite unique, I should say. "

A dark shiver passed through me. "Where is my soul, Stella?" I asked.

She seemed at a loss, but then she spoke: "Entangled!" she said. "Caught in a web! But your conscience flies free of your soul. It's simply marvelous. "

Julien smiled. "We'll find a way to cut that web," he said.

"Oh, so you mean to save my soul?" I asked.

"I don't care where it goes once it leaves this Earth," Julien replied. "Haven't I told you that? It's the fleshly shell I detest, the evil blood that enlivens it, the appetite that drives it, and the consuming pride that motivated it to take my niece. "

"You're overwrought," I said. "Remember the child. You must have had some purpose in bringing her with you as a witness. Behave decently in her presence. "

The knob on the hall door turned.

They vanished. Such shy retiring individuals.

The doll fell over on the couch, and, having no elbows or knees, looked most bereft as it stared with its big painted eyes at the room around it.

Quinn and Mona entered. Quinn had changed into a big cable knit sweater and simple slacks, for the air- conditioning at Blackwood Farm was a force to be reckoned with, and Mona was still in her gorgeous black dress, her pale face and hands glowing. A cameo was now fixed at her neck, a very large and beautiful one of white and blue sardonyx.

"Can we talk now?" Quinn asked in a very polite tone. He looked at Mona with great concern, then his eyes returned to me.

I realized that Quinn had been quite right in his early description to me of his love for Mona. Mona's unhappiness-indeed Mona herself, whether happy or sad-continued to supplant all Quinn's own woes and griefs in his own heart. She continued to deliver him mercifully, at least for now, from the loss of Aunt