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I was beginning to notice more distinct details of his appearance,not because they were becoming more vivid as had happened withthe apparition of Roger, but because I was growing more calm. Hishair was a dark ashen blond, and rather soft and curling. And hiseyebrows were the same shade, not distinctly black at all, but very care-fully drawn to maintain an expression that contained no closed vanityor arrogance. He didn't look stupid either, of course. The clotheswere generic. I don't believe they were really clothes. They werematerial, but the coat was too plain and without buttons, and the whiteshirt was too simple.
"You know," he said, "you always have had a conscience! That'sprecisely what I'm after, don't you see? Conscience, reason, purpose,dedication. Good Lord, I couldn't have overlooked you. And I'll tellyou something. It was as though you sent for me.""Never.""Come on, think of all the challenges you've flung out to theDevil.""That was poetry, or doggerel, depending on one's point ofview.""Not so. And then think of all the things you did, waking thatancient one Akasha and almost loosing her on humanity." He gave ashort laugh. "As if we don't have enough monsters created byevolution. And then your adventure with the Body Thief. Coming into theflesh again, having that chance, and rejecting it for what you werebefore. You know your friend Gretchen is a saint in the jungles, don'tyou?""Yes. I've seen mentions of it in the papers. I know."Gretchen, my nun, my love when I'd been so briefly mortal, hadnever spoken one word since the night she fled from me into hermissionary chapel and fell on her knees before the crucifix. Sheremained in prayer night and day in that jungle village, taking almostno nourishment, and on Fridays people journeyed miles through thejungle, and sometimes even came from Caracas and Buenos Aires justto see her bleed from her hands and her feet. That had been the endof Gretchen.
Although it suddenly struck me for the very first time, in themiddle of all this: maybe Gretchen really was with Christ!
"No, I don't believe it," I said coldly. "Gretchen lost her mind;she's fixed in a state of hysteria and it's my fault. So the world hasanother mystic who bleeds like Christ. There have been a thousand.""I didn't place any judgment upon the incident," he said. "If wecan go back to what I was saying. I was saying that you did everythingbut ask me to come! You challenged every form of authority, yousought every experience. You've buried yourself alive twice, and oncetried to rise into the very sun to make yourself a cinder. What was leftfor you梑ut to call on me? It is as if you yourself said it: 'Memnoch,what more can I do now?' ""Did you tell God about this?" I asked coldly, refusing to bedrawn in. Refusing to be this curious and this excited.
"Yes, of course," he said.
I was too surprised to say anything.
I could think of nothing clever. Certain little theological braintwisters flitted through my mind, and sticky little questions, like"Why didn't God already know?" and so forth. But we were beyondthat point, obviously.
I had to think, to concentrate on what my senses were telling me.
"You and Descartes," he said. "You and Kant.""Don't lump me with others," I said. "I am the Vampire Lestat,the one and only.""You're telling me," he said.
"How many of us are there now, vampires, I mean, in the wholeworld? I'm not speaking now of other immortals and monsters andevil spirits and things, whatever you are, for instance, but vampires?
There aren't a hundred, and none of them is quite like me. Lestat.""I completely agree. I want you. I want you for my helper.""Doesn't it gall you that I don't really respect you, believe in you,or fear you, not even after all this? That we're in my flat and I'mmaking fun of you? I don't think Satan would put up with this sort ofthing. I don't usually put up with it; I've compared myself to you, youknow. Lucifer, Son of Morning. I have told my detractors andinquisitors that I was the Devil or that if I ever happened upon Satanhimself I'd set him to rout.""Memnoch," he corrected me. "Don't use the name Satan.
Please. Don't use any of the following: Lucifer, Beelzebub, Azazel,Sammael, Marduk, Mephistopheles, et cetera. My name isMemnoch. You'll soon find out for yourself that the others representvarious alphabetical or scriptural compromises. Memnoch is for this timeand all time. Appropriate and pleasing. Memnoch the Devil. Anddon't go look it up in a book because you'll never find it."I didn't answer. I was trying to figure this. He could changeshapes, but there had to be an invisible essence. Had I come againstthe strength of the invisible essence when I'd smashed his face? I'dfelt no real contour, only strength resisting me. And were I to grabhim now, would this man-form be filled with the invisible essence sothat it could fight me off with strength equal to that of the darkangel?
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