Prince Lestat (The Vampire Chronicles 11)

"Well, all that is true," said Gabrielle. "And we are a quarrelsome and independent species and we do need any charismatic leader who is willing to take the helm. But there are other reasons."

She looked at Sevraine.

Sevraine nodded. And Gabrielle went on.

"You have a mortal son there, Lestat, a young man of less than twenty years. His name is Viktor. He knows you are his father. He was born of a mortal woman in Fareed's laboratory, a woman named Flannery Gilman who is now in the Blood. But your son is not in the Blood."

Silence.

Not only did I not speak, I couldn't think. I couldn't reason. I must have looked like someone who has lost his senses. I stared at Gabrielle and then at Sevraine.

I had no words for what I was feeling. I had no way to comprehend the scope of what was going on not in my mind but in my heart. I could feel the eyes of all present on me, but it didn't much matter. I looked at them but I didn't really see them or care about them--Allesandra sitting there staring at me quietly with Bianca beside her, a picture of sympathy and sadness. And Eleni watching me fearfully, with Eugenie all but hiding behind her. And the spirit and the ghost with such emotional expressions. A son. A mortal son. A living breathing son of my flesh. Oh, Fareed, he must have planned it from the start with that enticing bedroom and the warm, sweet-faced Dr. Flannery Gilman so ready with her tender mortal mouth and her hot naked limbs. I'd impregnated her! The possibility had never occurred to me. Not for one second had I thought such a thing possible.

From Sevraine's mind there came a fully realized image of this boy.

He was looking directly at me in this image, a young man with my square face and somewhat short nose, and my unruly blond hair. Those blue eyes seemed my eyes and yet they weren't my eyes. They were his own. That was my mouth, all right, sensuous, and a little large for the face, but it had nothing of the cruelty of my mouth. Just a beautiful young boy, in spite of looking like me, a beautiful young man. The face vanished. And I saw a flash of images now of this young man perhaps as Sevraine had once seen him, striding along an American street, dressed in regular clothes, jeans, a sweater, sneakers, a healthy, glowing young man.

Pain. Unspeakable pain.

It didn't matter who in this world or any other was staring at me, watching me, seeking to share this moment or merely shuddering as I experienced it. Just didn't matter. Because in pain like this one is always alone.

"I have another shock for you," said Sevraine.

I didn't reply.

"There is a young woman with Viktor whom you also love," said Sevraine. "Her name is Rose."

"Rose?" I whispered. "Not my Rose!" This pain was rolling suddenly towards fury. "How in God's name did they get their hands on my Rose?"

"Let me tell you," said Sevraine. "Let me explain." Then slowly in a low voice she told me what had befallen Rose. She told me how my attorneys were trying to reach me, but then I'd been ignoring all "worldly messages of late," and she recounted the details of an assault on Rose, her blindness, the scarring of her face and throat, and how she had cried out for me over and over in her agony, and how Seth had heard that cry, how Fareed had heard it, and how, on my behalf, they had intervened.

Oh, Death, you are so determined to have my beloved Rose. Death, you cannot stop seeking to take my precious Rose.

"The girl was given just enough of the Blood to cure her blindness," said Sevraine. "But never enough to take root in her. Just enough of the Blood to heal her esophagus, heal her skin. But never enough to begin the transformation. She's still fully human and she loves your son, and he loves her."

I think I murmured something like "This is all Fareed's doing," but my heart wasn't in it. I didn't care. I absolutely didn't care. The rage was gone. Only the pain remained. I kept seeing the image of the boy and I needed no one to give me an image of my beloved Rose, my sweet brave Rose, who'd been so happy when I last saw her, my tender, loving Rose whom I'd given up for her sake, knowing that she was now too old to be near me anymore, too old to be confused by what I was. My Rose. And Viktor.

"These things are now commonly known," said Sevraine, "because this boy and this girl have been brought by Fareed and Seth to join the others. And you must go there too. Leave Maharet to her own resources. The meeting is what matters. Whatever happens to Maharet, the Voice will still be the challenge. And tomorrow at sunrise, we must go."

I sat still staring at the surface of the table, thinking of what all this might mean.

A long moment passed and then Eleni said tenderly, "Please, do come with us to join the others. It's past time for us to be there."

I glanced at her, at her eager face and that of Eugenie beside her. And my eyes passed over the strangely expressive faces of Raymond Gallant and then Gremt. How infinitely more human they seemed than the rest of us.

"Listen to me," said Gabrielle impatiently. "You can't conceivably respond to all these revelations now. No one can. But be assured that this girl, Rose, is on the verge of madness as always happens with those who know too much of us. Viktor on the other hand has always known you were his father, and he grew up with his mother's love and knows what she is too. So let's be on our way tomorrow night to resolve this, if nothing else, and then the matter of the Voice."

I nodded, trying not to show a bitter smile. What a hand they had played! Had it been deliberate? Calculating? Didn't much matter in the scheme of things. It was what it was.

"You think these matters are more important than the Voice?" I asked. "You think these matters cannot wait a little longer? I don't know what I think. I can't think. My mind's not made up."

"I think if you return to Maharet," said Gabrielle, "you'll be very disappointed at what you find out. And she may very well destroy you."

"Tell me what you know now!" I said. I was suddenly furious. "Tell me now."

"What matters is what all of us know when we gather," said Gabrielle. She was as angry as I was. "Not what I suspect, or what fragmentary images I've caught or someone else has caught. Don't you understand? We're facing a worse crisis than we did last time, can't you see that? But we have Sevraine, and this ancient one Seth, who's even older than she is, and who knows who else? We should go to them, not to Maharet."

"And you knew I had a son and you never told me," I said suddenly, impulsively, "and you knew what had happened to my Rose."