Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis (The Vampire Chronicles 12)

Now think on it.

How did Amel live and breathe in these creatures? Who was Amel?

All the vampires of the world, according to Benji Mahmoud, were animated by this Amel who had since those early times been moved from one primal host to another, and finally into a young blood drinker now known as Prince Lestat from whom the spirit kept the entire tribe of vampires animated and thriving. The "Amel Consciousness," as Benji sometimes called it, could travel from vampire to vampire through invisible weblike connections--and Amel himself had actually phoned the program more than once last year through the voices of random blood drinkers whom he had seduced.

But of course any blood drinker might boast that Amel spoke through him, and Benji had brushed off a

number who made such claims as not credible.

Then the Prince had come, Prince Lestat, and Amel was safe inside him, Benji reminded the tribe.

Full darkness. It was just settling all around him, swallowed up and warmed by the rush of pedestrians on the pavements and the endless parade of motorcars, and the streetlamps snapping on silently all around him.

Garekyn had reached the proper street. A newspaper article had given the description of the three townhouses for which Garekyn was searching. As he turned right and made his way towards Madison Avenue, he saw them and their central iron gate. This much is real, he thought. The lights were on throughout the compound from the basement windows near the pavement to the high stories.

Garekyn stopped on the narrow pavement to adjust his silk tie as if this was his only concern. Scanning the people loitering about he saw at once that they were simply human beings. Young people, some with books or magazines under their arms, obviously eyeing Trinity Gate with awe and expectation. It was not a large crowd, and it appeared faintly restless. But it made it easier for Garekyn to loiter as well.

More humans passing by, simple humans coming and going. Garekyn played for time without causing attention. He took out his watch and marked the hour and promptly forgot it. He walked slowly from one end of the block to the other.

An hour passed during which most of the crowd had moved on.

Garekyn was prepared to wait. He could have waited until midnight or after. From time to time he had the feeling that someone was watching him from inside the house, though he saw nothing to indicate this. Again and again, he walked the block. Finally a great sinking sadness came over him. He might never find the others. He might be lost forever on this planet, concealing himself from its mortal inhabitants forever.

How could he love again and lose in death a cherished companion? How could he ever alleviate the loneliness and isolation he felt unless he defined himself a new purpose?

Purpose.

He came to the corner of Madison Avenue again in his little promenade and was just starting back down the block when he saw the shining lacquered front door of the central townhouse open. Out onto the small granite porch stepped a diminutive male figure dressed in a black three-piece suit of worsted wool, with a sharp Italian fedora on his head. Little Man! Benji Mahmoud himself! Garekyn recognized him at once from a thousand descriptions uttered over the airwaves in the past year, and from his pictures online, and he also knew in a flash that Benji Mahmoud was not human. This was beyond question. Benji Mahmoud might not be the heroic revenant he claimed to be, but human he was not.

How Garekyn's fine senses told him this, Garekyn couldn't know. But the skin had a luster, and the being's walk, though graceful, was unnatural.

"Little Man," as they called him, paused at the foot of the steps to sign autograph books for a couple of young humans. And to another he tipped his hat with a charming ease and then, with a tactful little hand gesture pleading for privacy, walked swiftly towards Madison Avenue and towards Garekyn.

Garekyn came to a halt as they passed one another, and then pivoting he discovered that Benji Mahmoud was gazing back at him.

Not human.

Benji Mahmoud had marked Garekyn for what he was, or what he wasn't, as well. But Benji Mahmoud had turned and continued walking on fearlessly and indifferently.

Garekyn could hardly contain himself. He wanted to approach the figure and confess all he knew of himself and beg Benji Mahmoud to help him. But something stronger than instinct kept him many paces behind as he tracked Little Man now, who turned right and started walking downtown.

Garekyn didn't know what to do! He realized how surprised he was, how positively amazed, and though he knew that nothing like this had happened to him in a hundred years, indeed that he had never seen a being like this Little Man anywhere in the world, nor a being like himself anywhere in the world, this was in fact happening, and this Benji Mahmoud was ignoring him! Indeed, it was worse than that. Little Man picked up his pace. In the thin leisurely crowds on Madison Avenue, Little Man appeared to be trying to lose him.

In fact, it was amazing how fast the little blood drinker could walk without attracting attention. Like many another New Yorker, he darted gracefully past people to the right and left, with his head slightly bowed, and vanished from moment to moment as Garekyn, half a block away, sped forward trying to catch sight of him again.

Garekyn's mind raced. It wasn't calculation to have one's thoughts race like this, and to have the inevitable mammalian emotions clashing wildly in one's body and brain. And suddenly, he began to repeat the name "Amel" under his breath, repeat it as if it were a prayer. "Amel, Amel, Amel...," he whispered, as on and on he walked. "I must find out about Amel!" he whispered. "I must know about Amel!" Could the vampire be hearing what Garekyn was saying? "Amel, tell me, I must know about Amel."

The figure he was following stiffened, and then came to a stop.

For a moment, Garekyn couldn't see Benji for the passersby, but then he did see him. Benji had turned around and was looking at him, and Garekyn felt the nearest thing to panic he'd felt in years. Danger. Threat. Retreat.

Now, Garekyn had no instinctive fear of humans. He was, by his own calculation with the help of Prince Alexi, about five times as strong as a human male. But every molecule in his body alerted him to overwhelming risk.

He couldn't retreat. He couldn't. He had to make contact with Benji, and Benji had to talk to him! Besides what could this "blood drinker" do to him? He walked on towards Benji and he kept repeating that word, "Amel, Amel."

A car appeared at the curb beside Benji.

Garekyn and Benji weren't thirty steps from one another.