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There came a swirl of black feathers, sleek and shining, and thenI was falling; I wouldn't scream, I didn't give a damn, I wouldn't.
Falling.
Plummeting. As if through a depth that only nightmare canfathom. An emptiness so perfect we can't conceive of it. And fallingfast.
Only the Light remained. The Light obliterated everything visibleand was so beautiful suddenly that I lost all sense of my own limbsor parts or organs or whatever I am created of. I had no shape orweight. Only the momentum of my fall continued to terrify, asthough gravity remained to ensure utter ruin. There was one greatsurge of the voices.
"They are singing!" I cried out.
Then I lay still.
Slowly I felt the floor beneath me. The slightly rough surface ofthe carpet. Scent of dust, wax, my home. I knew we were in the sameroom.
He had taken Louis's chair at the desk, and I lay there on my back,staring at the ceiling, my chest bursting with pain.
I sat up, crossed my legs, and looked at him defiantly.
He was puzzled. "It makes perfect sense," he said.
"And what's that?""You're as strong as one of us.""No, I don't think so," I said furiously. "I can't grow wings; Ican't make music.""Yes, you can, you've made images before for mortals. You knowyou can. You've wrapped them in spells. You are as strong as we are.
You have achieved a very interesting stage in your development. Iknew I was right about you all along. I'm in awe of you.""In awe of what? My independence? Look, let me tell you something, Satan, or whoever you are.""Don't use that name, I hate it.""That's likely to make me pepper my speeches with it.""My name is Memnoch," he said calmly, with a small pleadinggesture. "Memnoch the Devil. I want you to remember it that way.""Memnoch the Devil.""Aye." He nodded. "That is how I sign my name when I sign it.""Well, let me tell you, Your Royal Highness of Darkness. I'm nothelping you with anything! I don't serve you!""I think I can change your mind," he said calmly. "I think you willcome to understand things very well from my point of view."I felt a sudden sagging, a complete exhaustion, and a despair.
Typical.
I rolled over on my face and tucked my arm under my head andstarted crying like a child. I was perishing from exhaustion. I wasworn and miserable and I loved crying. I couldn't do anything else. Igave in to it fully. I felt that profound release of the utterly grief-stricken. I didn't give a damn who saw or heard. I cried and cried.
Do you know what I think about crying? I think some people haveto learn to do it. But once you learn, once you know how to really cry,there's nothing quite like it. I feel sorry for those who don't know thetrick. It's like whistling or singing.
Whatever the case, I was too miserable to take much consolationjust from feeling good for a moment in a welter of shudders andsalted, bloodstained tears.
I thought of years and years ago, when I had walked into NotreDame and those fiendish little vampires had lain in wait for me,Servants of Satan, I thought of my mortal self, I thought of Dora, Ithought of Armand in those days, the immortal boy leader of Satan'sElect beneath the cemetery, who had made himself a dark saint,sending forth his ragged blood drinkers to torment mortals, to bringdeath, to spread fear and death like pestilence. I was choking withsobs.
"It is not true!" I think I said. "There is no God or Devil. It is nottrue."He didn't answer. I rolled over and sat up. I wiped my face on mysleeve. No handkerchief. Of course, I'd given it to Dora. A faintperfume of Dora rose from my clothes, my chest against which she'dlain, blood sweetness. Dora. I should never have left Dora in suchdistress. Dear God, I was bound to look out for the sanity of Dora!
Damn.
I looked at him.
He was still sitting there, his arm resting on the back of Louis'schair, and he was simply watching me.
I sighed. "You're not going to leave me alone, are you?"He was taken aback. He laughed. His face was marvelouslyfriendly, rather than neutral.
"No, of course not," he said in a low voice, as if careful not tounbalance me any further. "Lestat, I've been waiting for someonelike you for centuries. I've been watching you yourself for centuries.
No, I'm afraid I'm not going to leave you alone. But I don't want youto be miserable. What can I do to calm you? Some small miracle, gift,anything, so that we can proceed?""And how in hell will we proceed?""I'll tell you everything," he said with a slight shrug, his handsopen, "and then you'll understand why I have to win.""The implication . . . it's that I can refuse to cooperate with you,isn't it?""Absolutely. Nobody can really help me who doesn't choose to doit. And I'm tired. I'm tired of the job. I need help. That part yourfriend David heard correctly when he experienced that accidentalepiphany.""Was David's epiphany accidental? What happened to that otherword? What had it been ... I don't remember. David wasn't meant tosee you or hear you and God talking together?""That's almost impossible to explain.""Did I upset some plan of yours by taking David, making him oneof us?""Yes and no. But the point is, David heard that part correctly. Mytask is hard and I'm tired! Some of the rest of David's ideas about thatlittle vision, well? He shook his head. "The point is, you are theone I want now and it's terribly important you see everything beforeyou make up your mind.""I'm that bad, am I?" I whispered, lips trembling. I was going tobawl again. "In all the world, with all the things humans have done,all the unspeakable horrors men have visited on other men, theunthinkable suffering of women and children worldwide at the hands ofmankind, and I'm that bad! You want me! David was too good, Isuppose. He didn't become as consummately evil as you thought hewould. Is that it?""No, of course you're not that bad," he said soothingly. "That'sthe very point." He gave a little sigh again.
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