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"Well, there are some gathered about this building, but they'reno threat to this girl. She's simply too brave and strong.
"But not the Vampire Lestat, who was spying her. He was out inthe courtyard, and he heard the voice right next to his ear, as if TwoMen were talking at his right shoulder and the other one, the onewho is not following me, says quite plainly, 'No, I don't see him inthe same light.' I turned round and round trying to find this Thing,close in on it mentally and spiritually, confront it, bait it, and then Irealized I was shaking all over, and you know, the elementals, David,the little pesky spirits . . . the ones I could feel hanging about theconvent... I don't think they even realized this person, or whoeverhe was, had been talking in my ear.""Lestat, you do sound as if you've lost your immortal mind," hesaid. "No, no, don't get angry. I believe you. But let's backtrack.
Why were you following the girl?""I just wanted to see her. My Victim, he's worried梐bout who heis, what's he done, what the officials know about him. He's afraidhe'll blemish her when the final indictment comes and all the newpa-per stories. But the point is, he'll never be indicted. I'm going to killhim first.""You are. And then it actually might save her church, is that notright? Your killing him speedily, so to speak. Or am I mistaken?""I wouldn't hurt her for anything on this earth. Nothing couldpersuade me to do that." I sat silent for a moment.
"Are you sure you are not in love? You seem spellbound by her."I was remembering. I had fallen in love only a short time ago witha mortal woman, a nun. Gretchen had been her name. And I haddriven her mad. David knew the whole story. I'd written it; writtenall about David, too, and he and Gretchen had passed into the worldin fictional form. He knew that.
"I would never reveal myself to Dora as I did with Gretchen," Isaid. "No. I won't hurt Dora. I learnt my lesson. My only concern isto kill her father in such a way that she experiences the least sufferingand the maximum benefit. She knows what her father is, but I'm notsure she's prepared for all the bad things that could happen onaccount of him.""My, but you are playing games.""Well, I have to do something to keep my mind off this Thingthat's following me or I'll go mad!""Shhhh . . . what's the matter with you? My God, but you'rerattled.""Of course I am," I whispered.
"Explain more about the Thing. Give me more fragments.""They're not worth repeating. It's an argument. It's about me, Itell you. David, it's like God and the Devil are arguing about me."I caught my breath. My heart was hurting me, it was beating sofast, no mean feat for a vampiric heart. I rested back against the wall,let my eyes range over the bar梞iddle-aged mortals mostly, ladiesin old-style fur coats, balding men just drunk enough to be loud andcareless and almost young.
The pianist had moved on into something popular, from theBroadway stage, I think. It was sad and sweet, and one of the oldwomen in the bar was rocking slowly to the music, and mouthingthe words with her rouged lips as she puffed on a cigarette. She wasfrom that generation that had smoked so much that stopping nowwas out of the question. She had skin like a lizard. But she was aharmless and beautiful being. All of them were harmless and beautifulbeings.
My victim? I could hear him upstairs. He was still talking with hisdaughter. Would she not take just one more of his gifts? It was apicture, a painting perhaps.
He would move mountains for his daughter, this victim, but shedidn't want his gift, and she wasn't going to save his soul.
I found myself wondering how late St. Patrick's stayed open. Shewanted so badly to go there. She was, as always, refusing his money.
It's "unclean," she said to him now. "Roge, I want your soul. I can'ttake the money for the church! It comes from crime. It's filthy."The snow fell outside. The piano music grew more rapid and urgent.
Andrew Lloyd Webber at his best, I thought. Something fromPhantom of the Opera.
There was that noise again out in the lobby, and I turned abruptlyin my chair and looked over my shoulder, and then back at David. Ilistened. I thought I heard it again, like a footstep, an echoingfootstep, a deliberately terrifying footstep. I did hear it. I knew I wastrembling. But then it was gone, over. There came no voice in myear.
I looked at David.
"Lestat, you're petrified, aren't you?" he asked, very sympathetically.
"David, I think the Devil's come for me. I think I'm going toHell."He was speechless/After all, what could he say? What does a vampiresay to another vampire on such subjects? What would I have saidif Armand, three hundred years older than me, and far more wicked,had said the Devil was coming for him? I would have laughed at him.
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