Tilte: Louis Blue

by Kris

fandom: vampire Chronicals

pairing: Louis/Santino/original charachter/Lestat/David

status: on going

series: Louis Blue

email: myost@charter.net

site: http://louis3004212.nstemp.net

warnings: rape

spoliers: To the novel The Vampire Lestat, and Interview with a Vampire

disclaimer: I don't own them

summary: The first of the series which inspired sequels and prequels and is still being added to this very day

Louis Blue
by Kris

It was the early 1940's. There was rumors of Nazi's in Germany hunting and gathering Jews, and other undesirables, forcing them into concentration camps.

Tonight is the night. Tonight is when what happens will happen, Louis thought to himself bleakly, as he watched the vampire who was watching him without blinking. Louis was dressed in a rumpled pink shirt, and black slacks. His dark hair framed his pale, magical face of cheek bones, and eyes which were green and troubled.

Louis tried to appear as unaffected from tension as much as possible as he faced the easel holding an oil painting of darkness done in various blues, muddy grays, mixed in with the purest of silver's for stars which bathed in a liquid sea of evening colors. He was of the evening, as the stars were of the evening, having never witnessed a day in two hundred years.

He held himself still for a moment, like a gazelle does in Africa, resisting the probing, phantom fingers of the other's mind intruding into his memories. Resistance was futile. Louis could feel the other vampire reading bits and pieces of his thoughts, shifting through morsels of his memories of beings like himself. His memories of his fledging Madeleine, how he both loved and hated her. Her web and suck of madness that struck him at his soul every time he watched her play slave to Claudia's vampire queen. How it hurt him to know he set such an evil creature on the Earth. A creature who loved to kill children, leaving them to lie where she left them like broken, little dolls.

Sacrificing children to the memory of her daughter. A daughter Madeline replaced in her affections with her eternal child and master, Claudia. None the less, she demanded that children's blood and mother's tears be spilt offerings to the memory of her dying child. God may have ignored the tragedy of her baby's last breath, She would not ignore that last breath. She would keep the memory of her daughter's last inhale for breath alive by killing children and listening to that tortuous, sweet sound of a breath extinguished. She was jealous of the life other mother's children held inside of them. It wasn't fair. Her kills revenged her dead daughter every night.

Every time he looked at Madeleine, he could hear her soft, maniacal laughter, and he could see red drops of innocent blood on her frothy, white, lace collar of her black dress. Her laughter laced with the muffled screams coming from her victims' tiny, balloons of lungs filled with air--filled with screams. She was a vampire of lace, muffled screams, and mocking, jeering, laughter, and tears.

Claudia, the memories of her. Louis could feel the other vampire studying his mind like a detective would study for clues. Claudia, the one time joy of his life, who turned from childish love, who obliterated love from her life in exchange for cruel, manipulative power. She in the end neither loved him, nor hated him. She simply didn't care. He had fallen from the stature of being her father to being a mere slave. A slave she was indifferent to. And he was a slave, that loved her, because once upon a time, she had allowed him to be her father. And he was always humbly grateful to her for that.

Lestat, the vampire raked over his memories of Louis' maker. The childish fights they had. The never ending tension and suspense, between them. Each wondering how their next fight would find it's way into erupting. The well of loneliness that neither one of them were willing to fill for each other with compassionate kindness. Each of them too proud to reach out to the other. Proud, no rather cowardly. They shielded away from each other with scornful, hurtful remarks. Neither tried to understand the other. The feelings they had for each other left them too afraid to risk rejection. But leaving was impossible. They clung to each other lost in a web of darkness, need, and mystery. With each other--they lived in fear of the other. The prospect of living without each other even more frightening. Louis claimed Lestat bought him into darkness for his plantation and money. Even he had to blush at this ridiculous reasoning on his part that he held in the past.

Armand, the other vampire seemed amused at the memoires of the brotherly love that he held for Armand. A fondness time watered down. Louis had become to indifferent to Armand that the only thing he had left of Armand was a amulet of Armand's blood he wore around his neck to protect him from the unwanted hostile, attentions from other vampires. The vampire's eyes lingered on the amulet, stonily, as if to say, he was unimpressed.

He tried to second guess the predatory vampire whose eyes would not leave him alone. Who stared at him with the same intensity a snake stares down his prey. Who stared at Louis as if he was a rare and dangerous discovery that demanded rapt study, then quick destroying.

A rogue vampire Juan, glided to Louis on deadly quiet feet that barely touched the Earth. His silver, luxurious, dyed blond, pampered hair tousled about his smooth, death dealing face.

He's still stalking you. Isn't he? Juan projected into Louis' mind, standing still as a sentinel next to Louis.

Yes, Louis projected back . Be quiet. Every muscle in Louis' body was tight, wound up, ready for attack and flight if need be.

The two regarded the stalking vampire who seemed deceptively calm and relaxed in his posture. But they could tell by the electrical currents of tenseness in the air, that the vampire was in the midst of a serious and terrifying pursuit. He was hunting two legged, immortal prey.

He wants you, Louis Blue, Juan projected into Louis' mind. Louis Blue was a nick name he acquired from the coven of rogues he met in the ancient city of Rome. They called him by that name for the sorrow in his eyes that sprang from the deep down sadness in his being. The
sadness he used as a medium in his lyrical, rhythmic, pulsating oils of ebony, immortal nights chased with stars, too silver and fine to be real. His paintings like himself were divorced from nature. Both, more beautiful than anything nature could produce.

The two stood as still as the statues of Saints that led the way into the Vatican in Vatican City. The city of popes. Even their hearts were stilled. The beats muffled. They had the stillness that only the hunted know how to assume. The statures of Saints has no taste, indeed, no awareness, of the drama being played out in their midst.

The forced artifice of splashing, rushing wet drops of water from the marble, yellowing fountain was the only sound that spoke into the night. As the two waited in Vatican City surrounded by domed Saint Peter's path of statures of Saints for the vampire to make his move, or to, as he did so many other nights, go on his way.

He's telling me this isn't my fight, Louis Blue. He's telling me to leave or I will die this evening, Juan projected in Louis' mind, not betraying his feelings of despair he felt from the threat by a change of expression on his bland, peaceful, face.

Leave, Louis projected to Juan, keeping his face immobile, Too late. He's charging.

The vampire as swift as a hectic wind, swooped upon the two. The two could feel their hair and clothing being blown about by the force of the vampire's charge. Neither moved.

Louis could feel the closeness of the vampire, the weight bearing in on him. Just before the point of impact, Louis put his prone hand up to drive a knife into the vampire's groin.

The vampire fell to the pavement, caught of balance from the unexpected blow.

Bravo, Louis Blue. At least you bought yourself a little time, Juan projected silently to the blur of Louis' body slipping into the wind. He ran towards the ruins that littered Vatican City.

Juan felt himself being forced to the sharp, fangs of the vampire. The fangs driving themselves into his throat. He gasped out, lost in pain and horror as the other shook him like a maddened dog shakes a small animal.

Peace brother, Juan projected into the vampire's mind, Can I be blamed that Louis Blue escaped you? I gave him simply encouragement.

I'm not your brother, the vampire roared and ripped his thoughts through Juan's mind, Not your kind, revenant. Your blood is different, vile.

What you want of Louis Blue is vile, Juan projected, Still you are right. You want revenge against him. Both our tribes understands thirst. Thirst for revenge is just one of the flavors we both enjoy. Leave me and my coven out of your vendetta against Louis Blue, vengeful one. Louis Blue is not of our coven, Juan projected regretfully. He's an outsider, He's of your bloodline and coven. We will not interfere. My death, Vampire, will become problematic to you and to my own. Louis Blue's death a pleasure for you, I suppose. A deeply regretted event for us, and that's all."

The vampire released the rogue from his mauling mouth, He reassumed his elegant. smooth
mannerisms of a solicitous priest giving a blessing. I'm glad we had this conversation, the vampire projected into Juan's mind with calm, spiritual, subdued authority, No misunderstandings? You won't interfere?"

No misunderstandings, Juan projected back, his body crumpled on the pavement partially drained. He watched as the vampire seemed to disappear into the mist of the evening fog.

Louis back tracked, walked and strolled close to the walls of the buildings, seeking to hide in the ink of darkness. Every sense trying to seek out, to be aware, if he was still being hunted. He glided as silently and as lightly as the smoke wafting from mortals' chimneys. He slipped quietly into the catacombs of Saint Cecilia's, so quiet not even the nocturnal animals, the rats, mice and shrews noticed him as he drifted to the niche carved out form the walls of the catacombs that held his coffin.

To his horror the coffin lay in ruins, nothing remained from the pounding destruction that attacked it, but planks of splintered wood.

There sitting a a platform that was once a Christian altar was the vampire.

The green eyed, slender, small boned vampire studied the powerfully, built vampire studying him.

The vampire's thick, black eye brows knotted in amusement. He raked his dark, deep set eyes over the vampire en guard before him.

"Vampire Killer," he said in a mellifluous voice, "What took you so long?"

Louis sat down cross legged in a storm of emotions. He knew he didn't stand a chance escaping from this powerfully built vampire with his thick, red lips pursed in amusement. Maybe it was time for him to die. God knows he wished it upon himself many times, an early death. Dawn was only inches away. He sat quietly waiting to hear what the other had to say.

The vampire's handsome, serene face bathed in thick, black, heavy shoulder length hair, bore a look of benevolent calm. But his words belied the sweetness of his expression. "Vampire Killer" he hissed at Louis, "Did you think you could escape execution for the deeds done at the Theatre des Vampires. The murder of Santiago?"

"The trickster," Louis interrupted with a whisper, remembering the tall, dark haired one whose face seemed to have lice underneath the flesh of it. It was always moving that face. The twitching and quirky movements that pushed and shoved the white, smirking flesh of that dangerous vampire, Santiago, never stopped.

"Yes, Santiago. He was my lover when he was part of the coven of The Children Of Darkness. Later when he was in Armand's theatre, we would meet some evenings. You caused me many a cold night due to your killing him. He was a beautiful man. Did you waste a tear for him?"

"No," Louis said softly.

"I don't suppose vampire slayer you remember his last words? Do you? Could you please search your memory for those words, just for me?" the vampire asked sarcastically, "Something I can put in my journal. I'll write in my journal: The night I departed from his life one Louis De Pointe Du Lac, he told me all about the death of Santiago. How he died. What his last words were. Tell me Louis. I want to know. Educate me. Give me something to remember him by. To put in my journal."

Louis said very calmly, making sure each word he said was very distinct. "The theatre was on fire. I could hear the crackling and the roaring of flames. I could smell the kerosene that I had doused the theatre with. Smell the burning of flesh belonging to those I was kindred to. I saw him coming down the stairs at me. I hit him in the neck," Louis paused to gesture to the side of his slender neck. "I hit him with a scythe. The first wound did not kill him. The second," Louis stopped to smile coldly at the judgmental, stern face of the other vampire. He saw no glimmer of sympathy in the vampire's black eyes under his fine thick eye brows, He had expected none. Louis continued, "The second blow left him decapitated. His hands groped about for his head, while his body bled pools of blood. I kicked his head sending it flying down the passage. I left it like that." Louis shrugged, "I assume he burned to death with the others. He had no last words, as I recall, let's see, yes, he did say: You, damn you. Then he screamed a lot. That's all. His last words pertained to my damnation, and then screams, seemingly endless screams. Did I satisfy
you regarding his last words?"

The other vampire shifted his weight forward on the altar, leaning forwards, all the better to search for signs of fear in Louis who was sitting passively before him on the cold volcanic floor of the catacombs. "Tell me of my pretty, dark one with her crow feathers of curls, my wondrous Celeste."

"Celeste, yes, I remember her dyed crow feathers. How dull she was and how she conformed with all the others in her blackness of her clothes. She goose stepped to the march the coven played. Her tedious wit, her trite laugh. Her jealously for those who dressed in pale pastel colors. How she hated hair that was the color of honey and gold. She felt natural beauty affronted her put upon, painted beauty. She, I suppose, died in the fire. I couldn't decipher her from Estelle or any other vampire. You see, they all looked identical to me. White chalky masks, glittering eyes reflecting each other's fears as I held them to the flames, trapped. Tell me, is it the scythe than for me? Or are you simply going to set me on fire? Either one would serve, I'm sure, to your sense of justice. It did for mine."

"You murdered the vampire Lestat." the vampire said heavily, "Your lover."

Louis swallowed remembering Lestat holding the yellow dress that once belonged to Claudia. Tears of blood running down Lestat's tragedy of a face, his words, his pleadings for Louis to talk to him. How he himself had lost consciousness after seeing the ashy remains of Madeline and Claudia holding each other in a deathly embrace. Killed by the acting troupe of the Threatre des Vampires.

He had awakened in Armand's clinging, possessive arms. Armand's entreatments ringing in his ears that there was nothing he could have done to save Claudia. Louis shook his head to clear it, and then he said, "Lestat and I were not lovers, We were not even friends."

"How many times," the vampire sneered, "have you told yourself that lie before you finally came to believe it? I read your mind. All the hungering, lingering glances the two of you courted each other with. He wanted you so desperately to choose him. He waited so patiently for just one sign of something beyond the disdain and hostility you seemed to hold him in."

"He intimidated me," Louis said softly, remembering the smoldering, mocking, passion in Lestat's eyes for him, "I was afraid of him, his brilliance, his cutting cynical words, his laughter. I was afraid he would drain me of all my independence, all my sense of self. He wanted to be the center of my existence. My world. I couldn't surrender myself to him. I couldn't because I knew once I did, once I said the words, I love you, he would have won. The challenge of having me would have died. The admission of love a death knell to his desire for me because," Louis sighed, "That's how it is, isn't it with our kind? We kill those who grow to love us, our victims. How they love us, those last minutes they have to their lives, how they look to us with love in their eyes thinking we care about the momentous event taking place, their deaths, and how nice we are for being there, beautiful, seductive angels. There at their side to transport them to heaven. When in truth, we could careless for them as we use them to death. It would be the same with Lestat and me. I would say I love you, and he would have laughed in my face, draining me, using my love to dryness, till I no longer interested him. Just another fascinated victim in love with him lying at his triumphant feet."

Louis blinked his eyes at the blur of blackness that leapt off the altar. He felt the closeness of the
vampire who was suddenly crouched behind him.

"So," the vampire morosely said, "So you little fool. You hid your love for him under, should we say a basket? Where it sat all nice, protected, and untested, " the vampire chuckled, "And the comedy of it all is that you ended up killing him in the theatre, all the while being in love with him. Armand's tool, Armand's little fool. Armand was bored of his troupe of actors. All of whom were madly in love with him and his whims. He felt them to be dated in their thinking, frivolous and boring. You were shiny, brand new. You were full of questions about the existence of God and Heaven. You were a novelty. Out with the old, in with the new. The old burning to Hell."

"Punish Armand then," Louis said softly.

"Armand gave you the choice whether they would live or die. They died," Santino said coldly. "You'll never know what would have happened if you would have talked to Lestat while he was holding that little, yellow dress to his chest. His words beseeching you to hear him out, How does it feel to know you are going to die with missed opportunities weighing heavily on your soul? "

"Terrible," Louis said bemused, feeling the vampire's icy breath on his neck. "How do you know of Armand?" Louis asked politely, hiding with the gentleness of his voice, the sadness and grief he felt for Lestat's memory, and the fear he felt for himself. The vampire's breath was like a cool hand running itself about him, chilling his nerves, making his flesh crawl.

"The boy? How do I know of the boy?" the vampire said sweetly, "Why I was his mentor. His light through the darkness. I taught him how to be a coven master. A master vampire. I," the vampire grinned savagely at Louis, "I the Vampire Santino."

"You taught Armand nothing about being a vampire. You merely magnified and encouraged the attributes found in humanity since the beginning of time," Louis said flatly, staying statue still, ignoring the proximity of Santino's body. "Those attributes being hunting and gathering, Grand Inquisitor. That was what you were in your mortal days wasn't it priest?"

"Yes," Santino said solicitously. "I hunted and gathered pagans to my hold, yes, I watched their body's dance on the stakes, as the flames licked and sizzled their bones, roasted them. I did this out of mercy. To cleanse their souls, to give them a taste of purgatory so that their souls would rise to God, their suffering souls. God would see how they suffered and be all the more merciful towards them. I was nothing but kindness to the pagans in my hold."

"You killed children," Louis cursed, "for pleasure, and not out of a pure thirst to survive."

"Marius' boys, his apprentices. I tossed all his fresh, young acolytes into a Hell of fire for worshipping him. Marius! Marius replaced God in those young worshipper's minds. Marius condemned them to Hell out of vanity. He knew," Santino shook his finger in Louis' face. "he knew the danger he was placing those boys in. Leading them into his religion of comfort, warmth, and art. A religion he had no right to start, to establish. He was an ass hole. He knew we, The Coven of Darkness, out numbered. his coven of little, helpless boys. He was no human being to bring humans to him. He was of us, of darkness, His blaspheming murdered those boys, both mortally and spiritually. I had to deliver those boys from sins of the flesh by singeing their flesh to base steam and matter. No longer fit containers for their souls. Their souls flew purged from Marius' corruption to be collected by the pure thoughts of God. I was nothing but kindness."

"You lie. You were not nothing but kind. You, as an immortal and mortal served not the Christ of forgiveness and mercy. You didn't serve the devil either. You served the ancient gods of luck and power. It's always been so. This worship, the primal instinct, to hunt and gather. And when mortals went on their gathering missions they attached to their efforts gods they worshipped to give them luck. This is religion since prehistory. Gods whom they sacrificed other human beings to. All in the name of luck in their hunting efforts. You and your priests, Grand Inquisitor, when you were mortal, sacrificed pagans for luck in keeping you parishioners cowed. You taught Armand to cannibalize his race like you cannibalized your race when you were mortal, and after you were immortal."

"I taught Armand how to truly serve God despite what he was." Santino said levelly.

"You taught Armand nothing but how to hunt and gather like mortals do," Louis insisted,
And how to entertain himself like a mortal. When mortals gathering of human flesh through war and conquest became excessive they attached entertainment to it. Yes, your burning of pagans, the melodrama of it all. It was entertaining. An entertaining object lesson of what happens to those who don't conform to your god's powers. Like the Roman's hunted and gathered slaves. And when they discovered they had more slaves then they could use, they entertained themselves with their slaves they gathered. In their Coliseums, in their Forums. They cast out their slaves to butcher themselves as gladiators, or to be devoured by wild beasts. Criminals, Pagans or slaves. The same, the same. You and your coven of Darkness had no love for Christianity, You hunted and gathered the vampires of other covens and made grand ceremonies and theatre of chants, songs, and rites centered around their executions. Simply because they were not of your coven you branded them pagans. Just like you did in your mortal life with your mortal pagans. Immortality didn't change you, didn't teach you the value of anything or anyone, Grand Priest. You priest, you vampire, you taught Armand only to be more human. You taught him how to, as Celeste said, to try to out do humanity in their vices."

"Liar," Santino hissed, Louis' words striking an uncomfortable blow.

"You were always nothing but a pagan prist. As pagan as any Roman praying to his gods of war, powers and love for luck. You simply pasted a Jesus Christ head on the same old ancient religion, That's all," Louis shrugged, "You always loved to lie to yourself."

"How dare you," Santino said softly, "Say such unflattering words to me, who has the right to lay your life to waste. Where are your tears, Louis? Your pleadings? Isn't your life worth pleading for?

"Plead for my life? What of it? My life? I know I am a renegade. Death is the only means to reform me. I'm sick of it all. All of you all too human vampires, that cling to the all too human motives of primitive hunting and gathering. I heard of Vettorio's and Ursula's Court of The Ruby Grail ruled by Godric. I heard of the coop where they held those unwanted by other mortals; children who were born to familles with too many children to feed, unwanted sickly elders, cripples, the insane, and criminals. I heard how that coven haunted and gathered undesirables to themselves. All with whole villages of humans insidious cooperation in order to keep their own selves alive. They went to village to village like grave diggers who would go to plague villages, asking the populous to bring out your dead. This coven would go to village to village asking to bring out your unwanted."

"Isn't that a good motive though Louis? Sending fourth what you despise to the jaws of death in order to live? In order to live well. Why waste resources on the despised?" Santino smirked and winked at Louis.

"It isn't our place to weed out those that mortal's would give to us for their own personal survival. These undesirables that The Court Of The Ruby Grail gathered to themselves were gathered at such an excess that they were kept in intolerable conditions, used in their unholy pagantries, used in their shows, with cruelties done to them all for the purpose of enlightenment? No, for the purpose of base, savage entertainment. Oh, the vampires of The Court Of The Ruby Grail claimed , as all you too human vampires claim, that their intentions were useful. That the unloved, unneeded, were a scourge against what God intended for humanity--beautiful, purposeful human beings all contributing to a perfect, tidy world that conforms itself to the rule that only the strong and the good is worthy of survival. The rest chaff to be separated from the wheat."

"Louis we are human in our pool of emotions are we not?," Santino said, amused at Louis' ravings. "Were we not born human? Why shouldn't a vampire's failings be human failings also? Failings magnified on a grander, super natural scale due to our powers?"

For humans the concept of hunting and gathering is a valid way of life. The more you have, the better you live, the longer you live, the more you reproduce yourself. For beings that live forever it is a redundant way of thinking. Life for us should be lived on a wing."

"Living on a wing? Purposelessly, aimlessly," Santino scoffed, "I couldn't live that way of life not then. I can't stand it now, Chasing you down gave me a taste of having purpose again. Not that you were a challenge."

"No, I suppose I wasn't," Louis said, flinching at the play of Santino's hand on his shoulder.

"When I was a coven master, I had a reason to live beyond my appetite. We gave ultimate sacrifices. Yes, we did even sacrifice our own kind."

"If life was of such little worth that is could be squandered, then your sacrifices were cheap baubles. Your god, and devil even cheaper. You, the priest, the cheapest of all,"

"I least I had a reason for waking up in the evenings. Even if you think I led a cheap existence. At least I didn't let my thirst pull me though life. I used my thrust purposely to worship, to cultivate a cause, a religion, a governing body. You my tamed one. You're simply thirst with out design. You're like a fool for God. I will mete out justice for all those you murdered Santiago and the others. You're devoid of morals. You're simply consumption, Simply existence at its basest form. Aimless flotsam. I taught Armand to be more that what you are a flippant boy with no purpose."

"That's the whole point, You taught Armand to be a mere human boy with vampire powers. You didn't teach him what a vampire can be, a pure entity separate from motives that drive humanity. A killer. A hunter. A hunter who doesn't gather. A hunter who respects the act of killing and doesn't cheapen it by making it an act of crude entertainment."

"You entertain me, Louis, talk on," Sanction said with mock seriousness.

"A hunter who doesn't put nude, mortal girls on the stage in a theatre packed with the girls' fellow mortals sitting as an audience, sniggering at them. Being awed by their plight as they are murdered. Like Armand and his troupe of actors in the Theatre des Vampires. All of that gaudy display harkens back to the Roman Coliseums. Teasing victims to death for pleasure."

"That was Lestat's doing, not mine," Santino said flatly, "He's the one who taught Armand that the kill can be a sniggering, over dramatic event for yokels,"

"You all taught Armand that, both you and Lestat," Louis said wearily, "a vampire was not meant to gather, like the Nazi's, the Hitler lovers, are gathering Jews, Gypsies, Homosexuals, the crippled and unwanted into their concentration camps, their coops, their theatres of death. We are not human as the Nazis are. We were meant to hunt without the vanity of passing judgment on those that we hunt. We were not meant to be hypocrites that cast stones at our victims, like some insist on doing, by hunting out so-called evil doers, We were not meant to kill those who want to die, as Armand now insists on doing. It's not our place to help anyone to carry out their suicides. A vampire's killings should be purely unprejudiced and indiscriminate We should only kill to live without adding to our needs to live, the trappings of religion or any other justifications. To want to live should be justification enough."

"And this is how you live," Santino said quietly, In this catacomb amongst the dead like a child of Darkness from my extinct coven. Child, you should be by all that is right and holy, be bricked into your coffin."

He smiled at the tidy arrangement of clothes carefully folded in a niche cleaned out of the decayed mortal contents it once held. Candles stood straight as soldiers, littering the room. Books of classic literature, politics, philosophy, and romance, were contained in niches about the chamber, Art supplies laid about.

"You're not going to live for much longer are you? It's much too late for great thoughts," Santino said gently, fingering the amulet Armand had given Louis that hung around his neck for protection.

"How can you say," Santino said softly, his face gently composed as he twisted the cord of the amulet tightly around Louis' neck, causing the cord to cut cruelly into the softness of his flesh, "That I taught Armand to be merely human when it was I who caused a blood thirsty, desperate Armand to kill his mortal friend Riccardo? I who murdered yes, for want of a better word for now, murdered the boys he befriended. To break Armand, Louis, to break him of his fraternization with mortals, to break him from Marius' soft chains of a weak, lascivious life style he afflicted upon Armand. Marius was making Armand a pampered libertine with nothing but a style to live by, no religion, no convictions, no idealism. I saved him for the love of God from Marius, I had him kill Riccardo to place himself above humans."

"No, to punish Riccardo and Armand. Riccardo for being brave and for trying to comfort the children you were murdering. Riccardo was superior to you in courage. He was superior to the spoiled vampire pet that Marius made Armand into. You punished Armand for befriending a mortal more than worthy of his friendship. You used love against Armand to punish him."

"To initiate him into our coven, for the love of the Christian God. To worship Jesus through the worship of his angel, Satan, to be as your maker Lestat said, to be good at doing bad, and thus be good for something. Who does man turn to in moments of pain and dying? God most likely if he knows what's good for him," Santino said smugly, "We dealt men plenty a painful blow, sending even the most strongest and wickedest of mortals running to Christ like frightened babes to their mother. Riccardo died to truly free and save Armad from humanity's grip on him."

"You saved him for the love of yourself," gasped Louis as the cord twisted tight into his flesh. "You thought him beautiful. A beautiful gilt angel. A flattering ornament to hang on your religious cult. He was malleable, young, and useful. He wanted to have a purpose. As much as he loved Armand, Marius treated him always as a spoiled child to be caressed and fondled with. It was your way of spitting in Marius' eye. Making a man out of his little boy. You could see there was more to Armand than just being a bejeweled toy. You could see Armand was a leader. A force to be obeyed, lavishly obeyed."

"I never touched Armand," Santino said amused, watching Louis finger the cord tightening around his neck. "He already had enough rough and lecherous play upon his body done to him by those when he was kept in a bordello, and by Marius' greedy, searching, pinching fingers. I wanted him to be my pure light, My pure, single hearted, single minded, priest."

"So you initiated him into a priesthood of your religion by having him perform a sacrifice of Riccardo's blood. Not very original of your cult, was it? Again you taught him merely the base instincts that lay in every mortal. You, Santino, you are merely a mortal who by happen chance, happens to be immortal."

"You are so right, Louis," said a maddened Santino, "About human beings being hunters and gathers. Laying weaker civilizations to waste through the hunt, using weapons of war, pillaging, and conquest. And after the conquest men gathered the goods and resources of the people they vanquished, I witnessed Louis, nay, I admit, when I was mortal before becoming a priest, I was in the ranks of the Holy Crusaders. I was among those who laid to waste Moslem villages. And Louis, what do you think we men in our Holy Crusade did to those we vanquished? Those that we hunted down and gathered to us? We entertained ourselves with them." He slipped his long, big hand up Louis' pink, cotton shirt, stroking his nipples. The fine, soft, black, fleece of his arm pressing against Louis' hairless chest. "We entertained ourselves with the moist, young, virginal ones. And you are a virgin, are you not?"

"I don't know what you mean?" Louis choked out, the pain of the cord sending tremors throughout out his body. "Armand and I," he sighed, "We were lovers. We shared gentle intimacies of blood letting."

"You did? That's more than I ever shared with Armand," Santino said bitterly, giving the cord a savage twist, causing Louis to stifle a scream of pain. "My Beauty, I taught Armand well didn't I? How to throw babies into the fire. Ha! Claudia was no baby was she?"

Louis started to struggle, Santino tightened the cord causing Louis eyes to tear with pain.

"You were only Armand's stooge, He was tired of his nattering, boring troupe of actors, Yet, he was still the coven master. He couldn't take the blame for killing his coven. He had you shoulder it for him."

"No," Louis said softly,

"Yes. He betrayed both you and Lestat. He was going to kill Claudia all along if only out of instinct to kill someone deliciously evil, wonderfully helpless. He promised Lestat to return you for Claudia. That he would protect you, then finally deliver you to him after Claudia's death. Claudia was a misshapen freak of vampire nature that Armand in his pure doctrine of vampire lore, that only the beautiful and the strong should be given the dark gift, could not abide. But, his plans went further than that. He wanted to use you to carry out his murders, to deliver him from his misbegotten, dowdy cult. The cult that was boring him to death. You were to deliver him through acts of murder, then teach him the Spirit of The New Age of Invention and wonder. Of freedom and independence."

Louis strained against Santino. His only response, silence.

"His impulses daily roared at him, yelled at him to kill his coven of actors, He loved them not, He hated himself for being associated with such muddle minded bores," Santino said, fiercely. A tear fell from his eye, He angrily swiped it away with his free hand. "He would have killed them himself, but he was more afraid of being alone than being bored. With you, Louis, he decided after all the carnage, he could leave with you. There was always a kernel of hate for us, his coven, for our forcing him to stand by and play the weakling while we murdered his friends, nay, they were his family. We killed his family of mortal brothers. Used his thirst to have him kill the one mortal above all mortals that he loved with friendship, Riccardo. We made him into a soulless killer, Then we tried to replace his family with ourselves. Replace his soul with a vampire's soul, a true soul of a Child of Darkness. He never forgave us."

"You taught him well. How not to forgive ever. How to be intolerant," Louis said coughed out, after Santino loosened the binding around his neck. "He was conditioned, programmed to murder."

"He saved your life, when his coven members sealed you in a coffin. So you excluded him from those you murdered, That was his plan all along. None the less, once it boiled down to just the two of you, neither of you could love the other."

"No, I could not love him. Like all you Children Of Darkness, he bored me. He was too graven and too mortal. To clingy and needy," Louis said, "And yet so cold. Like an ancient god, he demanded a submissive, worshipping slave. He was a stone idol that needed worship. Stone idols can't love you back. They can only sit impassively, hurling demands at you."

"So, Armand was a graven image," chuckled Santino, He knew how dispassionate your feelings were towards him. You unmanned him. He could not approach you for you exalted yourself to high for him to touch. The times you shared blood with him, you haunted him with your bleak eyed indifference. You returned coldness for coldness. Neither of you could warm the other,"

Louis tried to twist his chest away from Santino's probing, searing touch.

"Lestat, ah, there's a ripe young fool. He valued your delicacy of feelings, your innocence, your wide eyed wonderment of it all. Every graceful movement of yours drew him to you. Your mannerisms, your little ways, poetry to him. And how he loved to make you angry. So you would call him names such as, devil, or fiend. You were his icon, his good conscience of a vampire. Your anger was the measure of his being good at being bad. You, his beautiful Saint. How he wanted you to see him in all his badness, and love him despite the evil he felt he was entrenched in by his very nature of being. You were such a reproach to him. How impatient he could become with you. Forcing you to conceive a child with him, just to keep you within his sphere. You unmanned him also. You, too precious, too beautiful to touch as a lover would touch. He kept you as ignorant from our vampire powers as he could. Wanting to keep you, preserve you as a wide eyed innocent forever begging him for information. Dependent on him. He wanted to keep you safe."

"I'm not innocent," Louis said quietly.

"No, you're not. You're guilty, Guilty of killing my lover, Santiago. Guilty of trying to wound me with words."

"I killed for revenge. Yes, there was no trail, no witness, no lawyers at their executions, no jury of their peers. It was an act of vengeance. Our moral code is a pretense, our justice unreasonable, There's no code of justice in our world except for revenge on those we find weak enough to mete revenge on. Our lives consist of murder. You and I. She died believing in murder. I lived to murder those who snuffed out her life till she was a burnt out ash of a star. Now I'm here to be murdered myself." Louis smiled furiously, "Do it. The story of us three, Lestat, Claudia, and I can end this very night."

Twisting the cord, cutting into Louis, strangling him with it, Santino caressed Louis' nipples roughly, "Tell me my victim, so ready to die, Would you be so ready if you knew Lestat lives? He does you know. He didn't die in the theatre's fire. You could make up for the opportunity you missed with him, if you'd get to live."

Louis' eyes widened in disbelief and surprise.

"Would killing you warm my loins? What better replacement for my lost love than he who murdered him. An eye for an eye. Flesh for flesh. Replacing him with your body seems to me more just than leaving you an ashy corpse. I no longer believe in the restraints the Christian God would hold me to. I always believed as others have. As I truly believed, I believe in conquest and spoils. You're right Louis I never loved the Christian God, I loved myself too completely for there to be a rival. I always used the concept of God to empower myself. Let's end this debate as all great debates are ended. With violence." Santino said brutally, undoing Louis; jeans, exposing him.

He put his hand underneath, between Louis; legs, cupping, stroking the softness of Louis' balls, flexing his fingers against them.

"No," Louis whispered. "Fascist," he hissed.

Santino started to undo his own expensive, tailor made slacks, inadvertently loosening his hold on Louis. Seeing his chance Louis lunged forward, grabbing a pointed, slender paint brush, driving it into Santino's eye.

Louis tried to scramble away, but Santino's over powering weight fell on top of him.

Wincing with pain, Santino pulled Louis up to his knees, pressing him against himself. Santino sneered, "What was Santiago's last words? Oh, yes. You, damn, you. Fitting words to take you with. I think he'd approve."

Louis could feel the hardness of Santino's solid cock against his thigh, feel the rock solid hardness invade his body. The pain of it's stiffness tearing into him. Louis pressed his hand against his mouth, muffling his screams and sobs of pain, not wanting Santino to have the satisfaction of hearing him scream as Santino used his cock as a weapon against him.

It was a vain effort. Santino could hear the screams resonating in Louis mind, ricocheting throughout his own mind. Louis body was rigid with shock. The sweetness of Louis' screams, replacing the harshness of Louis' words.

Santino thrust through out Louis, his motions causing Louis' tightness to stroke his member. He felt giddy victory with the pleasure Louis' trapped body was giving him. He thrust, his buttocks flexing with each seeking shove inside of his victim. Greedily pounding himself, ripping into Louis' flesh.

His fingers and hands stroked the instrument of beauty and pleasure that was Louis' body. He stroked it so hard he left livid, purple bruises. Roughly squeezing Louis' erection, he caused Louis to tremble and jerk against him.

He never felt so satisfied in matters of the flesh. Each touch he visited upon Louis burned and throbbed deeply within him. His body felt like a torch lit with fire. He felt superior.

Ejaculating his load into Louis, he threw Louis forward. Louis fell like he had been shot and pushed into a ditch, or a hastily dug out grave.

Turning him around to face him, to have his eyes trapped upon his eyes, Santino said, "Listen." He mesmerized Louis, stealing into his mind. "You will not remember this. You never met me. You will not remember Claudia. How she looked, her voice, her personality."

Santino deleted from Louis' mind all the memories he wanted Louis to forget. "You will only remember Claudia's name. And that's all of Claudia you'll remember. Her name. You will not remember what I said about Lestat being alive. To you, he is dead."

Santino watched as Louis fell into his death sleep. The brutality of his act, Santino smugly felt, was suited to the crime Louis committed.

He caressed with his long, muscular fingers Louis' sleeping, troubled face.

"Little fool. Shouldn't you have flattered me? Shown me your kind side? Your passionate side? Perhaps, I would have gone easier on you. I doubt it. When you trap an angel with a devil, feathers fly," Santino laughed.

He watched the barely perceptible rise and fall of Louis' chest. Louis was beautiful. All florescent skin aglow like it had moonlight trapped within it, holding such fine bones.

"What would it be like?" he whispered, his lips inches from Louis' neck. He pressed the silky paleness of his lips to Louis' neck. He could feel the blood heading to the surface of Louis' neck. Blood being swept up like metal fillings to a magnet. Blood waiting to be used. He parted Louis' flesh with his fangs, swooning on top of Louis, His erection pressing between Louis' sleeping thighs.

After he was done, he pressed his face into Louis' hair. "How would it feel to sit across you with a lover's proximity, to hear you talk words of desire, words falling like soft, soothing rain. To see admiration lit in your eyes. I can succeed where Lestat and Armand miserably failed. I can make you love me. I'll satisfy myself on your body every night, And one night Louis, you will seek me out, as I'll seek you out nightly."

He cleaned and dressed Louis quickly, Slowly the time of evening near dawn was already starting to numb his own limbs. Santino strolled out of the chamber, leaving Louis to his sleep and dreams.

*

I can't recall, Louis though to himself as he painted on a bridge over the river, Tiber. The muddy, turbid, small waves overlapping smaller waves, over taking each other, drew each other down. The ebb and flow of the waves matched the turmoil of his mind. Anxiety rose and flowed in and out of his being. Foreboding chased about him through out his anxious nervousness.

He painted small lines being over shadowed, being consumed by larger, thicker lines, obliterating the smaller lines he had painted first. Small lines that disappeared into the larger lines, their individuality and color lost to the threatening large lines with which he painted over and over again covering the small lines.

Evening, he thought to himself, Laid out flat, spread out, two dimensional, violence, comic, tragic, violence, spread out on canvas, on the floor, painted flat, over lapped, spread out flat, painted over, violence. What happened? Something hurried, hastily done.

He felt demoralized by a dream he couldn't recall.

All he could recall was feelings of being trapped, consumed, not being able to breathe and being chased, of being angry.

He felt an arm go around his waist. He stiffened with demented, phobic anxiety. A phobia he had never felt before in all his life, to be afraid, afraid of being touched.

Louis Blue, a voice projected into his mind, from the being who held him in a half embrace. It's only me Juan. So he left you alive. None the worse for it, I hope?

I'm alive, alive, Louis projected back, feeling spiritually sickened.

You barely look alive, Juan projected into Louis' mind, concerned. My coven is leaving Rome. The Dark One, The one who claims to be of your tribe has warned us it will be war if we don't leave.

Louis could see the paleness of several other rogues hiding in the shadows, waiting for Juan. So silent were they, he could hear the small in takes of their minute breaths. Louis projected to Juan, I wish I knew who he is. The Dark One. What he wanted.

Juan smiled sadly. We are going to Naples to settle there for a while. We're going to find refuge there, Juan projected. He softly pressed his hard, pale lips on Louis' thin cheek. I always wished, though we were of separate coven lines, that someday the two of us, Juan sighed, I can not, will not risk a war with the Dark One based on a wish.

I never knew, Louis projected back, his eyes staring in dismay, into the clear, blue eyes of Juan's.

How could you have known? You never noticed me, really. All your free time you spent living, and reliving, sometimes rewriting your memories of the times you spent with your dead maker, Lestat. The only being you ever gave any lover's notice to. Your heart's dead to the living, and to us the undead.

Take me with you, Louis projected into Juan's mind. I feel sadly out of sorts, a drift here. Afraid, Louis admitted.

The Dark One made it plain you were his concern, and we have no business having any kind of transaction with you. Still Louis Blue, Juan projected sadly, I wanted to say good bye.

Another lost opportunity, Louis projected back. Then Louis softly said, "Good bye."

He watched Juan and his coven become blurs of white and black, till the blurs merged into shadows, then disappeared.

He turned to his canvas, staring at the muddled dark lines painted across the pristine, whiteness of the canvas. He took the canvas off the easel, holding it, trying to make sense of it. It had to make sense to him, he despaired, after all it came from him. His creation. What was it about those lines? What did it mean to him. Bars? Prison? Capture? Furiously, he threw the canvas into the overlapping waters of the Tiber He didn't like Rome, he decided. Didn't feel save in the Eternal City.

He quickly strolled at a brisk pace. Spying a young woman in her twenties, carrying an overnight bag, he took her in with a steely stare. She was planning on spending the night with her girl friend. It was a quick walk down the block from her home.

Louis grabbed her arm as he strolled by her. Before she could even utter a word of protest, he swept her quickly into an alley.

"I'm meeting a friend, " she said in rapid Italian, her dark hair framing her face. Her eyes were wide and innocent as a Roman Madonna's. She was too startled to scream.

"Your friend can keep," Louis said kindly in her language. "Excuse me for a moment, if you please." He sank his fangs into the throbbing, blue river of her vein, and enriching his being with her freely, flowing, burgandy blood. Draining her like a glass of wine. Her heart beat fast and frantically, draining quickly, against his chest. His only thoughts were, I live. I live again. Tonight, you die, I live.

Her thoughts were, So handsome, My angel, My death. Oh, I'm so cold, Why can't he be warm for me? Why am I so cold? Her thoughts drifted to childish delights of her youth. All of a sudden she wasn't cold anymore. Her innocent, naked soul was bathed in a light. She felt as warm as a child being tucked into bed. The blanket of light wrapped about her, protecting her from chills. She felt she could feel a mothering presence watching her with eyes of love and protection.

And as a child, she thought, as her body drifted to a sleepy death, I come into the Kingdom Of God. She remembered all the Catholic Saints by name as she died, and called out gently to Louis, "Are you Saint Sabastian?"

She expired in his arms. He gently let her fall to the wet ground. Quickly, from his pocket, he withdrew a napkin, wiping his mouth with it. He then looked carefully about. No by standers. He took the thin blade he always carried, Slit her wrists with careless ease, then ran with her body to the river, Tiber, throwing her in.

He didn't watch her decent into the lurid, black and purple waters. He was too busy, hurrying to the train depot to get a ticket to Paris.

He reached the station standing in line, feeling ill and wretched with a head ache. A name kept ringing in his mind, Claudia. Who was she? His body shook as if he had ague. He agonized over the name. He knew this name had terrible significance to him, but he couldn't put a face to it. A personality to it. He was just left with a name with no strings of memory to it.

A hand grasped his wrist. "Louis," came a voice from a well built man, his thick black mane tied back. "What you are doing isn't safe." Santino balanced himself on the balls of his feet. He had an aura of leadership. A mantle of command and self confidence which always drew followers to him.

His charm was lost on Louis. "You, my stalker," Louis said, startled, trying to pull away as the stranger led him to a corner apart from the crowd.

"No, Louis, Your protector. What happened last night?"

I don't remember," Louis said confused and disorientated. "I awoke on the ground. My coffin destroyed. I was running from you," Louis accused.

"It was a rogue vampire that attacked you last night. Jealous of Juan's deepening affections for you. He smashed your coffin and left you unconscious."

"How can that be?" Louis scoffed, "excuse me. I am trying to catch a train." He impatiently tried to pull his wrist from Santino's grasp.

"You should not have been with that group of vagrant gypsies. You know our blood coven can be traced directly to Akasha and Enkil. The rogue's coven line is blurred, indistinct. You were a fool to trust them. I exiled them to protect you. Our line Louis is one that included gods and priests; Mael, Akasha, Khayman, Maharet, Enkil, the Durid god that made Marius. We have a royal pedigree, you and I. Even Magnus who made your Lestat was a monk. The rogue's line comes from riffraff. Trash," Santino said smoothly, "I come from Armand to protect you." Santino lied. "So, I've been following you."

"Who are you?" Louis asked, his body seemingly relaxed, truly ready and coiled to spring away.

"I'm Santino. The former coven master," Santino said cryptically

Louis eyes opened with disbelief.

"Yes, yes, the very same one who taught Armand the trivium of how to be the Devil's Minion. I've changed Louis, I'm no longer Satan's saint. I am a man," Santino said gently, "of taste and fame." Santino gently teased, "Come on and look at me. Do I look like a Child of Darkness? Armand trusts me. You can too."

Louis took in the dandified, pampered, spoiled appearance of Santino. The cashmere gray jacket, the pastel tie against the field of blue silk shirt across his broad chest and shoulders with his narrow waist that was tucked into a pair of fashionable, expensive pants that covered his slender hips and muscular legs. Santino's frame was that of a light weight boxer. He was agile and graceful on his feet, and seemed to ooze with a powerful strength of well being. Santino smiled a beguiling smile at Louis. His domineering face wore a look a authority. A vampire used to being obeyed.

Louis shrugged. He felt rebellious under Santino's appreciative smile of him as if he was a nice piece of mechanize Santino was considering buying. He didn't like the under current of ownership in Santino's words, or the bigotry.

"Non," Louis said dismissively in his lightly French accented voice. He stared pointively at his wrist Santino still held in his grasp. "You haven't the appearance of a Satan worshipper. None the less, please excuse me, I have already made plans to travel. Alone, if you please. Please discontinue your following me. It is unneeded for you to do so."

"You don't look well enough for travel. Put it off for now," Santino said with deceptive kindness. "You look troubled Louis."

"I can't remember her, I can't remember who Claudia is," Louis blurted out. He put his free hand to his mouth, upset with himself for blurting out to a stranger his worries.

"You need rest," Santino said, pulling Louis along, putting an arm around his slender waist, pulling him along. Louis watched as the train station disappeared behind him like a mirage. Everything about him was a blur of merging and disappearing shapes as Santino hurried him forward to their destination.

They arrived at a tastefully furnished flat. "I'd like you to stay here here for the time being, My villa is near by. Come I want to show you something."

"Non," Louis said firmly, trying to sound politely reserved, really seething inside at Santino's control of the situation, "I must be going."

"Nonsense. I promise you Louis," Santino said reassuringly, "After an evening of rest, you'll remember Claudia, I have a well stocked library you can explore later."

Louis could not help but be impressed with how functional the art studio was. It was well stocked with oils, water colors, and equipment An artist's dream. He couldn't ignore his feelings of repulsion every time he felt Santino was close by. He didn't understand the apprehension he felt every time Santino would stand close to him. His body tensed and cringed every time Santino would lightly touch his shoulder.

"I can't stay," Louis said, his eyes looking long fully towards the door. "I would be an imposition on you."

"Nonsense, Louis," Santino purred. "This place was designed to accommodate you."

Suddenly he turned on Louis, wrestling him to the studio floor, laughing mockingly at Louis' struggles and kicks. "What wonderful lighting to view you with," he said smugly, pulling up Louis' shirt. His cock hardening at the sight of Louis' pale flesh exposed. He bent his face to Louis' nipple, using his thick tongue to cause it to stiffen and harden.

"Stop it. Damn you," Louis demanded, trying to push his face away from his chest. "I don't know you." He tried to push away.

"We met last night, Louis," Santino said, using his sheer strength to keep Louis subdued. "Don't you remember," he taunted Louis' furious face. "Tell me, my Louis, if that girl you took last night said stop, would you have stopped? I want you every night. I'll have you every night."

Louis glared at him with shock. His words made no sense to him. He couldn't recall them meeting last night, He struggled in vain as Sataino ran his hands along him.

He screamed out, "This is madness, I took that girl out of thirst, out of hunger."

"This is thirst too," Santino chuckled, He again hiked up Louis' shirt, drawing his thick tongue along his abdomen up to his flushed nipple. He pressed the morsel of flesh between his lips, sucking against it hard enough to send darts of pain through out Louis.

"This is hunger," rasped Santino, slipping Louis' jeans down, fondling the curves of his hips, pressing his thick finger in between Louis' curves enjoying the dry feel of it. He drove his cock inside.

Louis cursed till his thighs were smeared with Santino's semen. He gasped at the force of fangs driving themselves into his vein. He let out a maddened snarl as blood swam and poured out of him.

Santino released him. Louis rolled to a corner. He lay low, crouched. Every fiber of his being was hissing with fury. "I hate you," he swore, "I want you dead," He sprang at Santino, wounding him with his fangs, tearing flesh from his face.

Santino took him by the wrists, pulling him to his chest. "Hate me all you want," he said softly, trying to kiss Louis' mouth.

Louis returned his attempts by spitting in his face,

Santino resisted the urge to slap Louis' face. He threw Louis to the ground.

"I have dominion over you," Santino said gently. "I can do what I want. When I want." He took Louis gently by his shoulders. Even he couldn't help but be awed by the terrible rage in Louis' face. "Ask anyone in any country where there's no rights. You have no rights."

Louis turned his head away and stared off into space.

"Look at me," Santino demand coldly, forcing Louis to turn his face to his. Louis gave him a steely, indifferent glance. "You are part of my territory. Part of my goods. I can touch you as I please." His hand wandered to make his point.

"When did you touch me?" Louis said coldly, "You don't touch me at all. You don't move me. You have ignited my anger, my hate, " Louis shrugged, "I wish you were gone. But as for touching me. You haven't touched me at all. You don't know me. You never really even met me. You used me. But you don't have me completely, barely at all." Louis watched Santino's hand indifferently.

Santino was surprised. This he didn't expect. He was waiting for tears, an explosion. Louis simply endured his presence as if he was a buffoon. "Where's your arguments," Santino said softly, "Nothing more to debate me with? Where's your proud rantings and ravings? I know you well enough. Well enough to be a master at pricking you in the places that will cause you the most suffering. Why not beg? Why not cry?"

Louis didn't say a word. He assumed a look a glassy eyed concentration on nothing.

The words Louis heard from Santino's lips before he fell into his death sleep was, "Forget this Louis. It never happened. Remember me as your congenial host. This is our secret, Louis. Secret even from you. No one can know. Forget this."

Louis eyes fell like a curtain falls on a stage. Before the last spark of awareness faded in him, Santino whispered in his ear, "Remember Claudia now."

Santino carried Louis to his new bedroom. Santino embraced the religion of himself as if it were a lover. After all, he decided, It's folly to worship anything, or any one when you are destined to
out live all beliefs, all religions, and all forms of morality and styles of fashion. He was the only super natural being that mattered to himself.

He believed it was his due to take pleasures where they could be gathered, and at the moment pleasure lay in keeping Louis held within his power. Abusing him was his hymnal to his creed. His victory song. Still, looking at the smoothed out, seemingly untouched expression on Louis' face, he wondered how much he had won after all. Anger was a cheap emontion without anything else attached to it. Without love or passion to go along with it.

*

Louis woke up in his bed in the flat that Santino had rented for him. He pulled the clean smelling, freshly laundered blanket over his head. As always his body shook as if he was in the throes of some kind of mild fit. His breathing came out in short, frightened gasps. He felt cold and drained as if some other being had feasted on his blood the night before. He dug his nails into his hands, feeling waves and waves of anger wash over him over a dream he could not
recall.

Louis had been living in the flat for months. Several times he tried to leave Rome. The results would be always the same. He would awaken where ever he had found sanctuary from the sun with an intense head ache. A name would be ringing in his mind, either Claudia's, Lestat's, Armand's, or Paul's. His mind would grope in vain to try to remember why the name echoing in his mind would have any meaning to him. The only way he could ease his tormented soul and to reclaim the memory of his loved one was to humbly return to the flat.

Santino would always the there. A huge, concerned frown on his face, clucking over him, saying in a sanctimonious voice, that Louis had no business leaving his protection. And that if only his maker, Lestat, had not been so cheap about sharing his blood with Louis when he had created him to take his stroll on the Devil's Road. It was all Lestat's fault, he was to blame for Louis' frailities. The next evening, as Santino assured would happen, Louis' memory of his loved one would return.

Louis sighed, remembering Santino's scoldings, wishing Santino would just disappear. He slipped out of the bed, his sweater and jeans still on his person. Silently, he glided out of the flat. He headed for Vatican City.

After drinking the blood of some hapless innocent bystander, he walked, his feet barely touching the ground, into Saint Peter's. He crossed himself as he approached the altar, dipping his hand in the Holy Water front. On laser beam quiet feet he approached the sculpture "Pieta", by Michelangelo. He silently marveled at the deepness of white and marble mourning on the Virgin's face as she cradeled the corpse of her son, Jesus, on her lap. Marble eyes that could cry. The way Christ's body hung on her lap, the marble bones and musculature of it, rippling through out the smooth, marble skin of it, moved Louis. The white marble wounds visible in the hands and feet of the sculpted dead Christ laid out in the white folds of his mother's dress was testament to Louis to the fact that tragedy inspired art. Indeed there was an art to tragedy.

Without tragedy how could there be victory? How could there be proof of deep abiding true love and faith, if true love and faith were not tested by tragedy? How could there be a happy conclusion to a story, if there wasn't a problem, a tragedy to solve? Louis took a deep breath and with out a sound strolled into the chapel.

He silently hid in the shadows, ghost like, watching an artist doing repair work on the paintings done on the walls of the Sistine Chapel.

The artist was a solemn, testy, young Negro from the South in the States. He had a beautiful scowl on his studiously, handsome face. His fine, black eyes had an inner fury of intense concentration as he carefully applied egg based pigments, an ancient formula of paint with modern preservative chemicals added to it, to the work he was repairing. The artist's hands worked with the fineness of an avenging angel, attacking the sixteenth century painting "The Last Judgment" done by Michelangelo on the great wall of the altar. He attacked it with an angry, possessive care.

He is an angel, Louis thought to himself, watching the artist use paint to touch up the figures struggling in Hell, or Heaven. Souls redeemed or damned whirling around Christ, the Judge who was in the center of the painting.

Saintino stood in the shadows too, unbekowst to Louis. He had followed him. He watched the young, slight vampire Louis, as Louis watched the artist.

To both Louis' and Santino's surprise, Louis said out loud, "I really do admire your work."

Louis hurriedly put his hand to his mouth, already regretting the words he had just spoken out loud.

"Who is that? Who said that?" the artist challenged, "Show yourself instead of hiding in the dark like some kind of a spook."

Surprised at what the artist said, Louis slowly moved into the artist's view.

"I know you," the young artist said, his hair a bundle of loose curls, betraying the tint of Spanish blood in his predominately African veins. "I've seen you sitting near the fountain on a park bench. It was drizzling, cold. You were just sitting there like some kind of specter. Staring off into space like you were blind or something."

Louis smiled softly, studying the eyes in the round face before him. Behind the aggressive fire in the artist's eyes, Louis witnessed a deep well of loneliness. Louis had watched the artist many times before. Watched unseen, how the other artists who were all Italian, how they dismissed and ignored him, or rudely disrespected him for the sin of being different.

The artist affected an insulting personality. He knew he was a persona non grata in the Eternal City. It hurt, that try as he would, he could not get the respect due to him as a talented, capable artist.

The priest in his parish in New Orleans, recognized his genius, and arranged to send him to Rome to work on restoring art works in Vatican City. He felt the priest led him astray. No one truly welcomed him here in Rome or the Vatican. He was alone. He missed his family desperately.

"What's the matter?" he said crossly, distrusting Louis' pale face, "Never seen a monkey use a paint brush?" He understood enough Italian to know that's what the other Vatican artists called him.

"Monkey?" Louis blushed, confused. "I'm sorry I don't understand. Excuse me, you know of me, but you don't know my name. Please allow me to introduce myself," Louis said using his nick name, "My name is Louis Blue. If you don't mind my saying so, I am an admirer of the expertise you apply to restoring art pieces."

The artist squinted at Louis' dark symphony of brilliant greens that made up his wondrous eyes. The soft, gentle affair of his full lips, and high, carved out cheek bones that made up his face. His slight, but muscular dancer's body. He frowned, and turned back to his repair work on, "The Last Judgment". "Think there's any room for people like me in heaven?" He asked.

"What do you mean?" Louis asked softly.

"Look at them. All a bunch of muscle bound, white people. That's all I see. Oh, there be some black folks. They be the devils," the artist mocked.

"This was Michelangelo's version of Heaven," Louis said studying the painting, "Beautiful, healthy, well proportioned, white people. Heaven is supposed to be beautiful." Louis shrugged, "To Michelangelo this is beautiful."

"There isn't any room for your type in Heaven either," the artist said, dipping the brush in the pigment.

"My type?" Louis asked in surprise, wondering what the artist meant by that.

"Fags. You're a fag, aren't you? Isn't that why you were sitting out in the rain, last night? Waiting for a customer? You a pro?" the artist sad, crudely, watching for the effect his words would have on Louis.

Louis smiled, mystified at the artist's hostility towards him. It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he had no real gender. That he was a vampire. That in the realm of vampires the concept of gender was a concept considered antiquated. Vampires did not fall in love according to sexual preferences. A vampire would fall deeply in love with the beauty and the charm of another vampire or mortal. Procreation as it meant to mortals had no place in the mind of a vampire. After all, hadn't he and Lestat conceived Claudia without the use of a womb? He did not consider himself heterosexual, or homosexual. He considered himself to be Louis.

He said gently to the artist, "Non, I'm not as you say, a fag, or a pro."

The artist made a rude, snorting sound at Louis, signifying his disbelief.

Louis ignored the artist's rudeness. "As for there being room for people like us in Heaven, I refer you to the tale of Philip and the Ethiopian. An Angel of God sent Philip to Jerusalem. On the way the saint met an Ethiopian eunuch, a court official in charge of the queen's treasury. Now back then, often times, on their own volition men voluntarily became eunuchs. The kings of the courts of ancient times liked for their court officials to be eunuchs. They felt they could be trusted amongst their queens and concubines. This Ethiopian chose to become a monster. Many Christians and Jews would consider him that. An abomination." Louis paused, thinking of his own choice to become a vampire, "Now the Ethiopian could not take back the choice he made. But he welcomed the Lamb with open arms. And the Lamb welcomed him back. Philip baptized him. Philip, an apostle of the Lord, did not restore his so-called manhood, did not bleach him white, but baptized him as he was. Accepted him for who he was. Because the Ethiopian accepted Christ for who He is. Love and acceptance. That is Christ. Yes, there's room for people like us in heaven. This painting on the wall, this is Michaelangelo's Heaven. Not God's.

"God's Heaven is a Heaven of vengeance" the artist said his teeth clinched, thinking on those who mocked him for his dark skin. Thinking of the Ku Klux Klan that terrorized his folks in New Orleans.

"Non, those looking for justice, I think, will be sadly disappointed. Heaven is tolerance. Love, acceptance," Louis said gently, "forgiveness."

The artist shook his head bemused. "Look, I've seen you painting by the fountain. Tell you what," the artist said hopefully, "Think you could help?"

"I'd love to," Louis said, carefully taking a brush. He followed the artist's directions precisely.

Near dawn, Louis politely took his leave, collecting the artist's name Raphael, or Robert De Smit.

He quickly strolled to the flat, not knowing that Santino had followed him, and had watched him and Raphael the whole time.

Louis entered the flat, taking his place by the fire burning in the fire place. He took up his sketch pad. He was working on a pencil drawing of the scuplture of "Apollo and Daphne" by Bernini.

The escape of Daphne from rape by her being transformed into a laurel tree was a theme that intrigued Louis. The nymph Daphne's marble open mouth was open in a perfect scream, her face twisted in fear as wood slowly encased her slender, naked body, protecting her from an unscrupulous god, Apollo, held Louis captivated The sun god's marble face bore a look of bewilderment as his quarry was snatched away from him by magic.

He gasped as his pencil drawing was taken from his grasp.

Santino stood before him, looking like a poseur in his expensive, carefully tailored suit.

"A hollow victory for her wouldn't you say, Louis? Escaping being the lover of a god, to spend her days and nights as a tree," Santino chuckled. "A rather lonely victory for her."

"The Crown Of Victory is composed of laurel leaves. Apollo fashioned a wreath from Daphne's leaves for victors to wear. She was victorious over him," Louis said coolly, sick fear taking its power over him. He refused to show how he felt to Santino. Why am I so afraid, Louis thought to himself, Santinto had never hurt me. Never touched me.

Santino threw the pad on the couch. "Why not work in the studio, rather than out here?"

A feeling, a cold apprehension gripped at Louis. He said, "I feel that place is haunted somehow. As if something horrible took place in there. It makes me nervous to be in there," Louis admitted.

Santino's face didn't change from the benevolent expression he held on his face, remembering how he raped Louis in the studio the first night Louis spent in the flat.

Santino sat by Louis on the couch. He took Louis' chin in his hand and gently stroked his cheek with him thumb. He looked into Louis' calm, expressive eyes.

Louis felt his face heat up because it was being approached. He felt the soft, firmness of Santino's lips kissing and pulling passionately at his lips. He felt his eyes close as Santino slipped his tongue between his lips and teeth.

He felt the impact of his fist against Santino's cheek bone. What happened next was a terrifying nightmare to Louis as rough hands threw him on the floor before the fire. He heard curses ringing in his ears. He felt the undoing of his clothing. The urgency of hands, and then a body pressed up on him. His flesh torn into. His whispered pleadings and threats ignored as blood dripped and drained from him into Santino's moist, demanding mouth. His nerves felt ignited as if he was spilled out kerosene lit by a match.

He felt himself striking Santino over and over again, Santino did not resist him, did not fight back.

He felt sticky red blood on his fists from Santino's face. Glad to see sticky red, blood dripping from Santino's nose. Then he felt sticky, red blood on his lip from an impatient slap. Then he felt
himself being held down hard. The last words he heard as he died yet again at the encroachment of dawn was once again, "Forget this Louis It never happened."

*

Louis treaded over to where Santino waited for him. Santino politely took the burden of the easel from Louis, They started to walk together. Their pace funeral slow.

"I want to buy you some clothes, Louis. You're starting to look like some wretched, starving, mortal beggar. It doesn't be fit you to wear black, thread bare clothing. You're a beautiful jewel, Louis. Your beauty deserves to be framed with appropriate clothing, to set it off."

"I don't want you to buy me anything. How many times have I insisted upon that!" Louis said coldly, really wanting to blow up in a fine, ranting tantrum. "What are you setting me up for? Housing me as if I was some courtesan in your flat. Buying me expensive first edition, leather bound books, buying me jewelry, expensive clothing, watches. All of which I don't want."

Santino ducked his head as if Louis had slapped him. It was true he acknowledged to himself, Every gift he bought Louis would end up thrown on Louis' dresser ignored as if it was nothing but cheap chattel, garbage.

Louis wouldn't even read the expensive, first edition novels that Santino bought him, preferring the odoriferous books he bought at used book stores.

"I'm protecting you simply for Armand's sake," Santino lied officiously, "Only out of respect for Armand do I put up with your ravings about your memory losses. Your shaking with tremors after you wake up from your death sleep. Your constant uneasiness around me. You'd be dead if it wasn't for my kindness. Some vampire out there would have killed you by now for your crimes committed against our tribe, at the Theatre Des Vampires. You're a murderer, Louis. Don't forget that. A vampire that should for the sake of justice be executed."

"They killed Claudia," Louis said hotly. "Madeleine,"

"They were with in their coven's rules to kill Claudia and Madeleine,"

"Liar," Louis hissed throwing down his art supplies, "Liar, You always lie, Claudia didn't kill Lestat. Madeline didn't kill anyone. They killed Claudia and Madeline because they were different. They didn't conform to their ideals of what a proper vampire should be. Just like the Nazis are doing in their invasion of Poland, gathering Jews and others that don't match their ideas of what proper human being should be. The vampires of Des Theatre broke the laws. killing Claudia and Madeline both of whom were creatures of their own kind--vampires. I carried out the law. I executed those that would kill out of cruelty, out of intolerance, out of a sense of rigid ignorance for the rights of others. Even if my revenge was personal, which it was, an act of vigilantism. It was still just."

"Revenge for you was sweet, wasn't it Louis?" Santino said ironically.

"We stole from Claudia any respect she may have developed by her living a normal, mortal, adult span of life," Louis declared, passionately, "She never learned compassion, empathy. She never learned how to respect anyone or anything, All her life. All her life the only thing she ever knew to be true was hunger, power, and killing. That was her three truths, Hunger, power, and killing. All of which had to be appeased. All the other truths that goes along with life--eraticated. Lestat never told her, I never taught her a reason real enough for her not to kill when ever she wanted to. When she wanted to escape Lestat, of course she tried to kill him. She learned her lessons well from us."

Santino smirked at the display of idealism on Louis' part, Gabrielle leapt to his memory. She lived her mortal, adult life coldly, respecting no miracle of birth that sprang from her loins. What she respected was the fact that beings in the form of men and children held power over her. And once her maker, Lestat, gave her the grave power to mete out death, she did it with cold detachment. The power of the kill more an elixir than the blood shed she tasted.

"There is no law to redress the weak in our world," Louis went on to say,

"There is no place for the weak in our world," Santino said coolly, thinking of the walled up ones of the Coven of Darkness, forever crying out for release in their shriveled up, vegetated forms of gristle and ropy veins covered by stretched out flesh. Mute with misery. The screams in their immortal minds unheeded.

"Claudia's only crime was that she was weak. That she could be over powered," Louis said.

"Crime enough," Santino softy said, in an under tone that ridiculed Louis. "Plead for her memory all that you want. Try to reform her if you can. Try to sanction the murders you committed. She tried to kill Lestat. She broke the rules. She paid for it."

"She was ignorant of the rules she didn't know there was consequences applicable to her actions. She was insane. How could she be otherwise but insane? Death addressed all her needs, Death was all that she knew or was about. On top of our laps she learned other's lives were of no use to her. Only their deaths mattered to her. Lestat's death was not her fault. But ours. We should have been the ones judged guilty, not her, but Lestat and I."

"Louis Blue," a voice projected itself into Louis' mind. Louis turned from Santino who was burning with self righteous, pent up rage. Louis saw a white haired, young vampire staring at him from a distance with clear blue eyes, It was Juan.

"Who is he?" Louis asked in a panic. "He knows me. Why don't I know him?"

Santino roughly grabbed Louis' arm, pulling him down the path, away from Juan. He projected into Juan's mind to leave. Juan hurried away, wishing he had resisted the temptation to see Louis Blue again. It was obvious his visit brought nothing but hardship upon him.

"You don't know him," Santino said savagely, "And even if you did, is it my fault you don't remember him? A scummy rogue. Someone you shouldn't be seen with, much less talking to? Is it my fault you're losing your mind?"

"You don't think I haven't guessed by now that you are holding my memories for ransom on the condition that I live in your flat? Why? Am I supposed to be bribed into being your lover, with your expensive gifts? Am I supposed to be bribed into behaving, so that I can keep my memories of Claudia, Lestat, and Paul?," Louis said with rapier anger at Santino.

"You are so unfair. You're insane," Santino said evenly. "I bought you those presents out of kindness,"

"If you're protecting me for Armand's sake, why not tell Armand of my so called mental illness, Why not bring him here to console me?"

"I have no idea where Armand is," Santino said crisply, deriding Louis. "You are deranged. Out of sorts."

"I won't be your lover," Louis said stormily, "I want to leave Rome."

"Who asked you to be my lover, Louis?" Santino said trying to sound reasonable. Inside he was seething with rage. He was tempted to throw the truth in Louis' face, that Louis was nothing but his kept courtesan. That he enjoyed the rape of his body every evening, and afterwards mesmerized him in to forgetting the violence metted out against him.

Suddenly he couldn't hold in his anger any longer. "So the gentleman prefers blonds? Is that it Louis? Why you never give me a chance to mean something to you? Despite all my kindness' I've lavished upon you? Your blond is dead. Remember? One of your victims in the fire. You're right Claudia didn't kill Lestat. You killed him."

Louis paled, nausea hitting him. "I was an accident. I didn't mean to."

"You'll always love him. Won't you? You're so dead inside, You deserve to be a corpse. Buried beside Lestat." Santino brutally threw the easel he was holding at Louis, "You, Louis. You are not worth the trouble any more."

*

Raphael answered the discrete knock on the door. He was surprised. None of the Italian priests or painters ever bothered to come to his small, cubby hole of an apartment room. He opened the door to view Louis' friend before him. Santino stood a full head taller than him. He was a strongly built man. His boxer's shape filled the door way. His body reminded him of Adam's in Michelangelo's painting "The Creation Of Man." He had a classical, dark, swarthy, beauty, Every move he made was a motion done purposely, powerfully. His eye's dark, and deep set, had a priestly glow to them.

Raphael closed the door after Santino walked in. "Well, come on in. Oh," Raphael said caustically, "Never mind. I see you made yourself at home. Can I help you?"

"My name is Santino. You, I already know, you're Raphael. You're that artist Louis likes to watch. He likes you," Santino said flatly, "He doesn't like me."

"Hey," Raphael said, still remaining standing by the door. "I know nothing about affairs of the heart between boy friends. Dig? You've come to the wrong place if you're looking for advice for the lovelorn."

"He's impossible," Santino said softly, in a plaintive tone, "Louis. I take him to the opera, to the theatre, he just sits there staring at ghosts. He applauds at the wrong moments. He winces when I talk to him. Impossible. Sometimes," Santino's eyes became wide with intense feelings of longing, "he'll talk to me. About history. His insights about past events, fascinating, Then he lapses into silence. He just stares right through me. A polite, little smile on his face. Staring into a candle flame like it was a real person is more interesting to him than me. He thinks I'm a bore."

Raphael coughed uncomfortable, "Hey, like I said, it's none of my business."

"No wonder Armand left him. His indifference is crushing. Crushing I tell you. His contempt eats away at you. He's assiduous in his coldness, I've tried, I hoped he would grow to have some sort of appreciation for me. How did Lestat put up with him for so long?"

"I really have no idea what you are talking about," Raphael said, thinking, And I really don't want to know.

"I'm talking about Louis. I was a votary to him. I wanted him to care. The less he cared the more angry I got at him, the more I wanted him. I could perform a vivisection of his mind. Turn him into a vegetable. Give him enough blood to keep him pretty. Despoil him when I want to. I could keep him chained to my bed. Starve him. Watch him turn to bone, flesh, and fluids. Play with him as he hollows out, goes insane, begging me to make love to him, so he can feel something other than pain. Watch him die, then burn his remains. But then, he wouldn't be Louis, would he? Wouldn't be Louis sitting by the fire place warming his long, thin hands, making little nods of his head as he reads his novels. Louis drawing a rose to perfection, studying the curves of it, shading it carefully in till it swells off from the page and you swear you can pick it and put it in his hair. Louis with his sparks of intelligence that causes you simply to think. Louis, cold hearted Louis. His heart preserved for only one."

"He is um," Raphael almost said, that Louis was a looker. But the idea of calling a guy, even an androgynous guy like Louis a looker, embarrassed him.

"Do you know what I do to him every night? I desecrate him," Santino spat out.

"You do what?" Raphael said, going to the couch, sitting down, confused.

"I force myself on him. Yes, I do that. My aim was to execute him for killing my lover, my former coven members. Instead I use him. Every night, a new experience in terror for him, in humiliation for him. Why can't he be willing? He can't rationalize what's happening to him. Can't cope with it. Can't learn to deal with it. Every night, a night, a new night of horror. Why?"

"Why doesn't he leave? If he doesn't like it?" Raphael asked, thinking nervously about the words, coven, force, and execute.

"He can't leave. If he leaves he knows I'll cause him to lose most of his memories. He doesn't want to lose the only thing that he had left of them, Paul, Claudia, and Lestat. Always them. I've held him more intimately than Lestat ever held him. Ever. And still he keeps himself aloof from me."

"You cause him to lose his memories?" Raphael said, now for certain that he had an insane person in his apartment.

"Yes, even of the rapes. He has no idea what happens every night," Santino said sadly, "I would leave him alone, if he could just offer a kiss, a smile, a note of understanding that I want to change, want to be forgiven for the past I led with my being a coven master. But he insists on holding me to his flame of intolerance. He insists on keeping me ashamed of what I did. What was I supposed to do back then?. It was the times that I lived in. It was how all men thought. To burn Infidels, Pagans, to show no mercy to those who were different from you. I was a man of my times. I can change with the times. Can't I?"

Rapheal stared at Santino. "You know. I have an appointment about now. You can stay here, if you want to, but I really have to be going."

Rapheal tried to get out of his couch. To his amazement Santino was standing behind his couch, holding him down by the shoulders,

"I'm leaving Louis. He maddens me, he saddens me. It wasn't meant to be like this, I won't have these feelings for him no longer."

"Fine," Raphael said, perplexed at the man's vast strength in his hold of him, "Leave Louis. Sounds good to me."

"I can't desert him to be all on his own. Others, like myself, may come to avenge the vampires of des theatre. He wouldn't stand a chance of survival. Damn Lestat for making him so weak. I want someone to look after him. To protect him. Someone of my own creation. I'm going to give you to him."

"What the hell do you mean you are going to give me to Louis? I'm not some damn darkie off the plantation that you give to people. Like I was a thing. Get the hell out of my place. You lunatic," Raphael snarled, trying to pull away.

"Look at me, Raphael," Satino said in a honey, smooth, silky voice. He caressed a curl in the myriad of curls on Raphael's round head. He had a broad, flat nose, His skin the color of ebony. His eyes were a rowdy affair of deep, brown chocolates. His roseate lips were well formed and delicious. Yes, Santino decided to himself, taking in the long, legged, athletic shape of Raphael, He will make a beautiful angel of Hell to grace the evenings with. Santino revealed his sharp fangs.

He projected images of Armand, with his youth's grace summoning those who wanted to die to his thirst. Lestat, laughing, bold, sneering Lestat, riding, roaming about the country side pulling down victims, thrilling at the taste of their struggles and of their blood. Beware of these two, he projected into Raphael's mind, keep Louis away from them unless he chooses to go to them. Then comfort him if they hurt him. He projected a memory of Santiago strolling on the stage, holding a skull, playing a vampire Hamlet. His dark face reciting the lines with a supernatural passion that kept the mortal audience spell bounded in awe for his angelic acting skills. Santiago gave a chilling, roaring crow of laughter to the audience, taking a mocking bow to the applause and cheers springing forth from mortal adoration. The Vampire Santiago seemed to smile at him. His eye seemed to wink at him. All these images played out in Rapheal's mind. He could hear Santino say, "Don't fall in love with the angel's of the night."

(11)

The images of Armand, Lestat, and Santiago faded from Raphael's mind. Raphael stared at the fangs in disbelief. He crossed himself. A deadly fear over took him.

"No, no, " soothed Santino sincerely, "No fear. No pain. This is the night of your birth,"

He pulled Raphael to him, his lips letting words fall as gently as soft, caressing touches. "Tonight you will be born to darkness. My maker. He found me in a plague village. Dismayed at all the diseased carnage lying about us, he did not let me die. He let me live forever as an affront to God who he blamed for all the misery of those dying slow and lingering deaths. He did it to mock God. To show that he could make an immortal from a place of mortal dying. Now, it's your turn to live forever."

"I don't understand," Rapheal, said softly, captivated by the warmth and comfort of Santino's eyes.

"My maker left me. Once he made me he pointed at me and laughed in the face of God and said, look at the fine trick I performed. All that You do is allow suffering. You put your children to death and leave them with no comfort when You inflict horror after horror upon them. Then he cried and prayed, knowing he had done the same to those he once called his brothers in faith. He was death. He would kill more mortals in his immortal span of life than any plague would kill. And he created another death dealer. A plague. My maker felt God was mocking him back. So he deserted me. I found myself a group of vagabond vampires, Celeste, Estelle, Santiago, and others." Santino paused to smile, remembering each one, and the way he loved them all as his family. "I, Raphael, I gave them a purpose to live by. A Creed. I started a coven to worship the living Christ, through the worship of Satan. I made them into priests, saints, and archangels of Satan. I didn't mock God. I served Him. I loved him. But, in the end, I loved myself more, took the worship we intended to give to God and embezzled it for myself. I became my coven's object of worship."

Raphael looked gently into the solemn face of Santino. "You seem like a god to be." he confessed.

"I'm not," Santino said bitingly, knowing all too well the truth of his statement, "Time erased that. As time erases many things, many beliefs, many of the beliefs that we once held dear, turned to dust and decay. The people and vampires of the present age look back on us of the past, and judge us with such a furious wraith for our sins. Judge us as ignorant, stupid, for what we believed in. For what crimes we committed. Crimes that once upon a time was just a way of life. The people and vampires of the present make us of the past out to be soulless monsters. I guess," Santino sighed, "That is what I am. A soulless, pitiless monster. So be it. You, Raphael. I will give you a beautiful teacher. He will teach you not to be a monster. In exchange you will protect him. This is not your choice, Raphael. This is your appointment. Your destiny. Your fate. Know that any death you deal out after this night, know, that you are blameless of that death. All guilt falls to me, for I did not give you a choice."

"Death," Raphael whispered, encased in the coldness of Santino's hard, holding arms.

"Yes, death. We all have to die, don't we?" Santino said seductively, "Where would we be without death? How could we meet our maker, if not for some kind Angel Of Death to usher us to Him. You will be that angel. God's messenger, sending souls to Him."

"But my dreams?" Rapheal said, barely above a whisper, "Of what I wanted to be in this life."

"Dreams are made of vapor and air. Didn't you know that? This is well, this is living, truly living. Listen to me. I am going to drink from you. You must will yourself to live. Remind yourself that you want to live. Don't succumb to peace, or to sirens' voices from your past, aunts, uncles, or perhaps a father, those long dead, or newly dead, urging you to go into the light, to Heaven's Gate. Reject the Lamb. I tell myself over and over again. He no longer exists. But, I know, I know better. You no longer belong to the Lamb, but to your teacher, to the one you will protect. You will drink from me. And I will be with you every step of your transfiguration."

Raphael felt the fangs of Santino gently pierce in the flesh of his neck. He heard the great, awesome, thumping, bumping tempo of his heart demanding to live, as blood was siphoned out of him. He heard voices calling to him. Familiar voices telling him to join them. He ignored their good will towards himself. His heart was a percussion instrument in an orchestra of death and resurrection. He felt cold, soothed, and lulled. He felt a thirst to live on and on.

Santino bit into his wrist, holding it out to Raphael. He whispered into Raphael's ear, "Live."

Raphael greedily lapped and sucked at the blood offered. His heart, his veins, his lungs filling with the blood, absorbing the blood. He felt he was empty of anything, no longer a creature of bones and offal, he was blood. Just sweet, thick, blood.

His eyes opened to a new world, A world brilliant and flashing with well defined lines and colors. A world where every object, the humblest of objects, such as buttons on a coat, blazed with intense, fiery beauty. Everything looked like it was part of a scene on a stained glass window lit with bright, filtered in sunlight. Everything thing was more liquid, more solid than it ever had been before. His vampire eyes took in the flicker and flame of his world, A world unseeable to mortal eyes, Where mortal eyes saw flatness and ordinariness he saw vibrance.

"Your mortal death will not be painful," Santino said gently to Raphael, stroking his cheek. "Louis' mortal death. It was very painful, very frightening. Lestat was too immature, He didn't give Louis enough blood. He knew Louis was ambiguous about accepting the Dark Gift. He was ambiguous too, about bring Louis into darkness, Too afraid if he made Louis strong, he would go insane like Nicki, his violently deranged angel. Or run a way from him as Gabrielle did his faithless, vampire Madonna. He left it to the fates, if Louis would live or not. And once he lived, he worshipped Louis as if Louis was his own trapped, personal angel. An angel to tease and torment. How could Louis prefer a boy he thinks is dead, rather than preferring me?" Santino said quietly. "You, my child, my fledging. You will live forever strong. I gave you power beyond your earth bound dreams," Santino said, his face hauntingly thin from the loss of the blood he gifted Rapheal.

"I'm thirsty," Rapheal said expectantly to his maker.

"You need a victim. I know of the perfect victim," Santino said, kindly.

(12)

Louis stood in front of the door to the flat. Dizziness and dread over taking him like a hunter over takes the hunted. He felt a paralysis fall upon his bones, swaddling him tightly so that he could barely move. He wanted to turn away, ran as fast as he could go to any safe harbor. But fear of losing the memory of the touch of her soft, babyish hand upon his own, fear of losing the mocking laughter he remembered emitting out of Lestat's generous red mouth as Lestat called him a rat catcher, kept him rooted.

The song of exasperated longing in Lestat's laughter. A song Louis on purpose willed himself to ignore. Louis wished with all his heart that he could claim a memory of holding Lestat pressed in his arms. He wished Lestat was standing behind him ready to pull him away from this nightmare.

He thought of Paul, his long dead brother, innocently believing in Saints. He remembered Paul at seven, showing off for him with his newest pet garter snake he had caught, not knowing in his boyish innocence the act of cruelty he was committing in stealing away the snake from his home. Not knowing the childish rough handling of the snake was causing the reptile pain. In his innocence Paul had no empathy for his "pet". He was simply glad to have it. How he scowled at Louis, when Louis made him put the snake back to the garden because wild things were meant to be safe from careless cruelty. Paul kept his collection of snakes hence forth safely hidden away from Louis in a slave's cabin. Louis never found out about Paul's happy, little deception. Louis sighed, wondering if there was a saint he could pray to now.

Saint Lestat? he thought with a grim smile. If only he was here. I'd hold myself to him. Confess it all. That I want him. I'd walk away from all this. The hell with my memories. Santino can keep them. Do what ever he wants to do with them. If only Lestat was alive, he could tell me of my past. And we could make new memories, better than the old.

He suddenly felt old and lost. Even if his so-called devil of a saint, Lestat was alive, he wouldn't be able to help him keep the memories of the events that happened in his child hood. He closed his eyes, feeling a hand encircle his arm. He heard someone opening the door. Went along in the direction that someone was pulling him towards. He kept his eyes shut, feeling the fumbling of someone's hands unbuttoning his shirt. His nipple trapped between someone's heavy lips that sucked and pulled at it with his mouth. Stroking it with his tongue. He felt the snake of someone's tongue drawing itself down to his abdomen.

"Stop. You infiltrated my mind, stealing my memories, you the great cutthroat of my past. Tell me," Louis tried to keep talking, angry at the feeling of strong fingers playing at his chest. "Do I have only one sister? Did Paul really die as a child? Who was that vampire we saw? What else have you stolen from me? What heritage, what culture do I have? Damn you Santino, for being a monster. I no longer belong to a civilization, a country. What history do vampires have left of
themselves when they were once upon a time a mortal, but their memories? "

Santino cringed inside. Angry with shame. Compulsive in his desire for the pale body that he pressed his finger tips to. "I have returned your memories of your mortal past. All your memories of Lestat, Claudia, and Armand returned totally. As for the rogue we saw. You need not remember him."

"What do you mean I need not remember him? How can you be so vain to make that choice for me?" Louis asked, an undertone of sorrow clear in his tone, as he watched the slip and slide of his jeans fall from him. "Why do this now? You played with my mind. With myself. I am my memories. You held me captive for this? A mere cheap, fondling of my body? Why? Why do this now?"

"I've been doing this every night since our first meeting. Causing you to forget every night," Santino said, lowering his mouth to the curve of Louis' face.

"You're lying," Louis said, trying to push Santino's face away.

"You simply forgotten the many nights I laid with you. Parted your thighs. Played with your hair. Held your anger and sorrow pinned underneath me as you struggled impotently for deliverance," Santino said softly his hand trailing up the muscle of Louis' thigh.

"Leave me alone," Louis implored, "I'm not yours. All that you hold is not yours."

"We discussed this at our first meeting. Hunting and gathering. To the victor goes the spoils, Be comforted Louis, that this had been a hollow victory for me, You are unreachable. How I longed for you to respond to me whenever I showed you kindness. None. No expression other than coldness have I ever seen on your face. You're impeccable in your disregard of me. Louis, eternity, such a lonely aspect of our lives to walk on the earth without any purpose to our lives, but
consumption. To have no one to answer to. We simply exist to wander the world, eternal wolves hunting our prey down, we may as well be mindless, soulless, ideal less. I am not penitent of trying to kindle within your flesh some kind of flame for me. Your resistance strong. Your will infallible not to fall in love, not even to fall into a veneer of affection or friendship."

"Your loneliness excuses this? " Louis stiffened, biting his lower lip as Santino touched his fingers to his cock stroking it to rigid arousal, holding it firmly in his grasp as he masturbated it, enjoying the familiar jerks and struggles from Louis' body. Infatuated and captured at the rapid breathing coming from Louis' body. Louis was angry at his flesh responding to Santino's touch. Santino's hand caressed the flesh of his buttocks, pressing his fingers inside.

"Take your hands away," Louis gasped, "I don't want to."

"Die? All of our victims, if they could truly talk to us while we drain them to the dregs would say the same. I don't want to. They have to. You want to. They have to for our sakes, all our victims have to die. Louis, tonight you may at least, not have to die. I'm giving you up tonight."

"Giving me up? What you mean, you mean you are leaving?" The relief in Louis' voice struck Santino like a slap. "Wait, you're not taking anything of mine with you, are you? When you leave?" Louis asked suspiciously.

"No, Louis. I am not taking with you any memories of yours, at least not your memories of Claudia, Lestat, and Paul," Santino said gently, a current of jealously surging through him. He moved his hand to Louis' abdomen stroking it, Forcing him down to the floor, keeping him held. "I am giving you away. Consider this a kind of wedding night for you. And I am giving you away."

"What are talking about?" Louis panicked, "What do you mean by that?"

A shape of another walked into the room.

"Louis," Santino said a mock imperial voice, "Let me present your other half, The Vampire Raphael."

A nude Raphael knelt beside Louis laid out on the floor. Santino was straddling Louis, "Louis Blue," Raphael whispered, his voice like the chime of a bell. His eyes burned like a furnace fueled with molten hunger to feed and devour. His need for blood coursing through him, burning red hot lava trails through out his hollow, empty feeling body. "It's Louis Blue" he said in wonderment, taking a handful of Louis' wet with blood sweat hair.

Louis was no longer the patient, handsome young man dabbling with paint, offering him his own personally held viewpoints. He was just a vision of white, and frightened green eyes, jet black hair. He was reduced to nothing but flesh and blood in the burning gaze of Raphael's hunger.

"Take him in your mouth, Louis," Santino demanded.

"No," Louis whispered.

Santino grabbed Louis by the chin, raising his hand to gift Louis' face with a quick, brisk slap. He stopped himself, projecting his threat into Louis' mind, so Raphael couldn't hear it. How do people truly die, Louis? he threatened. I mean truly die on the earth. Who knew her? Claudia. Her family. Her mortal family, long dead. The dead is dead to the dead. Her memory can not survive in the dusty remains of the corpses of her mortal family, or the ashy remains of Lestat. Who knew her? No one truly knew her that's still alive but you. I can kill her Louis. Kill her memory from your mind. Kill her memory from the earth as if Louis, as if she never existed. As it is for so many that have died. The memories of their ever existing eventually perishing in the minds of future generations till it is as if they never existed. Who remembers the great-great-great grandfather who toiled in his work, laying furrows of future generations of children to carry on his line? Who remembers his personality? No one. No one will remember Claudia, if you do not appease me. Your promise of immortality failed her. Now, out of stubborn pride, are you going to allow her to die from out of your mind? From the earth?"

Louis could not bear to allow Santino to kill Claudia's memory from his mind. Louis received Raphael's cock into his mouth, suckling it obediently. Sliding his mouth up and down the thick, moist shaft of it. Raphael almost wept in passion. His body feeling the erogenous need to be both soothed and excited by the firm suction of Louis' cool, hard mouth. He cried out gently, his body thrusting, hungering to consume Louis as he felt the tingling play of Louis' tongue. He was so hungry, so hungry to bleed Louis. To taste him right down to his bones.

The sight of Raphael's long, hard, cock hidden inside of the darkness of Louis' mouth, drove Santino dizzy with perverse rapture. He watched the rapid thrusts Raphael was making into Louis' mouth, the way Raphaell buried himself deeply into Louis. His dusky thighs pressed against Louis' face.

Pulling Louis to his knees, while he still held Raphael in his mouth, Santino carefully gelled Louis' crack, enjoying the firmness of Louis' yielding, supplicant flesh, ignoring Louis' alarmed, rapidly blinking eyes. Caressing Louis with the head of his cock, parting him, pushing inside of Louis, rupturing him, keeping rhythm with the thrusts Raphael was making inside of Louis' mouth. His hand wandered and explored Louis' flesh as if it were a countryside strategically being laid to waste. His muscular body made hard, flexing motions against Louis. Ejaculating as he watched Louis' throat making motions, swallowing Raphael's jerking cock, consuming Raphael's cum into himself. Santino withdrew from Louis and cradled his gasping body.

Raphael bent down to kiss the lips of his newly given to him lover. Before his lips touched those of Louis' he withdrew in shock at the glazed over trapped hurt in Louis' eyes. "You used me to hurt him, didn't you?" Raphael said softy. "Why?"

Santino got up to his knees and pulled Raphael to Louis, "This is your initiation to darkness. As I had Armand slaughter the bright lamb, Riccardo, you will slaughter Louis, your friend, the only friend who championed you. That had a brother's sympathy for you. Tonight he will be your sacrificial victim."

(13)

Raphael watched in horrified fascination, spell bounded as Santino dug his nails into Louis' throat. Watched as a tributary of blood ran down Louis' chest, pooling on his slim chest. Raphael's lips parted, parched, dry hunger chased between his parted lips, drawing him to the wet, pleasure of blood on Louis' throat, tasting it first on his tongue then delving deeply into his flesh, ignoring Louis' tired gasp.

"Drink, yes, that is your reason for being, to drink into you the essence of bleeding life. This time I am doing it right. When your feasting upon Louis is done, there will not be a moldering corpse of the friend you betrayed to a passionate need to survive. No, there will be an angel. A dark haired, betrayed angel for you to cherish. No corpse for you my son, your first taste of blood will not be an initiation involving staring into the puffed out eyes of a dead being. No dead Riccardo for you, my son."

Santino watched as Raphael drank from Louis' still body, He looked into Louis' startled, stunned eyes, caressing his heavy strands of hair. "My Immaculate One," Santino said uxoriously to Louis' prone, silent, shocked face, "Does any of this touch you? So calm, so serene, so unassailable you always seem to me. Beautiful as a deep, calm sea. Vampires falling in love with you doesn't touch you. You are the most dangerous of us all. All those that you loved Lestat, Claudia, and Paul. All dead. Threatre Des Vampires, all victims of yours. In all of my dreams, I could not be half as dangerous as you. Even Armand was dying from your indifference of him. You're poison. Deadly nightshade. I have to leave. I won't allow my name to be upon your list of victims," he said, smoothing out Louis' wet, bleeding hair. He smiled gently at Raphael, "One way or another, he would have killed me in the end. Have no doubts about that. Don't allow your name to be put on his list. He's a premier killer. The most heartless killer of us all. Enough, any more blood drinking from him and you will wound him."

Raphael released him and then stroked Louis' silent face gently,

"Come here," Santino said serenely, as if he was beckoning a child. He held out his ringed hand to Raphael. In the weave and catch of a spell from the comforting assurance on Santino's face, Raphael took Santino's death gripping hand and allowed himself to be placed between Louis' spread eagled legs.

Louis could no longer stand it. He could no longer remain passive out of fear. He tried to pull himself away from Raphael's hands on his hips. "Leave me alone," he tried to convince Raphael. "You know me. I was your friend. I've never hurt you. How can you turn off your feelings of compassion for me, when you know me? I don't deserve this from you."

Santino ripped into Louis' mind. Silence he roared into Louis' thoughts, The pain of it made Louis feel like his mind was being burned alive.

You wanted a monster. Everything to be black or white, now you have what you wanted, Santino projected into Louis' mind, Cooperate.

"I'll cooperate," Louis whispered between his dry lips. But he couldn't help but whisper quietly, "Stop this, Let it be over. I've done nothing to either of you. I'm innocent. I declare myself innocent of what ever you are punishing me for."

"You can be over powered. You are weak, You've murdered, killed, you've hurt. There's reason enough for this." Even in all his years as a hardened coven master, a killer of lives, he couldn't fight back a brooding feeling of tenderness for Louis But this event between Louis and Raphael had to take place. It had to. This event would cement Raphael to Louis forever. Insure his devotion to Louis.

Santino kissed Louis' parched lips gently, "There will be an ending to this," he assured Louis.

"Do you exist?" Louis whispered. His eyes suddenly becoming pin points of green fire. "You're simply a cancer to cause me pain. An illness."

Santino blanched at Louis' words.

"You don't want me, You may think you do. But, you don't. You desire my weakness. You love that I can't fight back. You love that I'm powerless. That's what you want. A victim. Not me."

"Be silent, Louis," Santino said gently, holding him down, watching Raphael's searching fingers trail about Louis' cock.

"You're nothing to me. You don't exist," Louis whispered back, "None of you, not this monster you created, not Armand, Lestat, nor you, nor your murdered lover, Santiago ever held me. You all were left empty handed."

Santino was enchanted by the raw sexuality of Louis' moving lips. He moved in to kiss him, Louis scornfully turned his face away, "You are deluding yourself, if you think you have me," he spat out.

"So be it, Louis," Santino said, pressing his face in the blood perfumed scent of Louis' hair. Santino watched as Raphael drew his tongue along Louis' hip bone, Louis shuddered.

Raphael dismissed Louis' words. In his dream for blood and flesh, words had no meaning to him. He pulled Louis' firm, rounded ass to him. He pressed the darkness of his body as gently as an evening sky falling upon the whiteness of a snowy, frozen plain that was Louis' body,

He decided to himself the being he was fucking had no personality. That it was no one he knew. Just an it. Louis' flesh was just a white, satin sheet covering fine, exquisite bones. He delighted in the smooth, coolly burning touch of it all. He pulled Louis up to his knees ignoring the lips that mouthed the word, no, to him. He played his fingers inside of Louis, massaging him, readying his body. Caring not for Louis' shout of pain as he pushed his hardness into Louis' already raped softness, pushing and shoving against Louis with the weight of his body, He thrust and shoved deeply.

He fingered and massaged Louis' balls like he would a woman's clitoris between her legs, Caressing and handling Louis' erection with light, feathery strokes.

Santino aroused by the sight of Raphael's fingers caressing Louis, pushed Raphael's hand away. "Punishment," he whispered, causing Louis to try to pull away, "love is always punishment for you." He gloved Louis' cock in his hot mouth, sucking and tonguing Louis trapped erection till it jerked and convulsed in his mouth

Raphael's hands finding themselves empty of flesh, hurried to play with the stiff nubs of Louis' nipples, rubbing, and pinching them between his fingers.

Santino bent to lick at Louis' nipples. Louis withered and shook against the two men he was between. He gasped softly in angry arousal. Santino arched up, his erection hard, forcing it into Louis' mouth. The round head of his cock rubbing against the roof of Louis' mouth, He pushed it inside deeper, thrusting through out Louis' throat, grabbing his hair to force it in more deeply. Loving the fact that his captive was so over filled with flesh.

The tightness of Louis' body yanking and pulling at Raphael's cock caused his body to rant, till he spasmed into a frantic, jerking, drenching orgasm that was almost painful in its intensity,

Santino sighed ejaculating equally as hard in Louis' mouth.

Raphael pressed kisses on Louis' face, gently. All he could get from Louis' mind was a blizzard of cold.

He kissed the fine, silk ropes of hair on the stiff and still as a doll's head on the doll's body that he had enjoyed. He wished he had avoided the sorrowful look of weariness of Louis' eyes. A look of
dried out sadness.

"Your lesson isn't over yet. Come watch closely," Santino summoned a young woman from the ink sea of blackness out of the shadows. Her eyes were devoid of awareness of her surroundings. The black eyes of her classic Latan profile with her full, noble, nose and thick lips, and well developed slices of cheek bones, in her knife blade thin face, held no expression as she laid herself at Louis' side.

An ocean of traumatic thirst from Louis' deleted veins demanded the spilling rain fall of her blood. Louis drew her gently to him as if she was a treasured lover, with tenderness. He sank his fangs into her throat. He took demure, soothing, stroking, sucks of the blood that released and gushed itself in a warm, steady stream into his being. She curled herself around him in perfect, romantic bliss. Caressing him tenderly as she died in his arms.

"See how he kills. Look at it. Learn," Santino said softly watching Louis with his victim. "He's good at torturing his torturers. But, his victims, ever the considerate one, taking them, lulling them to a glorious, opera of death. You can hear the choir of Heaven singing to greet his victims as they are reduced to souls. His victims always end up falling in love with him."

"Why do you hurt him if you love him so much?" Raphael said, watching Louis, awed by him.

"I drift between spheres of love and hate for him. He brings out the worst in me. He makes me feel guilty about things I never felt guilty about before. Guilty for the life I led. In a fantastical way, I hoped if he could have grown to love me, it would make up for all the hurts I dealt out. After all, I hurt him terribly. It would have made all the guilt go away, if even after hurting him in such a brutal fashion, he could have loved me, or just respected me, I'd be redeemable. Louis and I never reached this rapport. Not too long ago I met a vampire, Gabrielle. She talked to me of Lestat. Lestat knows Louis is still alive, Armand finally told him so. And did Lestat go to Louis? No. He buried himself. He didn't care. That information would crush Louis terribly. Someday Lestat will come back. What will Louis find when he finds out Lestat is alive? Open arms? A sneer? Friendly indifference? I want someone, you, to be there for Louis. What ever his future is."

"Why not you?" Raphael said quietly,

"Because my feelings for him are so intense. I may kill him."

Santino went to where Louis and his victim lay. "Louis," Santino said glazing into Louis' hostile eyes, "You won't remember this rape. Raphael never touched you. You and I never met. You don't know me."

Louis' head lolled backwards when Santino let go of his chin. He was deep in a death sleep.

(14)

The next evening Raphael woke up spooned against Louis' repaired body, He trailed his face against the fairness of Louis' pale, smooth, cheek. He smelled the perfume of Louis' pale lips. He prepared himself to taste the perfumed, moistness, of the partedness of those sleeping lips.

The memory of the hurt expression in Louis' eyes caused him to stop in his destination to kiss Louis. He always thought himself to be above forcing another person to his will with the use of violence. Above enslaving another. He had been swept away by the conviction of Santino's words. By the beauty of Louis' muscles, sinews, blood, and bones being trapped in his arms. It was all too magical. It broke him from all that he believed in. And now his beliefs came back to
him, to accuse him.

He vowed never, ever, to force Louis again.

Santino before he left redressed Louis' sleeping body, carefully combing out the sweaty snarls of his hair. Santino was bowed over with defeat when he had cleaned up after the mess he made of Louis. He was a vampire of many cuts. Every taunt word, every sharp glance Louis had thrown at him left a cut.

Santino, before he left, asked Raphael to be kind to his victim.

Raphael asked him again, "Why? Why did we hurt him like this?"

"Your life will consist of one unwilling victim after another. Victims who you will fall in love with as you steal their breath away. Victims who may hate you for taking them from their mother, father, lovers, or children. You can make up for all the suffering you cause by at least caring for this victim. Remember him always. Remember his suffering and pain as we took him. Respect his sorrow. Love him as a friend, as a brother. Raphael protect him. Don't allow anyone to hurt him as we have hurt him tonight, You're responsible for him. He's the reason for your vampire eyes. Take care Raphael, not to fall in love with him. He'll toss your heart in the air, and let it fall hard. They'll be nothing left of your heart but pieces. Take care of him for me, Raphael," Santino said sadly. And then Santino left.

Left him to wake up next to this enchanting ivory fleshed being with ebony for hair gracing his head.

Raphael watched as Sleeping Beauty's eyes fluttered open. Louis awakened to the familiar shortness of breath, gasping as if his body had spent all of the last night screaming.

"Louis Blue," Raphael said, softly. He was startled by the cat like quickness Louis made of a leap from the bed.

"Raphael?" Louis said quickly, standing in the door way, "What happened? Did I? Did we?"

Raphael felt hurt by the hostile, coldness of Louis' eyes. "No, Louis Blue. We didn't," Raphael said, earnestly.

Louis' eyes widened with horror. "Raphael, did I do this to you? I can't remember," Louis cried, his head throbbing, "I can't remember! Why am I here?"

"You live here," Raphael said, "Don't you remember?"

"Yes, yes," Louis stammered, "I live here. My clothes are here, aren't they? My books, my possessions. Whose watch is that? The expensive watch? The expensive books?" Louis asked shakingly, "The silk shirts? All thrown on the dresser. Those aren't mine. Who do they belong to? " He stared wide eyed like a man guilty of a crime at Raphael. "Did I kill you? Did I put you on the Devil's Road? I'm sorry," Louis laughed tiredly, "I can't remember, This can't be where I live. I feel so disjointed. Out of place here. I have no sense of myself having lived here, I'm sorry." Louis took a deep breath, and said in a voice full of cool courtesy despite the despair he felt engulfing him, "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Raphael blurted out. "You, you're not my maker. It was a dark haired one, but not you. I came here. Because we were friends. I needed help. You provided me with her." Raphael gestured to the bloated corpse of the woman. "Louis Blue, she's dead."

"Yes," Louis said, soberly, "She is."

"Louis Blue tell me," Raphael said bitterly, "Tell me the truth. Is she better than me? Is she better than me, because she's dead and I'm not? Better because I'm a killer and she's not?"

"No, she's not better than you," Louis said simply, "You killed her to survive. Yes, she is better than you, if you took with cruelty. If you took her having contempt for her weakness, took her triumphing in your over powering of her life. How did you take her?" Louis asked quietly, not remembering it was himself, and not Raphael that actually killed the woman. Not remembering himsself had been taken that night by Raphael and Santino.

Raphael ignored what Louis asked him. "Louis Blue," he said plaintively, "Are vampires," the word sounded foreign to his ears, "are we inferior or superior to mortals?"

"Your question confuses me, "inferior", "superior" words that have no meaning to me in terms of a vampire's role in his dealings with man. We consume human life. It's not an issue of quality of life. We don't kill humans to make our lives more comfortable, like humans kill other humans in Nazi Germany now. Killing Jews to steal their goods, to fill their government's treasury. We don't kill out of pleasure like human hunters kill wildlife. We kill to live from night to night. Yes," Louis considered, "There are vampires who do take on human attributes of cruelty in their kills. Yes, there are vampires who live only for the fact that they have the power to kill. Power to kill. A weakness, Any dumb animal can kill. For God's sake! To live for power, power to kill is a form of mental arrestedness. Live, Raphael, for the power to discern beauty, to create art out of tragedy, love, anger, sorrow. Only God can create life," Louis said gently, "Be a good angel, Raphael. Good angel's respect life. We can be in love with creation. Be a good angel, if nothing else, Raphael. Vampires that live only to kill and who are in love with death are inferior."

"We killed her," Raphael said of the staring corpse.

"We released her from this life," Louis said softly, "I have no idea why your maker deserted you. But, no matter. I'll explain things to you as best as I can. How did you know to come here?" Louis said mistrust creeping into his mind, "You didn't know what I was? Did you?"

"No," Raphael cried, "But, I did know that I was alone. And frightened, I needed a friend. I probably would have killed you out of hunger, if you weren't immortal too."

"I'm going insane," Louis aid softly, "I don't remember any of this. Her death. You coming to me." Louis shook his head, and went into the kitchen. He made some coffee, and filled two heavy mugs with the fragrant brew, and carried them back to the bedroom. He handed a mug to Raphael.

"You can't drink this. But, it will warm your hands. The smell of it will soothe you. You can only drink blood. Animal blood will do, but only for a short span of time. Only human blood provides the correct nourishment for creatures such as you and I."

"What are we?" Raphael asked.

"We are not human. No longer human. We have died and have been resurrected not as monsters, but as beings. We suck the blood of the human tribe. We do not involve ourselves in their lives. Do angels choose the fate of humanity? No. That is not angels' or our purpose to control the destiny of man. If a man saw an angel, he would worship the angel, and forget about God. Forget about faith, humanity, life. He would live for the angel. We were not meant to be worshipped, nor were angels."

"You're referring to Satan. The Fallen Angel."

"Yes," Louis said calmly, he smiled. "A fallen angel would distract men from their destiny. We can not intrude in the lives of men. It isn't our place to. I an a super natural being, not a saint. My concerns are more important to me than mortals' lives going to Hell in a hand basket.

"We can't make a difference in the lives of men. Can't make this world a better place?" Raphael said nervously,

"Non, leave the working of man to man. We are beings born to darkness to love and hate one another. Loving a mortal is like sitting at a death bed, keeping vigil of their dying days on the Earth. Every day is a day of dying for mortals. We are immortals. Our nights on the Earth are eternal ones. We love one another by the exchange of blood. This surpasses mortal sex. It is an act of total trust, to meld and bleed as one. You have an erection."

"Yes," Raphael said, embarrassed.

Louis smiled. "You will always have one. You can't have children. But, you can ejaculate, just as you can sweat blood. Vampires use mortal sex to define the role they desire to play with their lover. Dominant or submissive. To have power over a lover; to give power over to a lover. Mortal sex is enjoyable, but." Louis smiled sadly, "It doesn't often times enough involve trust. I never had a sexual relationship of that kind since being a vampire. I've had a fleeting relationship of the blood sharing kind." Louis blushed, turning his head away.

"Anything else, I should know?" Raphael swallowed, his face burning with shame, thanking God Louis had no memory of what happened.

(15)

"The rules," Louis said, a tragic undertone to his voice, "You must know the rules. Not knowing the rules can get you killed." Louis remembered the killing of Claudia over her so-called breaking the rules.

"Who would kill us?" Raphael scoffed, flexing his biceps playfully at Louis, feeling more powerful and giddy with each breath he took.

"Others of our kind, that's who," Louis said dryly. "The sun can kill a youth like you. Or a weakling like myself. Only the most powerful of our kind can withstand the sun's burning heat. And even they are painfully wounded from its heat. Fire can destroy us. It's best if you want to destroy a vampire to cut off his head first. Then set the fire. Toss the ashes to the wind, to release the soul. You must hide or disguise your kills. I often times like to hunt near a body of water. I use a knife." Louis showed Raphael the knife, "I cut my leaving's throat or wrists. Then I toss them to the river, their bloodless state explained away that they bled into the water. Corpses can also be buried, left in ditches, consumed by fire."

"We have to be tidy about cleaning up after ourselves, don't we?" Raphael said sarcastically.

"Also, no mortal may know our real name or existence. No photographs, no tape recordings of our voice, We must be an anonymous entity to mortals, unknown, unprovable. We can not kill our maker. But the older ones do kill the weaker, new ones to protect their territory. Vampires like to destroy, and can be very suspicious of each other. Too many of us gathered in one spot guarantees discovery. Discovery would reveal us as a destructive force to mortal lives. Mortals may seek to kill destroy our race. But really," Louis shrugged, "I don't think our race wants to have their lives exposed to mortals out of vanity. The pain of being labeled as freaks would be too belittling for many of us. The shame of having our ancestral lines discovering what killers we are would be searingly painful to many of us. To look a great grandchild or any other relative that time and our transfiguration has distanced us from in the eye and say, yes, I am a freak, a killer of what used to be my brethren, and I could easily kill you too, if I was hungry enough, is simply too painful. Too many of us live in shame and guilt at the lengths we have to go to survive. The guilt and shame warps some of us. They feel that they must be evil, so they go over board to justify their demonic nature," Louis thought of the vampires of the Theatre. "They torture, humiliate, abuse their victims. Make a celebration of evil. Out of defiance. I guess. Out of the theory that they can't be good, so they'll be good at being evil. No one, not even themselves, can make them be good, keep them from killing, but no one can stop them from being evil. Evil is their trump card. What makes them feel superior."

"And you don't feel guilty?" Raphael sneered.

"For killing? Non. For the tragic loss of a mother, a father, a child. Non! We all lose in the end. All that belongs to us we lose. If there is a God in Heaven than what we lose we will someday reclaim. For the grief the family goes through, not knowing what happened? Non. I know what happened." Louis shrugged. "They died. I know how they died. I can't hold the griever's hand, those my victims left behind from my killing of them. The father, the mother, the child. I am Sanguinary Death. I hold the scythe for better or worse. My hands are too full with the scythe to hold the hands of the grievers. Wait here and then we must hunt."

Louis left Raphael so he could dig a hasty grave for the woman. He came back into the flat. Louis slipped out with Raphael who followed him like a child. "Hug the shadows, the shady parts," Louis whispered. They slinked and melded into the darkness.

"There," whispered Louis, seeing a lone man on a bicycle. Swiftly, Louis ran alongside the man, pulling him deftly from the bike. He held the man close, pulling him to the shadows. He held the man grasped tightly in his arms. He whispered to Raphael, "Take him gently. With respect. He hurt us not. He lived a life neither purely good or evil. Take him with mercy."

Raphael sank his fangs into the man's hard, ropy, muscular, sunburned neck. The welcome taste of blood, lighter than sunlight, sweeter than mortality, swept through him.

"Drink him near death, not completely to death," Louis said softly. "Death is not to be tasted. Only blood of the living is our drink, not the blood of a corpse.

Raphael withdrew from the limp man. "Who was he?" he asked. His human beliefs of right and wrong rose in his mind again to haunt and torment him.

"Who knows? He was ours for a moment. And now, he's a memory. Remember "The Deluge" of Michelango in the Sistina Chapel? Where a flood is destroying all before it? It is the nature of man to be overcome by death. We have only committed what is in our nature to do. That can not be evil. Nature is not immoral. Death in itself is not immoral. Only dealing a cruel death is immoral. Being covetous, jealous of what mortals' have, so you kill them out of spite, that's immoral. Being judgmental, that's immoral. Kill with out choice. That's innocence. Be an innocent in your kills. We must go to Paris. Rome is unlucky for me."

"I could read his thoughts Louis Blue," Raphael said sadly, "Who ever he was he was a decent man."

"I've learned to close off the thoughts of my victims. Out of respect for them. To respect their privacy. It is not for me to read their minds like a novel. To possibly judge them," Louis said quietly his voice just above a whisper.

"You do it to protect yourself. You don't want to know your kill. You do it to spare yourself," Raphael accused, letting the corpse fall.

Louis sighed, remembering what it was like when he was new on the Devil's Road. How he had the same qualms about his new life. He felt his face burn, seeing the intense look of bemused contempt in Raphael's eyes. Raphael's accusation hurt him. It brought back to life all those old buried feelings that he was indeed only a monster. He flung his fist in the corpse's face, blackening the eyes. He tried not to feel the well of frustration that hit him, he couldn't help but feel it. An amazed Raphael watched as a seemingly emotionless Louis kicked the ribs of the corpse in. He ransacked the corpse's pockets. "Hide the kill," Louis said softly, getting control of his feelings after taking it out on the corpse. "This was a robbery." He slit the corpse's throat, then he threw it in the near by river, the Tiber.

"I don't take their privacy from them. I take their lives, Isn't that enough to take?" Louis said sadly, gliding away from Raphael.

(16)

Raphael watched through the magic of haze produced by burning, embering cigarettes, and the sizzle of conversation murmured between friends and lovers. He rested easily in his chair. A drink of very fine, Parisian red wine held in a goblet, lay untouched by his lips, before him. He watched with approval at Louis all dressed in a white tuxedo, leaning into the microphone, singing a bluesy high note with authority. His lithe voice matching the teasing, imploring, croon of the clarinet, as he sang a song of sweet, mellow blues.

The two of them traveled to Paris from Rome a month ago. Louis had told Raphael all about the life he had lived in New Orleans with Claudia and Lestat. He also made it clear to Raphael that they could form a coven together, but only in the spirit of companionship, not romance. Louis had no need for a lover, he plainly told Raphael.

The instinctive distrust Louis had for Raphael was less. He was fully aware The Vampire Raphael could easily kill him for reasons concerning territory, or he could enslave him. He was sympathetic to Raphael the mortal. But, the vampire? He watched his back around Raphael until
he finally could accept that Raphael meant him no hurt.

The two of them found themselves gravitating to bars that featured Jazz musicians. Parisians, in the 1940's, were having a love affair with Jazz and with Black performers. While Blacks were unwelcome to sit with Whites in bars and restaurants in their own native Southern clime in the United States, in Paris Black musicians were feted and lionized.

One evening they sat together quietly, absorbing the clinky-clanky sounds of the piano, and the swaying, compelling swoon of the saxophone. The instrumental music was accompanied by the singing voice of a tall, slender, Black young man, who seemed to be directing his love song directly at Louis. After his set, he came over and slid his arm around Louis' waist.

To Louis' embarrassment, the singer asked Louis if he could sing as well as he looked. Raphael couldn't help but burst out into deep, riotous laughter at the look of perplexed, bewilderment on Louis' face at being so congenially handled by a mortal.

"Pardon, Monsieur," Louis politely said, taking the traveling hand of the singer off from around his waist. "I do not know how to sing."

"Everybody sings. Hey, bro, talk this pretty, little, song bird into going up on the stage." The singer said to Raphael. He wanted to flatter and impress Louis as a means to get him into his bed.

"Come on Louis," Raphael said, slamming Louis hard on the back. "Go on be a good sport."

Louis smiled and allowed the singer to escort him to the stage. He was drawn to the haven that the stage seemed to promise to be. The singer whispered to Louis once they were both on the stage, "What's your name? You gotta have a stage name." The singer teased.

"Louis Blue," Louis whispered back, blinking his eyes from the glare of the stage lights.

The singer said loudly, "Ladies and Gentlemen, give a hand for Louis Blue."

That night, the first night he was on stage, he closed his eyes, and sang a song in his distinct, powerful voice. He paused at all the parts he wanted to pause at so his song would have the desired effect on the audience. He jutted out his slender hips, and swayed his body just at the right moments of his song. His voice, a mixture of satin laid upon silk, both soft and luxurious and clear, swept through the audience with its sexual appeal. The in and out tremor of his voice, hitting the high notes and low notes expertly, made them fall in love with him, with his voice. The poignant, rounded, full notes with their twinge of sorrow left them arrested to his singing. He sent shy glancing darts at the audiences' eyes. The audience not only loved his voice: they fell in love with him. He charmed them. Enchanted them with the sexual sorrow of his voice.

Louis may not remember his being raped, but his voice does. Raphael thought knowing where the lament in his voice was rooted from. Louis' voice was grieving for events that had been deleted from his memory, but not from his punished soul.

That night started it all. Every night after, they frequented the blue's bar. Louis would go on stage at his prescribed time.

Raphael listened to the words Louis sang in a breathy, husky voice all his own, "Oh my man, I love him so. I don't care that my life is just despair, it doesn't matter to me. When he takes me in his arms my world is bright. All bright. What's the difference if I say, I'll go away, when I know I'll come back on my knees someday. For what ever my man is. I'm his. My man."

"Mmmm," said Jacques, sitting alongside Raphael. Jacques was the singer that flirted with Louis, and got him to go on the stage. He was dressed similarly to how Raphael was dressed. Both wore berets and dark, heavy-rimmed, empty glasses frames. Jacques, being mortal, also spotted a rather handsome goatee. Raphael, having died clean shaven, couldn't manage to grow a goatee, so out of vanity, he bought a fake one.

The bar featured musicians that were also gay catering to an intermingle of an audience that was white, black, gay, and straight, and whatever else happened to wander in to listen to some hot licks of Jazz.

Sitting also at Raphael's table was the stellar Billie Holiday. Lady Day, was one of the greatest, female Jazz singers that ever parted her lips to make love to an audience with her voice through the microphone.

She sat enthroned, shaky royalty, about ready to topple from her heavenly fame. Billie was ruining herself to a wasted away state of collapsed veins filled with blood diluted with heroin. Needle marks left puckered little wounds about the slenderness and elegance of her arms. The sink of her watery eyes caused by the downing of too many pills and cocktails, moved a body to pity. She still was a vivid beauty, her wide lips capable of beckoning a favorable, complementary look from the men that frequented the bar. Her face was still classical in its tone. But for all of that, all her mortal gifts were being watered down with the boozing and the drugging.

Josephine Baker, a Black entertainer, American born, Parisian adopted, also sat at the table. Her beauty was being aged out of her. Youth kicked out of her face by time. Yet, the animation of her face sorta gave you a vague, whispery idea that she once had a fay, prettiness about her.

"Damn, Raphael," Jacques wheedled, "You and Louis Blue ever share a boner together? Think he'd ever give me a chance? I'd love to part those legs of his, part his heart in two."

"No," Raphael laughed ruefully. "I just share space with Louis Blue. Those words he's singing, he's singing them to a dead boy. Sorry Jacques, you can't compete with a memory. Memories of the dead, so glamorized, so treasured, leave the living in the dust all the time."

"Louis be in love with the dead?" Josephine Baker said, the clink of her cocktail glass sounding out as she set it down on the table. "That's bad luck. Louis Blue should forget the dead. He's not dead."

That's what Raphael thought. He smiled at Josephine Baker. That one, she was a scrapper. She didn't have to spit in the eye of anyone that crossed her. She'd just give one of her looks shot out from the dignity of her face and that was enough to put any fool in his or her place.

When Louis introduced Raphael to a coffin he procured for him to spend his days in, Raphael had asked Louis who put the damn fool notion in his head that they were supposed to lie in coffins like a couple of moldy, maggot feeding corpses.

Louis as usual tried to calmly explain that they were reborn and alive and all that rot, but still, Louis said in a practical, assuring tone, coffins kept the sun away from their compustable bodies. And could be sealed shut. and further more mortals had a natural aversion to poking around inside of coffins..

Raphael could see Louis' point about sleeping in coffins, but when Louis proposed they find a nice homey crypt to sleep the day light hours away in, Raphael firmly insisted upon a fashionable town house. None of that grave yard and ashes crap for me, Raphael thought grinning up at Louis on the stage. That's for dead folks. We're not dead.

Louis finished his set. As always he looked startled, and humbly grateful for the audiences' applause. He glided his way quietly to Raphael's table.

"Boy," Billy said, "You gonna die, if you don't eat more."

"I eat enough to keep me alive," Louis said, politely, as he pulled out his chair and sat down.

"No, Louis Blue, what you need is liver and onions. I'll order you up some," Billie shifted, uncomfortably in her chair. She was wearing a heavy pad hidden between her legs that was collecting blood from her latest abortion. The alcohol in her julep was easing her pain to a
devil-could-care-I-don't numbness. But the cure was worse than the desease.

Louis could smell, along with Raphael, the unappetizing drench of stale blood that hung on Billie like a cloud. Wasted, fouled blood that should have sustained a life was not appealing to either Raphael, or Louis. They both wanted, fresh, new, pulsating blood from healthy veins and arteries.

"Come here, Louis Blue," Billie said, "And let me order you up a burgundy. You need something nice, dry, and thick to put some red in your grave digger's cheeks."

"Leave Louis Blue alone," Jacques protested, "Louis Blue has perfect cheeks." He let his fingers slide up Louis' inner thigh, inches from his crotch, "Louis Blue honey, I bet you have an instrument worth playing on." he teased.

"Least he don't have to wear bananas on his butt to get people to listen to him. That's what I had to do," laughed Josephine, "Wear a bunch of bananas on my butt just to get them fools to stop and listen to me sing. Did a rag time dance, kicking and wiggling, All very African. Ha!"

"It's hard," Billie agreed, "to get noticed. But once you do get noticed. And if you are any good. It's fame and fortune time. When are you going legit, Louis Blue? Why don't you try to get a manager?"

"I don't need a manager," Louis said, "I have no courtship with fame."

Louis studied Raphael sadly. "I wish you still painted," he said. "The dancers you used to paint, they looked like they could dance right off the canvas, dance right up to Heaven's Gate, and stroll
right in, not needing a key to Heaven."

"The dreams I had of being famous, six kids calling me daddy, doesn't fit my current situation anymore," Raphael said sardonically. Sometimes he resented Louis, resented that he had been given to Louis by Santino as if he was some kind of pet. His resentment would only last fleetingly. Most of the time he felt terribly protective of Louis, Except when Louis was infuriating him.

"Still," Louis said wistfully, He wished Raphael would paint if not for fame which he could no longer court, than for pleasure.

Raphael could not leave any tangible evidence of his existence such as a painting. Both eventually had to destroy their paintings after they were finished with them. Raphael would watch as the flames consumed one of his paintings. The canvas warping and folding in on itself. One night he said, a sob catching at his voice, "We create our creations only for them to die. What's the use? We're nothing but killers."

Louis sorrowfully peered at Raphael through the smoke of the paintings burning to ashes and rubble. He took Raphael in his arms, hugging him, saying, "I'm sorry, so sorry,"

Raphael broke away from Louis. He never painted again.

Louis carefully kept his singing to small clubs. Evading photographs mortals may want to take of him. Raphael muddled the mind of anyone who tried to capture Louis' voice on tape.

"I'd love to manage you," Jacques whispered. drumming his fingers on Louis' thigh. The two women did not know what was going on under the table. Louis' discomfort amused Raphael.

"You use your voice as if it was an invitation to fuck," Jacques looked soulfully at Louis, who refused to look back at him.

Flustered Louis said, quietly, "Excuse me. I need to get some air." Louis hurriedly left his seat and went outside.

(17)

"Damn," Jacques said, snapping his fingers. "He's so shy, Why can't he take a shine to me?"

"Because," Raphael said, getting up from his chair, "like I told you. In his dreams he sleeps with the dead."

Josephine looked at Raphael uneasily. Something, and she couldn't put her finger on what it was, was strange about Raphael. Some Voodoo. Sometimes she caught him looking at her with eyes that were totally void of human expression. It made her think at times that he wasn't human. Just some sort of monster in a human shell. She dismissed these thoughts as being silly when he would suddenly become animated doing little human gestures, like scratching, or yawning. She'd then reassure herself that nothing was amiss. That of course he was human.

Raphael left the three in the bar. He could see Louis crouched low, in the shadows, ready to pounce on his prey. Raphael hurried to his side and said, "Don't, Louis Blue."

Louis didn't say a word, still intent on studying his victim.

"Louis Blue, don't. He's just a frail, old man, who has seen better days. He had a wife, kids. Wife is gone. Now he's just an old man tending bar, going outside to take a pee. Leave him alone. I'll take you uptown."

"Where all the rich people live," Louis whispered, not taking his eyes off of the old man's black,
shuffling form.

"Yes, Louis Blue. That's where I hunt. They all have more than their fair share of life. Money, social position, education, they can afford to die. They've already lived so well. Come on Louis," Raphael put his hand on Louis' shoulder.

Louis ducked from under Raphael's hand, Before Raphael could stop him, Louis leaped at his prey, taking the creaking, aching joints of the old man, folding them to himself. He impaled the gasping man gently with his fangs.

"Damn you , Louis Blue. Leave him alone. Damn," Raphael hissed angrily at Louis. "There was no need to take him."

Louis let the man fall gently to the ground. "How dare you ask me to play God?" Louis said coldly, a flow of anger beneath the exterior of his calm. "There was a need, I was hungering. I came out here to hunt and found him in my path. I care not who my victims are black, white, yellow, rich, poor, man, woman, or even child."

"You're an equal opportunity killer," Raphael sneered in despair, wishing Louis had spared the man's life. A life that had not been spared the harsh realities of being a minority in a world which can be cruel to minorities. "Louis Blue, why become a curse to those already burdened with poverty? Kill the blessed. The well fed, the happy, the strong. They have enjoyed so much of the reserve of the resources of life. They they can afford to die," Raphael insisted.

"It rains on sinners and saints alike. Death doesn't pity the poor, or envy the rich. I'm not human. Issues of who is rich and who is poor have no effect on me. Blood is blood from whatever source I get it from. I am innocent. Death is innocent of choice. I was hungry. I took him," Louis said tiredly. "Don't ask me to have pity and compassion. I have either. Not when it comes to having my needs filled. I don't burden myself or my victims by making demands of judgment on them or myself. I'm going to America. It looks like Hitler's war may spread to France. Gray military men, keeping tabs on the population. This isn't a safe place for me or you."

Raphael stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, muttering to himself, "You pious, son of a bitch, sometimes I would like to wring your neck."

Louis was busying himself applying his blood to the old man to close his wound. This victim would be suspected of dying of a heart attack. Louis looked up from his task. "What did you say," he asked gently, having heard every word. He clinched his fists ready for a fight.

Raphael stared at the creamy curves of Louis' face. The carved out hollows of his cheek bones.

"Never mind," he gulped, turning away, quickly walking back to the bar, wishing Louis wasn't so damned appealing.

(18)

They left Paris a month ago, settling into the night scene of New Orleans. Louis and Raphael scavenged and hunted in the Bourbon Street District. Between hunting, Louis still found time to sing in bars. With his gentlemanly, young, good looks, and his well modulated voice, he was a popular feature.

"You just couldn't resist killing that young girl. Could you? Christ, Louis Blue, she wanted to grow up and be a school teacher. She was only seventeen. Couldn't you have left her alone?" Raphael
said glumly.

Louis just stared of into space, a perfect smile on his lips. He was dressed to perform in his white tux. He acted like he could care less about Raphael's disapproval.

"Louis Blue, damn you," Raphael said with exasperation. "Do you know, have any idea, in that empty rattle of a head of yours, how important an education is to Black folks like me? We need our young people to strive for an education. She was a rose in bloom before you cut her from life. Why?"

"Your people," Louis said softly, "No people. You have no people anymore. You're a vampire. You hunt old, white people who are rich or middle class, that's your aesthetic choice. I still choose not to choose."

The two of them stood in an ancient cemetery for colored people. The quality of many of the tombstones were poor and make shift. Some of the tomb stones which sat upon the graves of middle class corpses were quite proper and nice. They and many others, had followed the jazz band that had marched solemnly, playing "What A Friend I Have In Jesus", along side the hearse which carried the remains of Louis' victim. Once they all reached the cemetery, they quietly listened to the ceremony of prayers and kind words that go along with burying the dead. The coffin was lowered into the open grave. A Mother's flowers were tossed into the grave to fall on the simple, inexpensive coffin. A Father's tear fell to trail down his dark face as he took the Mother's arm, to confer and to sympathize with relatives and friends. And then dirt was shoveled into the grave, and the coffin with the young girl, her arms folded against her still chest was buried for grass to grow over it. Her tombstone had her name and date of birth and death carved into it. Louis gave it a quick glance, and saw that her first name was April, or was that the month she was born? He shrugged and looked away. It didn't matter that much. He wasn't one to read the obituaries or go to funerals. He was here because Raphael knew her, and asked Louis to accompany him to her funeral. Raphael hoped to shame Louis into choosing to leave good folks alone.

*

The band marched four blocks away from the cemetery towards the bar that Louis was going to be singing at that night. The onlookers started to laugh and dance and cry, as the bass drum made responding, thudding booms into the night. The trumpet blared out its brassy notes into the balmy New Orleans' starlit night. The saxophone wailed its undignified music of grief, and sorrow into the humidity of the air. The guitar played and the clarinet chimed in. It was time to say good bye to the dead, and to celebrate Jesus and Heaven with loud, boisterous lamentations The band played, "Didn't He Ramble?", "The Saints Go Marching In", and "The Saint Louis Blues". Louis joined the crowd, laughing, and dancing with broad gyrating hip-swinging movements, strutting and jiving. He snapped his fingers and clapped his hands. He sang along with the mortals. He was Death on a Holiday. Death having a dance.

"Stop it," Raphael barked at a stunningly, graceful, cavorting Louis. "This is unseemly. Your carrying on like this."

Louis gave Raphael a solemn wink. "I am the one who is responsible for this party. Shouldn't I be dancing?"

He stopped his strutting. His body seeming to fall in a tired slump. then he straightened himself up, and quietly went into the bar.

He took his place at his favorite table, waiting quietly for his turn to go up on the stage. Raphael pulled up a chair beside him. Scowling at the peaceful, beatific expression on Louis' face.

"I didn't kill her on purpose," Louis said quietly under the sounds of the band playing Jazz. "I'm so tired of having to procure an explanation for every kill that I make. You know there's no explanation. I hungered, she was available, she died. The circumstance of her life, her appearance, whether she said her prayers at night, or not made no difference to me. I'm hunger itself. I live for nothing but to be appeased."

Raphael felt a certain enmity for Louis. The way Louis felt his hunger justified him to kill without discretion. It unnerved him how careless Louis was about who would die in his arms. He, himself, hunted the bigoted. The rich were his particular favorite prey, He also loved to see a cracker, a Ku Klux Klanner laid out on a bier. Louis didn't love anything about the act of killing, he simply killed. Louis felt satisfaction at being sated, but he didn't love the blood, the victim, or the act.

In the bar people were praising the young lady that had passed away. Praised her for her intelligence, her kindness', her fairness, how she had been an asset to the community, the first one in her family who was going to get to go to college. She would have made a good wife and mother some day, sure enough, she would have. A winner. She must of had a bad heart to die suddenly like that. And wasn't it all a crying shame? Such a waste.

Louis sat there with a bland look on his handsome face, soaking it all in. But not allowing himself to wallow in pity for himself or the girl. She had wandered out at night. Their paths crossed and that was all there was to it. Nothing personal. His kills were always impersonal.

Raphael wanted to smack Louis' placid, peaceful expression right off of his face. He pounded the table with his fist causing their untouched glasses to jump.

In a low undertone Louis said gently, "I wish you would stop being human. You're a vampire. Their concerns are not our concerns. They are not our brothers and sisters. I know you would like the world to change for the better, but can't you see it has to be something in the human heart that changes first? Nothing we can do can cause that change. We are observers, nothing more. Observers who thin out the herd. Mankind amassed in a mass. They live, they reproduce, sometimes they kill, they die. They go their way."

"We can be careful about who we kill. Judgmental about it," Raphael insisted.

"Mankind is not black and white. They are all personalities with a mixture of both good and bad in them. I observe the good things also. Little old ladies with means buying shoes for poor children. Individual acts of kindness, grace, and charity, All humans are capable of kindness. Don't you understand a human being has a changeable heart? We don't. We are driven to kill. That can not be stopped. A human being can stop himself from cruelty. We can not. How can we, who are so cemented in our nature, judge men who can change?"

"Damn it, Louis Blue, you're so confident, so self assured that you're right," Raphael stormed quietly.

Louis ducked his head, and gave Raphael a patient smile.

Suddenly Raphael couldn't stand being in the same room with Louis with his pious, lack of guilt or regret. He abruptly pushed back his chair, causing a screeching sound. He threw Louis his dirtiest look which Louis cleanly ignored. Raphael stormed into the night where those who had attended the funeral were joined by others in dancing up a storm. The dead girl had been a popular one. She had many well wishers.

(19)

Raphael picked up on the conversation of a few. white onlookers. "Look at those jungle bunnies dancing away," laughed a pale, balding, young man in his twenties. His body was already going to seed. He watched the mourning dancers celebrate the passing of the young girl who had been Louis' victim.

"Hear there's going to be a lynching tonight," said an old man, his flesh red from being sun burnt too many times out in the fields.

"No, really. Who's the poor son of a bitch?" said a heavy set man, his neck a turkey's wattle.

"Some nigger that talked to a Klan man's daughter. Too bad he didn't know who he was messing with. The young ape. He made some shine talk to her. Course she told her daddy," the old man said. He spat in the dirt.

"Gonna hang him aren't they, the Klan?" the balding boy asked.

"Course they are. Already got the rope bought. Probably happening right now," said the old man.

Raphael threw himself at the old man, picking him off of his feet, shaking him in a fury till his skeleton rattled inside of him, making a noise like dried, dead leaves being blown from a tree.

"What the hell? Boy, you put Mr. Carter down," the heavy man cried out.

"Tell me where the lynching is going to take place. Tell me, you son of a bitch," Raphael growled, through his gritted teeth at the heavy set man in his overalls.

"It's going on in the swamp near Fletcher's farm," the young man said with a foolish grin on his face before the heavy set man could say a word, "What the hell. Go on and mosey over there. Get yourself killed. One of your kind is one less trouble in the world."

Raphael threw the old man against the young man knocking them both down. He marked them as his future victims. But for now he had better things to do then kill them.

He hurried into the bar. Louis was still sitting silently at the table. "Come on!" he ordered Louis, pulling Louis out of the bar, forcing Louis to race with him to Fletcher's farm. They ran until
they heard voices.

There in the clearing seven men wearing home spun, white, robes, with white hoods over their heads were preparing to hang a black teenager.

The child's eyes were stunned with fright. He had been severely beaten. He could barely stand up on the box he was on. His hands were tied behind his back. Beads of sweat covered his black skin. He was too petrified with terror, too resigned to die, to move. He already smelled like a freshly dead body. He smelled of sweat, piss, and fresh wounds.

"We're going to save him, Louis Blue," Raphael said with conviction, "Tonight we do a good deed."

"You will do a good deed tonight. I will not," Louis said passively. The both of them stood under an elm tree. The moon's reflective light shone on the rustling elm tree's leaves, making the edges of the leaves appear to be made of silver.

"Why the hell not, Louis Blue?" Raphael said in frustrated disbelief.

"It's not our place to be involved. Where are the Guardian Angels? Where are the saints? Where's Jesus, God, the Holy Ghost? This is their test, the Klan's choice. The super natural does not involve itself in humanity's causes." Louis said sadly, "Raphael what do you want? Do you want us to turn everyone into vampires? For Christ's sake, warring vampires kill each other every day for territory, or spite. There's a system of inequality in every social strata. Creoles of color enjoy more prestige over those who they refer to as being others, those who were descended from field hand Negroes. Creoles descended from house slaves, or freed Negroes look down on those who were descended from field hand slaves. I won't be involved in this. In men pulling out each other's hearts with their hierarchies, with their killings. I expect mortals not to be involved
in my killings, please allow me to extend the same courtesy to them. What should we do? Should we also go to starving countries, kill the population so that there's no hunger in the world? Or turn them all into rampaging vampires? Men, women, and children. It's not our place. Should we go to Germany kill two Germans for every one that died in a concentration camp? Why not kill them all? Kill all the murderers and victims in Europe. Start a whole new nation, repopulate it with brothers and sisters. All vampires. Or simply all corpses. Haven't you ever done something evil? Haven't you ever? How can you interfere in this?"

Raphael remembered his first night as a vampire, participating in Louis' rape.

Louis' eyes were wide and unsoiled having forgotten that night. He looked at Raphael with the innocence of an angel.

"Shit! What the hell does all of what you've said have to do with the fact that a young man is about to be killed before our very eyes?" Raphael said, angrily.

"Before our eyes many have died," Louis said passively, watching the rope being flung around a sturdy tree limb, watching a noose being made. The burly, robed man was about to put the noose around the teenager's neck. The teenager had tears running down his face. He could barely breathe, he was choked with his sobs. The robed men laughed and told dirty jokes, numbing themselves about the act that was going to take place. They had the seductive approval of a mob
mentality. They could do no wrong. To them there was no sin in murdering a colored child.

Before the noose could be put around the youth's neck, Raphael let out an angry roar. He ran to the youth, flung him over his shoulder, and ran with preternatural speed to take the youth from his appointment with death.

A shot rang out, bullets drove themselves into Raphael's and the youth's hides. Raphael wept with anguish as blood bubbled and swept out of the youth's mouth. The child was dying. Every square inch of the sixteen year old was dying. Rapheal laid the youth at Louis' feet in a rage.

"I can't save him," Louis said quietly.

"Kill him. Make him one of us."

"I won't do that," Louis said gently. "There's enough Death Dealers in the world. You can't do that."

"The hell I can't," Raphael snarled. He lifted the boy into his arms. "Listen to me. You have to listen to me." The boy didn't move. Raphael let out a sigh of a sob, and laid the boy down. The boy's head lolled loosely against the wet grass of the sweet, smelling Earth. He was dead. Beyond any being's help.

Raphael screamed in murderous fury. The sound of it ripping apart the humid, heavy, night air. He ran to the clearing where the confused Klan's men were meandering about, asking each other questions about the disappearance of their victim.

Raphael took one of the torches a Klan's man held and set his flammable robe on fire. Like a demon from Hell, he terrorized the guilty mortals, setting their robes on fire. He watched as they fell on the ground, balls of fire, flesh, screaming mouths, and bones, all being consumed to cremated corpses. Smoking, greasy, blackened bones amongst the soft embers, and ashes.

Louis watched quietly, under the elm tree, standing straight. The fire of the burning corpses reflecting in his eyes.

"This doesn't change a thing, Change can only come from the change of the human heart. You can not terrorize or kill a human heart and expect it to change. Angels and Devils can not change the human heart. Only a human being can change his heart from hate to love, from intolerance to tolerance. This doesn't change a thing."

(20)

Louis knocked gingerly at the door of Raphael's apartment. He felt like leaning against the door rather than knocking on it. He was so exhausted, as if everything inside him was collapsing. They had not parted on good terms.

They both had decided to move to San Francisco twenty five years ago.

During the 1950's they had enjoyed each other's company. Raphael got the reputation of being a "stand up" vampire. He was content to enjoy a platonic, brotherly relationship with Louis as long as Louis didn't fall in love, or want anyone. Louis' love was invested in the vampire that held his imagination--Lestat.

They frequented beatnik coffee houses which were also vampire hangouts. At these places for vampires to conjugate amongst mortals, they made some vague friendships. If any vampire cast a predatory, amorous glance at Louis, Raphael would glare that look right out of that vampire's eyes. Slap him around if that was what it took. He also let it drop that he and Louis had connections with Armand and Santino. This aced their being left alone. He had numerous, anonymous affairs with other vampires.

The other vampire covens admired the loyalty he held Louis in and respected them both.

*

Raphael loved to dance with Louis. He was so fluid, he had the grace of water splashing from a fountain. Every least little step he took seemed to belong in a dance production. He was simply a Modern Dance of movement. They would jump on the furniture when the mood hit them, twisting, gyrating their hips, twirling around, shouting about and singing loudly.

Once Raphael caught Louis in his arms. He led Louis into a slow dance. Louis with his crystal, clear, ringing voice sang along with the music coming from the radio, "You made me love you. I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to do it. You made me love you. Yes, you did, yes you did."

Raphael whispered the word back to Louis, his lips just a kiss away from Louis' mouth. He could see the dreaming far away look on Louis' upturned face. He knew the song Louis sang was not meant for him.

He wished he had it in him to crush Louis in his arms, make him sing out with pleasure as he did his best to love him. He knew he was no competition against Louis' memory of Lestat. He dropped his arms and let Louis go.

Louis smiled that lop sided half smile of his at him. That smile, that smile that satisfied Raphael more, that completed him more than all the lovers that he had ever held in his arms thrashing underneath him. That smile that went to his head like the sip of champagne used to go to his head. Louis was intoxicating.

Louis returned to his book, blissfully unaware that Raphael was in love with him.

Often times Louis would want to stay in. He'd sit and stare. Rachael knew he was dreaming with his eyes wide open. Louis still sang at clubs occasionally, but more often he liked to sit and read and take notes about what he was reading. He was teaching himself how to write. He also did research for the novels he would write. They both picked up on the hobby of writing. Louis liked to write about romances set in Victorian times, Romances that had religious overtones. Raphael liked to write about shoot them up Westerns.

They enjoyed reading each others works to one another. Works that could never be published. Louis wrote a romance about the seventeen year old that he killed, the one that wanted to be a teacher. He read it to Raphael. He blushed, saying worriedly to Raphael, "Please don't hate me for what I am. I made the mistake of hating Lestat, my maker, for what we are. Death has no purpose or design. I learned to accept that I'm death to so many and will be to so many more."

Raphael sighed and didn't argue. He read Louis his newest Western. Then they both burned their works in the fireplace. All of this had to be done clandestinely. Many vampire covens felt writing should be forbidden. The covens barely tolerated letters,

Sometimes Raphael would read some of the love letters he got from his vampire lovers, before he destroyed them. He would use inflections in his voice to make the written words sound hilarious. "Oh, I love you. You big, black stallion," he would croon from a letter in a falsetto voice, batting his eyes lashes, rolling his eyes, thumping his chest.

"You shouldn't make fun of your lovers," Louis would say, trying to sound cross. Then his long, slender chest would start to shake, and the shaking would result in soft, pealing laughter, than out and out snorts. "You're a bastard." he laughed, pretending to send a blow to Raphael's face.

Rapheal would duck and holler, "Take that back."

They both would end up laughing and joking, making plans for the evening. They often ended up going to their favorite coffee house. They both were dressed all in black. Louis and Raphael would take turns playing the bongos while reading poems. Neither of them were very good at poetry. One of Louis' poems went like this:

Wandering through the light of your eyes.
Found.
Holding on to the dark memoires of you.
Gone.
You whispered that it wasn't true love.
Went.
That it was just love.
Past.

One Raphael's poem went like this:

If I could take a kiss from you.
The red of its wound would not heal.
The wound of it would not heal.
Wound me freshly.
Anew each night by wounding me.

Raphael's poems took a darker, more sinister tone as the years flew through on the surface politeness of the 1950's.

Inside of Raphael was a spark that was seething to burn. And burn it did. During the 1960's he joined the Black Panthers and it was all about, Burn, Baby, Burn.

Burn into the bon fire of smoke and flame, burning draft cards, bras, flags, napalm, tear gas, even flower children setting their bodies aflame to protest the Vietnam War. It was all about burn. A cultural revolution--off with the old ways, on with the new.

Everything that was comfortable about the 1950's chafed in the 1960's. Women were no longer comfortable at home. Neither were men. Everyone was moving on, out away from family life, into their own private doings finding themselves.

Louis stopped singing Jazz. It was a thing of the past. Raphael started mocking him that he was a white boy making colored music noise. Besides, all that Dixieland Jazz was Uncle Tom's music for the tourists.

Louis sat back passively, while Rapheal spotted a large Afro wig. He'd rant and rave about offing the Pigs. Killing the White Devils that held down the oppressed. Malcome X was his hero. Martin Luther King, well meaning, the man had courage, but he was not radical enough to carry through to victory.

Louis asked Raphael what victory was supposed to look like. Raphael told Louis, Black neighborhoods, with Black owned businesses, safe from the white ruling class that seeked to destroy brotherhood between the brothers and sisters that just wanted peace.

Louis asked gently, " Wouldn't they need capital, money for all that? Government subsidies and support to rebuild schools and neighborhoods? Didn't they need to work with the establishment in
order to become established?"

Raphael screamed at Louis, "You, White Bitch. Hell, you probably owned my granddaddy on your plantation. What the hell do you know about anything? Always sitting in your chair like an old Grandma, reading. Above us all. Fuck you."

Louis blushed at Raphael's vociferous censure of him. "Was that aimed at making me feel guilty?" Louis said softly, "I never feel guilty about anything I've done or will do." Louis looked down at the floor, and put his arms behind his back. He looked at the ceiling, then back down at the floor. "I think I should leave."

"Louis Blue, what the hell are you talking about, damn fool. Who asked you to leave?" Raphael said harshly. He was suddenly afraid of being left alone. Louis was the only one of his kind that he loved. Louis' words made him feel how truly isolated he and Louis really were in the sea of mortals that they swam in.

"I'll visit," Louis said evenly. Louis looked about the apartment that they shared together. Everything smacked of Raphael's personality and tastes. The incense burning in the burner. The loud Rock music blaring from the turn table. The posters announcing, Power to the People, plastered on the walls. The apartment reeked of Raphael's domination. There was very little of Louis' in the apartment. A set aside corner for his books. That was about it. Louis was desperate suddenly for freedom. To be left alone. " I have to move out," he said.

(21)

"Who's going to protect that lily white ass of yours, if you move out? You damn fool, talking about moving out. I should slap your pretty mouth shut," Raphael snarled, his heart sinking fast. He couldn't believe his ears. Louis wanting to move out-- this was impossible! How would Louis survive? He didn't think that his life was falling apart, he knew it was becoming unraveled if Louis left him. He remembered one night that happened a month ago. He had overslept from drinking the wine of too many drunkard's blood. He awoken chained to the head board of his bed. He was stunned at first at his capture. Then he bellowed out curses when he saw Louis on the floor underneath a hungry, youthful appearing, vampire.

The vampire's red stained hair was slicked back. He was aglow with whiteness. He had to be an ancient one. His paleness gave him away. He moved with quick darting motions like an elegant, long legged, clear, glass spider.

Louis' eyes were wide with fright and dismay as the Being slid his cool, thick, hands underneath his black sweater. The Being nicked Louis' throat with the edge of the machete he was holding. Louis could feel his other hand scraping his nipple with his short, sharp, translucent nails. Louis realized he had forgotten to breathe. He felt panic sizzling his nerves so that he felt himself becoming frazzled and unwound. He sunk his chin to his chest, mastered himself with a prayer. He then lifted his face up to Being's, sliding his cheek against the ivory bone smoothness of the Being's face. The Being was enchanted with Louis' passive aggressive sensuality. Louis was a smokeless flame cold to the touch.

"No ," Louis whispered, softly, "No need to be rough. I want you." Louis arched his throat up, offering it to the bleached out lips of the ancient one.

Raphael wanted to scream, Don't touch him. Leave him alone. Please God don't let this happen. He struggled desperately to free himself. Louis projected into his mind the words, Be still. Raphael stiffened and watched. Bead of sweats falling on his furrowed forehead.

The ancient one drew out the length of his tongue to touch the small cut he had made on Louis' throat. He stroked Louis' neck with firm, questing licks. Nibbling the skin with his white lips without breaking it. Treating Louis' flesh as if it was a fine liquor in a shot glass to be sipped and enjoyed slowly. The fear and courage he feeled in Louis was a wet aphodisic to him.

Louis' eyes glittered wetly like emeralds under a clear, running stream. He pressed his mouth on the Being's mouth. The Being could taste the brisk, coldness of Louis' breath. Louis forced his tongue in to the Being's mouth as if his tongue was a cock. The Being received the thrust and pull of his tongue, rewarding Louis' penetrating kiss with a gasping one. He pressed his own tongue against his with firm probing touches, stroking, and suckling it. The being had clear glass marbles for eyes, and no eyes lashes. He could have been a ghost, but his body had weight to it. And he had demands.

Louis pulled his mouth from the Being. "I'll be your entertainment tonight. Let us keep each other warm and safe from the other. You're beautiful." Louis whispered to the silent Being staring at his lips. "Yes," he whispered, pressing the Being's body on top of his. The beings naked erection hard between his clothed open legs. "You are both man and woman. You are even a child. Caress my throbbing blood in your mouth. Let me beat against your heart. Let me drink. Let my fangs drink. Draw you into myself as if you were a woman bleeding on the ground. Her heart pounding against my flesh. Her heart so rent with emptiness. A woman I am holding as she gasps as fades away. Her passion, my passion, our undoing. Be my victim tonight, my love and I'll be yours to hurt."

The being mutely stared at Louis' beauty, hypnotized by Louis' words, thinking of himself as that woman in Louis' words, that woman all exposed, drenched with surrender. He bared his neck to Louis' mouth. Louis' lips touched the white throat before him, tantalizing it with the power of his rough kisses. He broke into the crust of the being's flesh, tasted the cells of his cold, salty, whispering blood between his wild lips.

As the being swooned and jerked against Louis' limbs, Louis grabbed the machete, arching it dancing, leaping into the air, making it fall as if it was taking a bow. Going right through the Being's neck.

The head lopped off with a wet, smacking shout. The body bled and quaked on top of him as if it was still in the throes of vampire sex.

The head rolled to the side of Louis' wet head. The fangs gnashing mindlessly.

Louis threw the body off of himself. Digging into the being's pocket, he pulled out a key,

Raphael had been rendered speechless through out this ballet of death. It had all been done so gracefully. So skillfully rendered.

Louis undid the shackles holding Raphael. "This has to be a secret," Louis begged, stammering. "His coven, Who ever he is. Who ever loved him, can never know," Louis started to shake. His eyes hard with sorrow and fear, "They must never know. Never."

Raphael stared at Louis in shock. More afraid of his own secret being discovered than this new secret they both now shared. In his memory, he could hear Santino say, "Forget this rape." He could see Louis' naked, abused body falling backwards, sprawling out, his hair mussed up, on the bed in a death sleep. He came out of his thoughts, Louis shaking him to awareness, Now it was Louis saying, "Forget this. It never happened."

"It's all right, Louis Blue. No one will ever find out what you did," Raphael said solemnly. Dousing the body and head with Louis' paint thinner that he used for his brushes, Raphael whistled. "Look at him. How thin he is. He must have been starving himself for months. He may have been preparing himself to go underground. Maybe he was an insane revenant. Probably a loner. If he hadn't been in this weakened state he would have killed us easily. He deserves this Louis Blue," Raphael said sadly, remembering how he himself forced Louis.

"Perhaps he wanted to die. Perhaps we all deserve this," Louis said, lighting the fire, watching the limbs shiver, fold in on themselves, and crumble into ashes. Smoke obscuring both their vision.

Raphael wanted to hold Louis who seemed to be frozen still. "This is all the justice that we know, isn't it?" Louis said, "Killing. The destruction of flames."

He rubbed his eyes, remembering Claudia. The ashes of Claudia that he held in his sooty hand when he put it to her ashen stature's face. The sun had rendered her body into being a mummy of ash. You could see that she had been once a little girl. A little girl now carved out in ash. He thought of the blizzard of ashes shaken about in the wind from the vampires of the theatre. "Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust," Louis whispered "This is all that we are. Ashes."

"Those words you used to seduce him. Those were words you would use with Lestat if he wasn't dead." Raphael couldn't help but accuse. He hoped Lestat would never come out from underground.

"Leave it alone. I don't want to talk about Lestat. Or what I would say to him," Louis said sharply, kicking the aches in to the air

Raphael watched as the ashes flew. Maybe this is all a dream, he thought to himself, his eyes tearing from the smoke. Maybe this is all too real to handle.

And now a month later after the vampire's death, here was Louis standing before him, as if his life had never been in danger, telling him, "I'll protect my own lily, white," Louis blushed at the word, "ass. And as for shutting my mouth," Louis smiled coolly, "I'd rather you didn't." Damed to Hell.


chapter 22

"Louis Blue, don't leave," Raphael said suddenly contrite, longing cut through his voice. "I'm sorry. I can change. Is it the hip hop slang?" Raphael almost blushed himself. "Is it because I used rough language? I'm just trying to fit in Louis Blue, can't you see? I can't just exist Louis Blue. I need a cause to rally to. Please stay Louis Blue."

"I understand, I really do, I always have. Your anger keeps you alive. You need it. I don't need anger. This whole country is angry right now. Angry about the Vietnam War, angry at parents, angry at young people, races angry with each other. No one seems to want to sit down and talk. It's all about screaming at one another. I know that in the end, good will come out of it all. Change can be good,"

Louis blushed and said humbly, "I hope everyone gets what they want after this time of social revolution. That women's roles will be open to more opportunities. That minorities will have more opportunities. That the unjust Jim Crow laws will be obliterated in the South. And that what is good will survive--loving familles."

Raphael remembered his own family. How his father, a big, strong, handsome man with calluses on his thick palms, he would come home from work every night. How he would love his mother, and his sister and himself as equally hard as he worked at his job. His mother always pushed him in his education. She stomped her foot down hard at the least bit of deviation from the course she decided that he was going to embark on. He was going to be an artist, a teacher, a draftsman, anything the hell he wanted to be, except for a lazy bum hanging out at bars, hustling for bread, his mother had decided.

His sister, years older than him was a cultivated, sweet woman. She worked at the bank as a teller. Later, she managed to own her own business, a shoe store of all things. He could hear her click clack high heels walking purposely each day to escort him to school, before she went to work.

Yes, Raphael sighed, Family. His family died to him the night he was born into darkness. Louis was the closest thing he had to a family. He said sadly, "Louis Blue, please don't go, I love you."

"I love you, too," Louis said, afraid of the words as he said them. "Please can't you see, I'm drowning in your personality. I have no idea how you happened to come into my life. I woke up one evening and there you were in my bed. I'm glad we traveled together," Louis said gently, looking at a imaginary spot above Raphael's head, "I tried my best to teach you about what a vampire is. You were orphaned into this life. I tried my best to take the place of your maker. I know it isn't fair to leave you," Louis said awkwardly, "Do you have any idea why you were born into darkness?"

"Because you approached me. You're poison Louis Blue," Raphael said softly, anger over taking him, remembering Santino's words that Louis would break his heart if he fell in love with him. "You've poisoned my dreams. Where is my art, Louis Blue? Where is my art? Once I drew and painted on subject matters drawn from the terrible pain and joy I felt about the world." He screamed at Louis, "Where am I? What am I? Why? Why am I even here?"

"You're here," Louis said miserably "You're a vampire."

"Where are the children that were to carry my line? Where's anything that I might have left behind? Where's my sister, my father, my mother? We never had a chance at good byes."

"I'm sorry. I didn't will this upon you. My motivations were to just to have a conversation with you. I didn't know." Louis pleaded.

"That I would die? That I would live?"

"Why did your maker do this? Why? Who was he?" Louis begged.

"I have no idea why. I have no idea who he was. We can guess can't we? He probably thought I would discover what you were. He probably killed me to put me in our secretive world," Raphael lied knowing the real reason Santino made him was for him to protect Louis, "So I wouldn't discover the truth about you, and spread the word to all mortals that there are vampires amongst us. He did this to keep me quiet."

Louis shook his head. "I know that I'll consign us both to loneliness. But, I have to leave," Louis said soberly, "You don't have to understand why. I just have to."

"All the paintings, all the human potential I had dying the moment you spoke to me," Raphael spat out. "You attracted my makers attention to me. You knew the rules. We're supposed to keep apart from the mortal world. Contribute nothing to it. And now you have the nerve to say you're leaving?" Raphael screamed out. "Where's my pieces hanging on museum walls? Where did the potential of my becoming famous go? You stole it from me. You selfish son of a bitch. You stole any chances I might of had of becoming somebody in this world. I didn't want this so-called immortality. I wanted to become immortal through my art. Where's the children I would have brought up into this world? That I would have taken fishing, to ball games, helped them with their home work, tanned their hides if they didn't behave right. Where's my wife that would have seen me through my old age? You're the blame for all this! And now you're leaving me? Then get your sorry ass out of here, on you own. Get out! Leave!" Raphael's face turned to stone, feeling like his face would hurt if he changed it to make an expression.

Louis silently packed his things and left.

Now it was the late seventies. Louis had spent the time he was alone adventuring and traveling from place to place. Now he was back, tiredly knocking on Raphael's door. He hoped Raphael would be glad to see him.

The door flew open, and there was Raphael standing in the door way. He was wearing a pair of white slacks, and silk black shirt that stretched across his muscular body. His dark curls glistened about his ruggedly, smooth, handsome, African face. His eyes intensely alive. He looks very attractive, Louis thought casually to himself, wondering if he did the right thing by returning.

"Louis Blue," Raphael greeted him. "We have to talk. Raphael felt hit with dizziness and excitement all at once. He was thrilled to see Louis again. Scared to death about Louis' effect on him.

Raphael escorted Louis into his apartment. All the sixties decor was long ago packed away. Now it was all Earth tone colors. The furniture was expensive and tasteful.

"Explain this," Raphael said sternly, lightly hitting Louis on the forehead with his copy of "Interview With A Vampire."

chapter 23

"Here," Raphael said, throwing an album cover at Louis' chest. "I suppose you heard this."

"Yes, The Vampire Lestat." Louis said, "He's alive. He didn't die in the fire I set."

Louis sat heavily down on the couch.

"Are you out of your mind, Louis? You know the rule. No vampire is to be video taped, or recorded. Hell, you told your whole story to a reporter," Raphael sat down on the couch next to Louis. "All the rogue vampires are furious with you. They want to tear you apart. You should see them," Raphael laughed. "They made a pin up boy of that Lestat cat. They use that damned Lestat's song lyrics like it was scripture. Wearing Egyptian jewelry. Praying to those that Must Be Kept. That Enkil dude and his Akasha chick. Man, it's grotesque."

"I met Marius at one of the Vampire bars, Dracula's Daughter. He approached me," Louis blushed. "He's very intense this Marius. He feels that I can influence Lestat from performing on the stage."

"Yes, the Vampire Rock Star. Who would have thought it? All the coven of rogues, are both excited and appalled. To see one of our kind," Raphael thumped his chest, "Dancing about, exposing himself to the world. Exposing us all. So you met the Roman himself. I bet he wants to fricassee Lestat's carcass."

"He is exasperated with Lestat. But," Louis said, a strain of pleading in his voice, "We're just fictional characters to mortals. They love the character Louis in the book. They don't love me. They don't even know me. As for Lestat. They'll think it's all a gimmick, his being a so-called vampire. His only showing himself at night, a ruse to create a mythology about himself. There's no reason for the covens to be in an uproar. To be against him."

"There's every reason," Raphael said sternly, "There's still be a chance he may be exposed. He's an outlaw. An out cast. A rule breaker. So are you, I might add," Raphael grabbed Louis by the shoulders, teasing him, shaking him hard, "Don't you understand, the covens love this strife. They love your book and Lestat's album. You two are super stars. They love the attention, but above that they value their secrecy, their privacy, They feel their way of life will be shaken from its foundations if they are discovered. Lestat is both a star, and a menace to them. A menace they mean to do away with. And they mean to kill you too."

"I know," Louis said miserably, "Marius wants me to be an ambassador for peace. He wants me to use any means possible to convince Lestat to stay off the stage."

"Have you spoken to Lestat yet?" Raphael said, mockingly, "The lover who unburied himself from the grave?"

"He isn't my lover," Louis insisted, "We knew each other. Sometimes I think we barely knew each other."

"Your book "Interview" didn't paint a pretty picture of him, Louis Blue," Raphael said solemnly. "Don't go to him Louis Blue. I know you want to, but don't. Stay with me. Any ways, I've changed. I'm less angry now."

"I, I want to see him. The truth. I always loved him," Louis said slowly in one breath.

"Damn you, Louis Blue, is it this?" Raphael snarled, grabbing a surprised Louis' arm. Raphael rubbed his hand hard in Louis' face. "Is it this? Are you afraid my color will rub off on your pretty, white face?"

"Stop it," Louis cried, angry, trying to hit Raphael with his free hand. Raphael caught his swinging fist easily with little trouble.

"Is that why you won't crawl under the covers with me, you little shit? That's always been it, isn't it? It's always been it. You're already to open wide for that son of a bitch Lestat. An ass you don't even know any more. You're nothing but a groupie."

Louis' face was void of color from his being furious, "How can you say that to me? I never gave you any reason to think I would, as you put it, crawl under the covers with anyone."

"Come on, Louis Blue, why not try it," Raphael growled, thrusting his hand under Louis' sweater. He stroked Louis's nipple as he struggled to break away from him. He thrust his hand between Louis' legs, grabbing his crotch roughly.

Raphael used his superior strength and weight to hold Louis under him. He forgotten completely in his anger and loneliness about his vow to never force Louis again. He forced his mouth on Louis' giving him a hard, mauling kiss. Louis' eyes were tightly shut.

Raphael removed his mouth. He could hear Louis' softly mumbling as if he was saying his rosary.

Except for saying repetitively "Hail of Mary's, he was saying repetitively, "Don't, don't don't don't to this."

Raphael insolently, without concern, tore Louis' black sweater over the black, silk crown of Louis' head. Raphael's eyes widened in shock.

Louis' ribs heaved pronouncedly out of his stretched out parchment skin. His ribs looked like they could rip from the flesh any minute. Raphael marveled at the concave sink of Louis' stomach. Impatiently, Raphael grabbed one of Louis' arms, holding it upright. It was a thin as a broom stick. He bit into the wrist, sucking the blood. The blood tasted wasted, watered down, and unhealthy, Raphael let the wrist fall.

He laid his head on Louis' thin, frail chest. He sighed, his anger forgotten. All that he felt was worry and concern.

"Don't," Louis said, his eyes moist and runny.

"Who would want to Louis Blue?" Raphael said gently to the trembling flesh beneath him. "You look disgusting. You're pathetic looking. Louis Blue, you're dying. You can't go under ground, Louis Blue, I know you told me that immortals emerge stronger after going under ground, but not you, Louis Blue. You're not strong enough to emerge, " Raphael said, removing his head from Louis' chest, using his arms to prop himself over Louis' body lying under him. "You haven't been
eating," he accused.

"A little, I eat a little," Louis said, "Don't you see? I've been so uninterested in my vampire life I've been falling apart. I've spent the last years traveling from place to place in a broken down car, I want to settle down. I want to see him. Just the idea of him gives me a reason to be fascinated with life again. Please, let me up. Why are you acting this way? We've never been lovers. Let me call you brother. I can't imagine you as my lover. I can't."

"Louis Blue," Raphael said softly, "He might just laugh in your face. He might give you a surly "telling off" for the crap you and that boy reporter wrote in your book, Louis Blue?"

Louis didn't say a word of debate to him. He was so exhausted from not feeding he nodded off fast asleep in mortal sleep.

"Ahh, Louis Blue," Raphael said, miserably, getting off of him. He gently threw a blanket over Louis' sleeping form. The he went out the door to hunt.

part 24

Raphael came across a young girl, dressed in a pair of shorts, and a tie-dye T-shirt. She was a conventional run away. Her father left the family when she was four. Mother, too busy struggling just to make a living; she didn't have time to make a life with her daughter. They made do, and got along. And sure enough a young man came into the drabness of her daughter's life. Took her with stars in her eyes from the winters of Detroit to the endless summers of San Francisco. Except, it wasn't summer, not in April. It was cold, rainy, and foggy. And damn, if she didn't have to whore, her boy friend pimping her body for Pepsi Cola's, potato chips, and drugs. She was a pretty slip of a pale, white gal. Rosy lips a bit chapped by the wind, she had to stand out in nightly. A sixteen year olds baby girl's shape. She was nice, available, and simply killable.

Raphael persuaded her with the give of a fifty dollar bill to follow along with him to his apartment.

They entered the apartment together. She, a bit nervous, but encouraged by his talk of cocaine he had just waiting for her sweet, turned up, little nose. He led her to a sleeping Louis. "You're not
entertaining me tonight, girl. He needs you more than I do." Raphael squatted next to Louis. He took a hold of Louis' shoulder to wake him up. Louis blinked blindly.

"Wake up, Louis Blue," Raphael said calmly, "I have a present for you."

"Hi, my name is Debbie," she said nervously, yanking at her Tie-dye T-shirt.

"No, you needn't take that off," Louis said tiredly, "Before I do anything with her," Louis said a low current of anger in his voice over Raphael's attack of him, "Shouldn't I ask her some questions? To make sure she meets with your approval?"

"What do you mean?" Raphael said confused.

"You've always been bitter about those that I've been with," Louis said, tongue in cheek, "Tell me Debbie are you rich or poor?"

"My mother and I," the girl said startled, "We're not rich, nor poor."

"Not rich," Louis said sarcastically, "Raphael does that disqualify here?"

"Listen Louis Blue, the rich, the middle class is like the man in the Bible, sitting there eating up all their wealth, only giving crumbs to the beggars, like Lazuras. That man went to Hell, Louis Blue. I have no qualms about taking me a rich piece of meat. Shut up, Louis Blue, and just take her," Raphael said, shamefacedly.

"No, wait, are you an asset to your community? What do you want to be when you grow up?" Louis asked Debbie patiently.

"I don't know," Debbie mumbled, embarrassed, "Maybe an actress."

"Is it OK to take a future actress?" Louis asked Raphael. "It's not like she's going into teaching, or becoming a doctor, or a lawyer. She's vanilla, that's your favorite flavor, isn't it?" Louis said softly, referring to the many times Raphael had become angry and cursed him for killing members of the Black community.

"You're flavorless, tasteless, "Raphael snarled, "Colorless."

"Tell me child, I'd like to buy some drugs, can you sell me some?" Louis asked patiently, ignoring Raphael.

"I can later," she stammered.

"Excellent, she's an evil doer. A drug dealer. Well, aren't we lucky? I guess she's definitely suitable."

Raphael grabbed Debbie's needle marked, skinny arms and threw her on top of Louis. "We both know killing the evil doer is a sham. We weep for the abused child till he grows up to abuse. We get all sentimental for the neglected child till she grows up, joins a gang, and steals our cars. We both know we can't point fingers at those who commit acts of evil out of vanity, insanity, or addiction. We, the most addicted of all God's creatures. Stop it," he hissed, "You're being cruel. You told me never to be cruel."

"You punished me with your anger and your scorn when ever I took someone that you felt was too precious to the future to take. Now, I ask you, is she so lowly that she ironically meets your approval? She's what you would consider a good choice?" Louis asked. His eyes seemed to be ignited.

"If you don't take her I will," Raphael said in a chilly voice.

Debbie was breathing hard against Louis. She had no idea what they were talking about. She never felt flesh that was so cold. Louis finally caught her searching blue eyes.

"What do you want, Debbie?" Louis asked her kindly, taking her hands.

She gave an involuntary shiver at the icy, coldness of his strong hands.

"I want to go home," she blurted out. She missed her mother. Her boyfriend was a shit. He proved nightly that all he cared about was his drugs and his mirror. He groomed himself so carefully, just
waiting to be discovered by an agent, all the while she was being "discovered" by some John's wandering hands, "Can I go home?" she asked urgently, confused.

"I suppose you meet my quota of frightened, young girls," Louis said gently, placing his mouth to her delicate throat, he kissed it with his cadaver cold lips, "I'll take you home," he assured her.

He pierced her throat with professional kindness. Doing her the nicety of draining her slowly from her life. He could hear the strong thuds of her heart, then he could hear her heart flutter, jerk, and
slap around, her heart starved for blood. Then he heard just peaceful silence, deathly silence.

"It doesn't matter who she was, or what she was going to be," Louis said with finality, "She's dead. Favoritism is a human trait. Death never picks favorites. Death ideally," Louis said, "should not be prejudiced. Be fair, Raphael about what you said is it your color I don't want. I'm in love with someone else. Why do you continue to cling to a concept of race, of color? It baffles me. You're a vampire, not a colored mortal. Do you think that color is the bases for the mad cannibalism that takes place between mortals? Look at the civil wars that takes place in all countries. Man against man. Strip them of their religion, strip them of their color, their nationality, strip them of their reason, and they'd still come up with a reason, a purpose to war, to enslave. Take away their comforts of life. Their world becoming an unemployment line, everything falling apart, and they'll build. Build a structure on the death of their neighbors if that's what they think it will take to bring sense and order to their world. Do you think the Russians that Stalin put into work camps were of a different color? A different religion? Do you think that the Chinese that died in the cultural revolution died because they were of a different color, a different race? Non. It was because they threatened the order of things."

"Like you and Lestat are threatening the order of our vampire world. They will kill you for that, the both of you. Louis my life is chaos with out you. You are in love with a fantasy, a myth, a memory. Lestat will only drag you deeper into trouble. Stay here I'll keep you save. You'll become more of a target the minute you join Lestat. As long as you keep men well fed they follow the rules well enough, well fed or not, we have nothing to fallback on concerning issues of what's wrong or right. At least man tries to have a touch of decency, even if they often lose it. We have nothing."

"We have how we treat one another. We can be kind to the ones we love. At least that."

Raphael nodded to a transformed Louis. Louis was suffused with the girl's blood. His grave stone white cheeks, were now of roses. His slender frame starting to fill out.

"Now, you're starting to look lovely. A few more kills and you'll look even better," Raphael said gently, "All ready for your Prince Charming, Lestat."

Louis slowly unfolded the crumpled body of Debbie off of himself. Louis stared at the young girl's body. It reminded him centuries ago when Lestat would bring home a whore. He'd half way murder her, then he'd cut her wrist, allowing the blood to drain in an expensive, wine goblet. He'd swirl the blood around in the goblet, remarking on its vintage, its bouquet, and its color. Then he'd drink. Vanity. So vain. To half way kill a woman to simply have the enjoyment of drinking from a goblet. Louis looked at Raphael. He felt dizzy from the memory. "Do you have a wine goblet?"

"Louis?" Raphael questioned, confused. He obeyed, going to his kitchen, fetching one of the wine goblets that he reserved for stray mortals that he had over. "What are you doing?" he said astonished.

Louis rent open the dead girl's wrist, pressing on a collapsed vein till blood half way filled the glass. He raised the glass into the air, and toasted, "To us."

"To us," Raphael said, gently, watching every move Louis made.

Louis sipped the cold blood, still fresh enough to be good. "A sip?' Louis offered.

"No thanks," Raphael said a wan smile on his lips.

"What gave you the right to touch me without my wanting you to?" Louis said softly. Enraged, he threw the blood filled goblet at Raphael. The goblet bounced off his chest. Blood spilled on his shirt.

Raphael touched the wet spot on his shirt. "What gave me the right to touch you? The fact that we're here together Louis Blue in this Savage Garden we call home. What gives Armand the rights he claims? To kill young vampires in New Orleans, just to see what will happen when they die. The weak have no portion, no protection in this Garden of ours," Raphael told Louis with a look of pure anger. He felt like crushing Louis till Louis begged for mercy. He felt like falling on
his knees begging Louis to be merciful, and to stay with him.

Louis turned his head stonily away from him.

Raphael grabbed his face and forced Louis to look at him. "What gives you the right to dine every night? Because the mortals we kill are too weak to withstand our deadly attack on them? You, my friend, you smell like a mortal, you look more human than inhuman. How can any killer resist you. You look so wounded."

"I thought we were friends. I came here to see how you were doing," Louis whispered sadly.

"Your little Lestat had visions of your being his vulnerable, pretty slave. He didn't tell you the dangers did he? When he made you?"

"He was my slave for a while," Louis said softly.

"Lair. Your Lestat is a coward. Tell me my love sick one, has your dream boat ever had the courage to take you in your arms and tell you, I love you? Because Louis Blue, I love you. I can say that to your face Louis Blue, that I love you."

"He doesn't have to say he loves me," Louis said, turning his face away from Rapheal.

Raphael sighed, "Much of the concepts that men hold of protecting the weak is seeped in Christianity, religion, or the state. We are above religion, politics, and laws. We are dumb animals to our thirst, attacking a prey that can attest to governing principles, Nothing governs us. You and I. We are unprincipled. Why not touch you? Why not love you? Anyone that can hold you down. There's no law against touching you."

"Don't," Louis said shortly, "You're right. You can take me like a dumb animal takes another. There's no crime against it. It's in our nature to subdue and destroy the weak. If you love me like you claim you do then let your love for me govern you. What happens now?" Louis asked his eyes unfocused.

"Up to you, Louis Blue," Raphael said, "It's your choice."

"I choose to leave," Louis said simply. He stood up, straightened his clothing.

"Thanks for not putting me in that fucked up book of yours." Raphael said.

"I knew Claudia was dead, I thought Lestat was dead, everyone in my book was dead, but Armand, as for Armand, " Louis shrugged his shoulders. "I protected your privacy." Louis said.

"Good night, Raphael," Louis said, taking quiet, steps to the door. He stopped and turned, "I can't love you. But I'll always care for you."

"Later, Louis Blue," Raphael said to the figure leaving.

chapter 25

Louis strolled on his thin wheel stoke legs, crushing the grass with his determined gait towards Lestat's compound. He felt like he was choking on his heart. Marius' instructions were replaying in his mind. To urge Lestat to abandon his insane idea to perform on the stage. Insanity, insanity, that was the word Marius kept repeating over and over again in his diatribe against Lestat.

Louis paused, his body alerted to the fact that he was being observed. He let out a sigh, realizing he had been holding in his breath. He walked to the sliding glass patio door, and stared at Lestat through it, who was staring back at him.

Louis sucked in his breath amazed at the bell jar appearance of Lestat. Lestat had not changed. Why should he? He was incapable of being changed.

Lestat's face was rapt upon Louis. He studied him like he was a beautiful piece of art he wanted to possess. His fine mop of pampered, thick blond hair rested on the classical features of his face. He looked so self possessed, so poised, and so supremely confident that he couldn't help but look slightly arrogant with out even trying to be. His slender well defined, muscular body was tense with anticipation. He pressed his long, tapered fingers to the glass. A curl of a half smile on his lips. His gray eyes moody with questions. Louis placed his long, strong hands on the glass. Only glass kept them apart. Lestat slowly opened the patio door. He said in a whispery voice as Louis came in, "About time you showed up." He took Louis in his arms, and crushed the flesh and bone of him to his body. "I'm glad you've come back to me."

Louis found himself instinctively, searching for Lestat's mouth. He laid his full, lips on Lestat's welcoming lips. Their tongues caressed and stroked each others with rough, breathless, urgency.

"Louis," Lestat gasped, releasing his mouth. Lestat was over overwhelmed with love for the being in his arms. "You didn't learn how to kiss that way from me." he teased.

"I've just learned how to kiss," Louis said breathlessly, returning his mouth to Lestat's. Their mouths embraced, and gasped against each others.

Louis found himself swept up in desire. He pulled at Lestat's lower lip gently with his biting mouth. His kisses stern and strong. He slid the weight of his lips to Lestat's throat.

Lestat stiffened against Louis.

Louis pressed the firm, sharpness of his fangs into Lestat's smooth throat. He took gentle sips of the fiery blood that tingled and warmed his mouth like whiskey used to so long ago. He honed in on drawing Lestat's blood into his swooning body. Lestat's eyes fluttered fast. His expression was locked in ecstasy as he rocked against the hold Louis had on him. He could feel his being jerking
and quickening. The joy he felt was so deep rooted it humiliated him to be so utterly desirous of Louis.

Louis released him; Lestat took him. Lestat took Louis' palm and kissed it passionately, trailing his lips to the pulse of Louis' wrist. He pressed the wrist with his fangs, tugging and drawing Louis' blood from his flesh. Louis felt emptied of his life, life being replaced by throbbing, searing needful passion. He felt himself orgasm against Lestat's body. He cried out as cum spilled into his jeans. His breath rasped hard against Lestat.

Lestat cupped Louis' face into his hand.

"More, take more. I want you to take more," Louis gasped.

"I'm making love to you, Louis," Lestat laughed, "You're insatiable, I have no interest in draining you. In Killing you."

Louis pressed himself against Lestat, embarrassed at the dampness of his jeans. Lestat studied Louis and made a decision. "I want you Louis," Lestat said smoothly, urgency echoing in his voice, "I want you as a human being wants another human. Let's fuck." He made it sound as if he was asking Louis to dance.

Louis looked up at Lestat calmly, He broke from Lestat's hold on him. He shook his head. He strolled over to a pool table and took out a cue stick. He leaned over the pool table. He expertly knocked the white cue ball into the eight, seven and nine balls, causing all three to fall into side pockets. "Play a game?" Louis said softly, "I always win."

"Why are you here?' Lestat asked calmly.

"I want to be here," Louis said, knocking another ball into a pocket. The hard whack of the wooden balls sounded oddly, smoothing. "Marius, the others, want you to end this travesty. We have no place in the mortal world, Lestat, except to consign ourselves to shadows."

"Do you expect me, Lelio the Great to hide in the shadows?" Lestat laughed, feeling light headed. The hilarity of it all, his hiding in shadows. "I challenged them all. The rogues. They mean to punish me. Let them try, Louis, Let them do their worse, I'm up to it."

"Up to what?" Louis said drawing the cue stick back. Both of them were trembling inside from their first encounter of vampire sex with one another.

"To war. To battle," Lestat thrilled, his eyes lit with purpose. "I will live as I please. None will defy me, or halt me in my desire to be a star. I need it Louis," Lestat said earnestly, in prayer for understanding, "I need to be loved by a multitude, or hated. I don't care which. I just can't be ignored Louis. Let them fear me, hate me, adore me, but Louis, I will not be ignored."

Louis sighed, remembering the hordes of young people with their long, flowing hair, roaming the college campuses carrying sign protesting the Vietnam War. And here was Lestat, demanding war, screaming to fight the good fight. All for the sake of being noticed. Such vanity.

"I know," Lestat ducked his head sheepishly, "That the moment I strut on stage, they, the rogues might challenge me," Lestat's eyes widened with pleasure visualizing the fight.

"What if the humans living about you get curious? What if they discover your true self? It would mean war against our species and the human species, Lestat," Louis said, leaning with his back against the pool table. "The carnage of it all. We would be forced to kill not merely to stay alive but to defend ourselves. That would be intolerable to some of us. The young ones, the fledglings, how will they control their volatile temperaments? They will go on a joy ride of massacre, of human blood shed." Louis said to Lestat. "The old ones will die of grief to have to murder humans, simply out of need to protect themselves because of a cheap war. Our society needs to be a secret one in order to maintain the level of comfort we now enjoy."

"Humans," Lestat shrugged, "Are manageable, Who cares for humans? They'll never believe in us, Louis. They are safely embedded in their disbelief of all things super natural."

"Bull shit," Louis said softly, with a warm, sunny smile, "Humans believe whole heartedly in aliens, Big Foot, the Loch Ness Monster, and some even believe in angels and the saints," Louis turned around, and leaned over the table. "Two in the side pocket," he said.

Lestat slid his hand on the back of Louis' thigh, "Do you want to challenge me, Louis? Or do you want to go to war with me at my side?"

"Just call me Private Louis at your command general." Louis said gently, as he felt Lestat unbuttoning his jeans, pulling down the zipper.

Louis turned to face Lestat. He cupped Lestat's clothed erection his hand. He stroked it, looking at the floor. He couldn't look at Lestat. He took Lestat's hand and placed it under his sweater.

Lestat pinched and rubbed Louis' nipples lightly between his finger tips. He brushed his finger tips lightly against the hardening nubs of Louis' chest.

Louis stood exposed before Lestat's wandering hands. Lestat grabbed the back of Louis' thighs under his firm, flat, muscular, ass, and pulling him up, placing him up on the pool table.

He laid Louis flat on his back. His legs propped up and wide open.

"Take me, the two of us joined. Out bodies, like we're joined in prayer," Louis said gently.

"Louis, all the songs I wrote about you. So private. I've never, ever written them down."

Lestat rubbed and stroked Louis' erection, "To night I'll sing them to you. Those songs with out words. We'll sing along together, with out words," Lestat drew Louis' member into his mouth. He enjoyed the soft gasp Louis made when he inserted his finger into Louis.

He sucked and mouthed Louis' cock hard and lovingly. Tasting the rounded head to the shaft, playing with the tautness of Louis' balls.

"Lestat," breathed Louis. Louis arched his back, his hands folding and unfolding in fists. Each suck and lick Lestat performed was a lesson in desire and frank love.

"Does it hurt?" Lestat said gently, "I want to hurt you, Louis. To hurt you. If only to prove to you that you're alive.

Lestat could feel Louis' fear. It both alarmed and thrilled him that Louis was so afraid. His tongue teased Louis' nipples. He sucked on the hardness of one, enjoying how Louis arched and cried out. Louis stroked Lestat's hair feeling helpless.

Lestat carried Louis off the pool table to his bed room, placing him on the bed. He took out some jell and smeared Louis' tightly closed opening. He slid his long, strong, fingers to stoke between Louis' ass cheeks, holding Louis' quivering flesh down by pressing upon the small of his back then he put inside two fingers. Louis shivered at the pressure being applied inside of him. He felt panicked for some reason, like he was being held captive. He made long, even breaths, and willed himself to calm down. He felt the hard, rounded, head of Lestat's cock penetrating inside of him. Slowly, Lestat pushed himself in to the tight hold of Louis' undulating body. Louis took in an intake of breath, the pain of being entered almost making him cry out. Lestat rode Louis' muscular, mounted body, letting the hard tightness of Louis' hold stroke and caress his erection He flexed with long, hard, deep thrusts inside of Louis.

Louis felt the in and out motions upon himself. He felt used, wanted to be used, nothing but used. Lestat had him on his side, masturbating Louis' erection. Letting Louis dribbling cum, lubricate the firm massage he performed on Louis' member.

Lestat groaned and stiffened, enjoying the total control he had. He was his. He ejaculated his orgasm, a storm of power and domination. Louis ejaculated against the palm of Lestat's hand. Lestat rubbed his cum against Louis' stomach.

Louis gasped, as Lestat gloved his still erect penis with his mouth, pushing and shoving his mouth on the shaft as Louis withered and shook. Louis felt like he was a fire being fed by gasoline finally
he orgasmed in Lestat's mouth with a jerk and a shout.

Lestat drank in Louis' fluids, pulling away, savagely biting into Louis' thigh, sucking a swooning Louis' blood, keeping a tight hold of Louis' thighs as Louis involuntarily struggled and danced about, his blood racing into Lestat's blood. Blood wedded together as if there was no end or beginning to each other's flow of blood.

Louis breath was short and fast in his chest, His heart beating under Lestat's hold. He had to fight back a bubble of panic that threatened to burst, that would cause him to leap from the bed. To run away, to never look back. He looked past Lestat. He could feel the moistness of blood on his thighs, the moistness of cum, jell, and blood inside of him. He felt like he was moist yielding to pleasure and fear. The fear he felt baffled him. The pleasure he felt kept him on the bed,

Then he heard it. He heard Lestat's laughter ringing hurtfully in his ears.

chapter 26

"There's a first time for everything," Lestat said, his chest breaking with gasps of laughter against Louis.

"Are you laughing at me?" Louis asked scandalized. A mixture of hurt and annoyance settled in his eyes.

"No, Beautiful One, I'm laughing at myself for not doing this while we lived with Claudia. You were so aloof except with her. How you'd waltz with her. Those days I watched you. I knew the two of you loved each other," Lestat said laying his head on Louis' shoulder, "At least," he said mockingly to Louis, "I brought love into your bleak, suicide of a life. Even if it wasn't love for me."

"I'm sorry for that," Louis said soberly, "You didn't seem to be open to me. Whenever I felt we could be close, you pushed me away."

"For your sake, my sake, her sake. I would have devoured you in my loneliness. Kept you at my side. Excluded her from your company. She needed you. She was helpless to protect herself. She needed you completely. I was content to watch the two of you. Always on the outside of your loving world with her. Happy knowing that at least you had each other, even if it meant neither of you belonged to me. I was so lonely living with the two of you. Your dumb animal stares into space As lonely as if I lived with two, cold, unfeeling, wind up dolls."

"Lestat," Louis sighed, at a loss for words.

"And her jealousy. Her twisted jealousy," Lestat pressed on, "She couldn't even stand me in the same house with you both. You were her slave. She was once my pride. I loved her. Until she grew up to become a cold hearted mannequin."

"I know I was her slave," Louis said helplessly. "Enslaved to her beauty, to her helplessness, her insanity, I thought she was the only one in the world who could love a monster like me. The minute she threw petals of chrysanthemums on your supposedly dead body was the minute her love for me waned. It had always been a pretend love. She didn't have to muster up the energy to pretend to love me anymore, because her hatred of you was the inspiration of her pretend love for
me. Once you were gone, so was her pretending. I was hers. She didn't have to act like she loved me anymore. I was her slave to escort her to her adventuring to find those like us. Those that ended up killing her. I loved her Lestat, but I couldn't take the fact that she didn't love me. Her pretend love was a whip, chain, and shackles. Without her I was free. I wanted to leave her for Armand. I didn't love him. I was infatuated with him for what he pretended to be. A wise being with all the answers, when really he had no answers to volunteer. He was a user. He wanted to use me to be his escape hatch into the new world. He was simply thirst, untouchable, unteachable. He wanted a slave, too."

"And me. Haven't I always wanted a slave?" mocked Lestat.

"I," Louis looked away from Lestat's clear eyes, "I love you, Lestat, not as your slave, or as your teacher. I simply do."

Lestat buried his face in Louis' hair. His blond strands mingling with Louis' dark hair like strings of gold resting on black velvet. "Why the hell for? What did I do to cause this sudden effect on you?
You love me indeed."

Lestat thought to himself, I love you. I always loved you my punishing angel. He wanted to say the words, but he felt so intensely in love, in pain, betrayed by the past that he bit the words back. He sighed heavily, opened his salt tasting mouth upon Louis' and kissed him deeply. He pulled back from Louis and shook his head. "When she was knifing me I called out for you over and over again. Who else did I have to call to?" Lestat said sadly, "And you ignored me. You didn't interfere. I was nothing to you. Please admit that."

"I couldn't stand to interfere. She said it would be her death. I couldn't stand to have her destroyed. You threatened her enough times to make me believe you could have. I watched. I didn't believe it could really happen. Your death. I tried to hate her afterwards, but she was after all, all I ever had."

"I was never jealous of Claudia. She made you happy, that was enough for me. I wanted to leave so many times. I was so tired of your slight notice of me. When you did reach out, I knew she would retaliate with anger, so I kept you at bay. Besides, she was your lover, not I. I had to take care of you both I rationalized to myself. But really, I stayed because I wanted to stay. You'd dance with her, and stare at lit candles. I dreamed about you, wanting to light candles with you. In my dreams I was dancing with you."

"I would have begged you to stay if you tried to leave. I know that know. Or perhaps I would have encouraged you to leave, I don't know," Louis said sadly, "She was everything to me and more,"

"And I didn't amount to much in your affections? Did I? You used to amuse me. The way I would pretend to go hat in hand for money. You, my snotty, little planter. How you loved to keep me in sparse funds. You thought money gave you some sort of control over me. You could be so stupid, so intolerant at times. I laughed at your penny pinching ways nightly. As if money was a problem for intelligent beings such as you and I. And shall I bring up Armand? It was simply charming finding out that you took off with him after his coven killed Claudia. Not very choosy are you?" Lestat laughed to disguise his hurt.

"It's no excuse, but I thought Armand and I could mean something to each other. Claudia was dead. You were, you both, he told me you were dead." Louis tried to reason to himself and Lestat.

"Was his bed comfortable? It had been offered to me long before you were even born. I declined it myself," Lestat said coolly lied.

"We were not lovers," Louis said in a low voice.

"But, you did make love," Lestat accused.

"We did. We did try it," Louis said, "The blood we shared. We didn't make love like this, sharing our bodied like this. But the rare occasions we were locked in blood, watered down to nothing quickly. We barely noticed each other. Looked around each other most of the time,"

"Explanations, explain it all away, Louis," Lestat said, "Make it all better. White wash it all up for me."

"I should leave," Louis gently said, starting to slide out of the bed, "This was a mistake. My coming here. We share too much sadness in our history together to ever make each other happy. Good bye."

chapter 27

"No, don't leave, Louis. I realize I can't keep you , unless you want to be kept.,"

"I do, Louis said looking at the floor, "I want to keep you." said Louis, looking up at Lestat.

Lestat and Louis stared at each other wordlessly.

Louis broke the silence. "I want nothing to keep us apart. I want nothing to keep us together, but choice," Louis said softly. "I want to live moments with you, not worrying if we have a future together or not."

"You desire me," Lestat said woundingly, "All the times you wanted to leave me and left me. Now you've come back as a lover."

Louis blushed. He could feel the heat of it as if the source of it came from a slap on the face. He looked away from Lestat and said, "You never killed reverently. You killed carelessly, wantonly, you were excessive. I loved and love being a vampire. I learned how to respect humanity despite all of its warts and its acts of ugliness, and all the more so, because of its acts of generosity and kindness towards others. I learned to hold onto a beating heart, and feel the exhale of breath, to hold it all in awe, to value life, above money, goods, vanity. I love it all above everything. Love it too much to judge anyone's life."

Lestat stared at Louis. His words pelting him.

"I thought, non, I knew, I didn't love you. I felt nothing but contempt for your dandified, strutting ways. Nouve rich, you seemed to me. Ungrateful, and disrespectful of your powers. Without any genteel back ground, or formal education. Just a vain, boastful scare crow of a being from the country. I hated your crude, excessive bouts of murder against mortals. You killed enough to keep yourself alive, then you murdered young adults just starting to embark on the momentous events of their lives, marriage, careers. Your envy of them a switch blade in your hands. You revenged yourself on them nightly because you couldn't have it all. Both immortality and a kinship mortal men."

"Silence Louis," Lestat said quietly, looking up at the ceiling, "That was in the past."

I can't bear your words," Lestat thought to himself, wanting Louis to stop, knowing that he wouldn't.

"She learned from you how to be envious. Why do you think she loved to kill families? Mothers and daughters in particular. She learned it from you, from the mockery you made of the deaths of young men and women you murdered, not from hunger, but out of revenge for their tans, their children they would someday have if you would have left them alone, the fact that they belonged to others, and you had no one. She refused to be kept as your slave. You would not be mastered. Your very presence was a blight on her visions of being lord over us all. She revenged herself by attempting to kill you. She wanted to be with others of our kind to pit herself against them. She lost. Poor Claudia. How she lost. What has any mortal ever done to you to deserve such disrespect from you? We have no need to be cruel to mortals, not when they are so good at being cruel to each other. We should be beyond that. Strike without motive, kill, then walk away."

Lestat took in a deep breath, feeling like he'd been severely hit, "No good deed can change the evil that I mete out on humanity. Did your good deed to Babette, helping her to save her plantation, change the fact that to her you were a devil? I hate being a devil. I hate devils. Devils are slinking, mocking, lonely, vain glorious fools. No one believes in devils anymore. I killed cruelly because it soothed my envy to kill young mortals full of promise. I wanted to be loved. To be a mortal with out a mortal's foil of weakness. I envy them that can change their fates while I am enslaved to mine. That they can do good, and no amount of good I can do atones for the fact that I am a killer. I hate that they can live in a world, and not keep their existence a secret. Being on the stage will change all that. I'll be loved by mortals, I'll be a beloved devil where no one believes in devils. The irony of it. They'll think I'm their brother disguised as a vampire. Could I be cruel to those who now love me? Could I be cruel to a lover?"

"I discovered I love you. The measure of my love was how much I missed you. How I would listen for the sound of your voice. For the touch of you breath on my face. I care no longer about who you kill or what your motives are for killing. It' is way too late for great thoughts. To do great things. I simply want to take one step at a time with you. I'll send money to worth while causes and keep my eyes firmly shut to be with you. I'm not your hanging judge. Let me," Louis said, "be yours, cruel or not."

"You're cruel, always have been cruel. The cruel truth, my beautiful conscience."

"I know the truth. I know what you are. And I want you," Louis whispered, "I've been void, empty with out any answers. There's no question about my wanting you."

"I remember the night I had you pierce Claudia's little neck, I was weeping inside for you. I couldn't let you kill her. I knew with her dead your innocence would die too. Your conscience! You wanted to be what you thought you were doomed to be--a heartless, evil monster, Her death proof of your damnation. I would not have you damned. A smirking vampire hating himself. I wanted you to remain as you are. A vampire too much in love with humanity. A vampire with out contempt for any mortal. I wanted you to experience with me the magic of creation. I didn't want you holding her small corpse in your arms, Her broken body the breaking of your idealism. I wanted you to have, to know we could create a life that we could fall in love with together. Instead I replaced myself, I gave you a new master."

Louis thought to himself, I love you, I know you love me. No one has ever loved me as much as you have.

Louis bit Lestat on his lower lip, and sucked the drops of blood from it, "I won't be mastered," he whispered, "Nor will I master."

Lestat pulled Louis on top of him. He bent his head down, pressing Louis' nipple between his lips, sucking it gently. Flicking his pointed tongue hard against Louis' chest.

Louis was thrilled to be touched. He tingled with warmth.

"Stumpet," teased Lestat, stroking Louis' thigh.

"Monster," gasped Louis, wanting more.

"Bless me Louis for you have sinned," Lestat said evilly.

"Have I?" Louis said innocently. His eyes wide, as Lestat stirred his cock with his long, teasing, touching fingers.

"Bless me Louis, for you will sin."

"Bless you Lestat," Louis teased back, gasping when Lestat sunk his fangs inside of his neck.

He rocked himself against the draining of himself, the search and roam of Lestat's hand between his legs. Lestat's thoughts swirled around in a passionate waltz. Louis' heartbeat setting the tune. He released his mouth from Louis, breathing hard against his neck.

Suddenly Louis' soft, velvet gloved voice started to rise up in a song, "You go to my head and you linger like a haunting refrain. I find you spinning round in my brain, like the bubbles in a glass of champagne." His lips were stilled with Lestat's fingers.

Louis opened his closed eyes at the sound of Lestat's rough, husky voice singing to him. "You go to my head like a sip of Burgundy brew and I find the very mention of you like the kicker in a julep of two."

Louis sang, "The thrill of the thought that you might have a thought to my plea casts a spell over me. Still I say to myself, Get a hold of yourself, can't you see that it can never be."

Lestat crooned, "You go to my head with a smile that makes my temperature rise, like a summer with a thousand Julys. You intoxicate my soul with your eyes."

They both sang together, Louis' voice poured out cream and satin, Lestat's voice hauntingly, smoothed out silk with rough, strong edges, "Tho' I'm certain that this heart of mine hasn't a ghost of a chance in the crazy romance, you go to my head, you go to my head."

"I know that song too well," Lestat whispered to Louis, kissing his forehead.

Louis knew he was being over come by the death sleep. I know this adoration I have for Lestat will never be enough. I'll always be just a face in the crowd of adoring fans. But, at least my face will be important to Lestat. At least it will be important to Lestat that I'm in the crowd. He thought to himself.

He snuggled against Lestat. Lestat sighed. I know Louis is wild. Will use any rationalization any excuse to be free. Louis tried to open his eyes to take one last look at Lestat, the last words he heard was Lestat saying in regretful, honest tolls, "Louis, there's someone else."

He's in love with someone else also," Louis said pensively, sitting cross legged on Raphael's couch.

Raphael snorted at the slender figure on the couch. "You're such a shit sometimes, Louis Blue. I can't believe you're actually contemplating staying with him and his," Raphael sneered, "Human."

"You don't understand," Louis said calmly, "Lestat has always wanted a human lover, He always wanted a human to love him, the frog prince, to be a companion to him despite all of the warts of his being a killer. He makes Lestat feel less alone in this graven world we walk in surrounded by humanity. With him, he can shut his eyes and snatch moments of time where he can pretend he's human. He also loves to tease and prod David with the offering of the Dark Gift, to prove that he not only can be included in a human's affections, but some how above it, like an immortal god of Greek or Egyptian mythology. Love me is his message to David, I can't be all bad he's telling himself, if David not only loves me knowing what I am, but also wants to be me! David is his entry into world of mortal's. With David, he's a known entity, it comforts him to know someone out there in the mortal world knows him. That David loves him some how makes him feel all the more sane, grounded to the Earth. It makes him real, and not like some vague freak, stalking mortals as if he was a tiger in the long grasses hunting, simply hunting. David marvels, worships Lestat. He's a rock for Lestat. He provides for Lestat an insight into the human world. A world I left so long ago as a young, despairing, suicidal man. I was born into darkness still as I was at the moment of my conception, young, foolish, and hopeless. David has lived well in the mortal world. Aged in it. How that fascinates Lestat. To have someone as successful and aged as David to love."

"And you my friend, what are you to Mr. Rock Star?" Raphael demanded, "except for your being a sap to allow yourself to be involved in his stupid war, you're nothing to him. I hope he has a big enough body bag to put you in when his war that he's starting with the rogues is over. After listening to his album, "The Vampire Lestat", I don't think anything could kill that ego inflated dude. His love, Louis Blue, is a high flown compliment he pays many people. Nothing more, You're just one of many that he would have love him."

"I am more. I am a romantic figure that he just happened to swoop upon when I was mortal," Louis shrugged, "Romantic figures do not provide stability. Lestat needs David's fatherly adoration. He needs David's bed," Louis shrugged his shoulders, looking dolefully at his long, folded hands. "I understand, I loved a mortal woman, Babbette. She wasn't a woman to me. She was a deeply religious soul. Religious in her love for her family, To keep their plantation going after Lestat killed her brother," Louis sighed, "Jealousy. Lestat was always jealous of mortals because he thought they had what we lacked. A soul. We vampires fall in love with a mortal's soul. They appear to us luminous. We see a mortal's soul through a mortal's eyes. He's in love with the mortal soul he can see in David's eyes. When you take a mortal, it's almost like the blood you birth them with chases away their soul. Their new vampire's eyes gleam soullessly. Beautiful soulless things, We envy mortals for their souls. Lestat looks in my eyes and he sees a being he can love, but he despises that part of my nature that he despises about himself--that he's a killer. He despairs over the ugliness of my soulless, killer's eyes. That's why he keeps saying I'm the one most human. It makes me more lovable to him to think that. He tries to convince himself that I'm not who I am, a killer, that I'm neither proud nor disdainful of it, simply accepting of it. He tries to convince himself that I'm a human vampire full of gentle human faults, because that which he perceives as being human in him, his adventuring, his knowledge of right and wrong, his ability to discern who he perceives as being an evil doer and who isn't, are all what he feels as being humans traits, and these traits are what he values the most about himself, his human traits. There are times that Lestat wishes he could live a mortal life with David. In the sunshine, adventuring. There are times Lestat wants to play dark God to David's Faust. He wants to be the temptation and ruin of David's soul. But oh, how it would please him if David spurned him. It would be bitter sweet to have David refuse to surrender his soul. Glorious, bitter victory if David handed it over."

"Pity you're soulless," Raphael snorted, "You already gave him your soul, so I guess you have nothing to interest him with."

"I can't afford a soul what with all the kills I have to do to survive, I can't afford to be emotional. David can. Lestat loved Marius, too. Marius is good at assuming a great soul. He wanted to be taught the mysteries of life at Marius' marble, white feet. Marius sent him away to learn about his nature by living out a mortal life time with the promise that he could return to him as a lover. Two gods in love. A promise Lestat choice to ignore. He's never going back to Marius. Not after he was sent away. He considers that crawling. He was never Claudia's father. She was right. We were his slaves. He tried to keep her along with me, as ignorant and as naive as possible. Being naive killed her," Louis said, remembering the conversation he had with Lestat.

"Fathers, teachers, gods" Louis mused, "That was part of his revenge on his life for Marius sending him away. Refusing to teach me and Claudia. He didn't want to be a father, or a teacher. If no one would father him, or teach him, well the hell with us. He wanted to keep me and Claudia as ignorant as he felt Marius kept him. That's why he hated his mortal father so. Because he wasn't the father he wanted. He wanted Marius to be his father, lover, teacher, god. Marius couldn't see himself being Lestat's lover, or father. As for being Lestat's god, that was a joke to Marius. Lestat was too old, too rebellious, too fully formed. Marius only loves children he can whip into form. Children he can be a daddy to, to spoil, pamper, and touch."

"What do you want?"

"I want everything and nothing."

"So good, you want nothing, good!" Raphael said with relief, "It's over between the two of you. Thank God! Let Lestat find the daddy he needs. That's why he loves breaking the rules. He wants his daddy Marius to set him straight. He screams like a baby for his daddy to give him a smacking around just so that he knows that daddy cares. Louis Blue what the hell were you even thinking of any way? You're so passive. Why in the world would you even consider being in Lestat's little war? Preaching, always preaching about being nonviolent. And just because some blond haired jack ass who wants his daddy to suck his dick puts it to you, you're ready to be in the thick of a stupid, vain war. He's a damned tin soldier."

Louis shook his head and wondered if that was true. " Lestat no longer loves Marius. Though he does covet his attention, frankly, anyone's attention. It's all for love. I'm doing it all for love," Louis said dreamingly, "Sometimes I wish I was nothing but cerebral thoughts. No matter, no body, just atoms and electrons, neutrons bouncing against each other."

Raphael threw back his fist and slammed it hard against Louis' shoulder.

"Oww!," Louis yelped, rubbing the soft where Raphael had hit him, "Why did you do that?"

"To wake you up, you dummy. You can't be only cerebral dreams, with out your body to feel and sense. You would just think the same old thoughts over and over again. God gave us a body to provoke us into making sense of the world. Louis Blue, you have no sense. Let the flesh instruct you," Raphael scolded.

"Angel's don't have bodies," Louis laughed, "Does that mean angels have no sense?"

"Angels have us. They make sense of the world from watching us taste, smell, bleed, touch. Angels feel feelings voraciously through us," Raphael said, "That's why angels love us."

"Louis uncrossed his legs, heading for the door.

"Get back here, Louis Blue," Raphael demanded, the tone of his voice soothed out into pleading, "Please, Louis Blue, please. I don't want you to get hurt. Lestat is too busy on his ego trip to protect you when the rogues set out to punish him, to make an example of him. They are determined to make an example of him, and you too, if they discover who you really are. Louis Blue please stay until this Lestat debacle is over with."

"I want to be right in the middle of Lestat's debacle," Louis said gently,

"Just because he has parted your legs and fucked you proper. That's what he did, isn't it? He plugged you," Raphael said angrily.

"He loved me," Louis said evenly, opening the door, before he left he said to Raphael, "and I loved him back. We're lovers and that is that. He wants David and Marius to care for him, but for me--he cares for me."

Raphael shook his head at the shut door. He buried his head into his hands. I'm so afraid for you Louis Blue, he thought to himself, Lestat is going to get you killed for sure. I just know it.

After leaving Raphael's, Louis took his time browsing through a used book store. Finding some books he decided upon, he purchased them, and headed for Lestat's. On a whim, he stopped at a florist's buying a dozen red roses, half red and half white for Lestat.

Part 28

The guards had been alerted to the fact that he was not a person non grata. Louis smiled and waved shyly at the guards who were protecting Lestat's home. He opened the door to Lestat's place, surprised to have his wrist grabbed painfully by an angry Lestat who forced him to
take hurried, quick steps into the living room. His bag of books fell to the floor. His roses scattered.

"Who is he?" Lestat demanded, his face livid. "Who the Hell is he?" Are you his maker?"

"No," Louis said, calmly, trying to resist the urge to free himself from Lestat's twisting, angry grasp, "I'm not his maker. Lestat let go of my wrist."

Lestat smirked at Louis. "Did you sleep with him?" he demanded hotly, hurt.

Louis pulled and twisted at his wrist with all his strength. Riding a wave of anger, Louis felt like swinging his fist at Lestat, hitting him under the chin. Instead he allowed his body to calm down, and take a natural stance as possible, he said coolly, "It isn't your affair."

Lestat raised his hand to slap Louis' face. He shook with overwhelming anger. Before he could hurt Louis, he pushed him away with more force than he intended to, sending Louis falling hard to the floor.

Seeing Louis sprawled out on the carpet, Lestat started to shake, disgusted at himself for what he had done, for what he wanted to do. Louis stared at him in shock.

He gathered Louis in his arms, and placed him on the couch. He laid himself on top of Louis, letting kisses fall on Louis' pale face. His rough kisses a storm. Louis grabbed Lestat's hair and forced Lestat's mouth on his, halting the rapid, half hazard blows of angry kisses. Louis merged his tongue deeply into Lestat's mouth. Lestat gasped, he let out a sobbing breath, his chest heaving hard against Louis' thinness. He pulled himself away from Louis' kiss and asked worriedly, "Do you like being pushed and shoved around?"

"No," Louis said, his eyes calmly on Lestat's. "I wanted to change the scenario from being an object hated, to being an object loved."

"I don't hate you, Louis," Lestat said quickly, "I just can't stand the thought of you. Are you with him?"

"Raphael? He has a name," Louis said, "He's a friend. A knock around friend."

"Never, never, I don't want you to ever see him again."

"Why?" Louis implored, "What will you do if I do see him?"

"I don't know," Lestat placed the side of his face against Louis, "Don't leave me. Don't stay with him."

"If you try to control me with anger, I'll become an ego tripping, self indulgent monster. When you lost control, when you became angry at me, using the language you did, pulling me about, inside of me I was laughing at you. I felt superior to you because you my lover, you are void of control. You live through impulses and emotions."

"I'm shallow," Lestat laughed weakly.

"Non, you feel too deeply. You get carried away. The only way a person can exist with an other's constant barrage of controlling anger is to become writheringly cold, superior. If I was weak, your anger would drive me to despair, I'm not weak, Lestat. I'll twist your anger and use it against you. I'll be come passively aggressive. I'll drive you insane before you even try to hurt me. And if you hit me. I'll find your soft spot and use it against you."

"You're my soft spot. You'll be hurting yourself along with me."

"I know." whispered Louis, "And I wouldn't want to hurt you, so I guess I would just have to leave. Lestat, I'd rather be in love with you, then be full of contempt for you," Louis said. His eyes wide and moist.

Lestat shook his head, knowing that what he wanted, tense with what he wanted.

"Louis, I desire you to be with me in all things. I desire you to love who I love, I desire you to enjoy what I enjoy, Louis the coven we shared with Claudia was a disaster." Louis flinched at Lestat's words.

"Yes, Louis, mourn Claudia. I mourned for her too. But my grief was more for us. For what she did to us. Divide and conquer. She delighted in hateful glances, spiteful words, harsh actions, under dealings. She was a monster in the end, Louis."

"She was ours," Louis said, an undertone of sadness in his voice.

"You were hers. She was the bane of our existence in the end. I want a new life with you, I want you to be exclusive to our coven."

"What do you mean?"

"David's, yours and mine. I want no duplicity between us all. I want there to be shared pleasure and regard for each others company, Louis," Lestat breathed a suddenly fearful breath into his lungs. His nerves on fire. "I want you to be with David, too."

"So I can't throw it in your face when you bed him, " Louis said softly, "I already told you I understood."

"I do bed him," Lestat said sternly, "I bed you too. Share him with me, Louis. I want you to love him along with me. I do not want to lose David or you. I want to love you both freely without guilt. Without jealousy between the two of you. I want you to love David."

"I'll love him," Louis said, meaning like a brother,

"Good," Lestat said, choosing to believe Louis meant as a lover, "I'll send him in."

"You accused me of being an other's lover to manipulate me into this. This anger of yours was part of a little act to see how much you can intimidate me. You spied on me. You're pressuring me. You have always belittled me. You think it will somehow make me an easy mark for you. Confused, vulnerable, easily assessable, and usable. Your belittling causes me to value myself more, to want you less. It doesn't cause me to think that I'm so worthless that you care for me out of pity like you often said in the past. So pitiful that no one else would want me, so I'm better off staying with you, grateful that you condescendingly bother to care about me, so I can get my daily dose of emotional pain, sorrow, and scant affection. Affection that you often in the past gave me sneeringly as if I to tell me I wasn't worth it. I loved you in the past, but I knew you then and I know you now for the manipulative monster you can be. Rethink your strategy, Lestat. Belittling me will just cause me to ignore you, to look the other way, and to go on." Louis assured him.

"It's because I value the concept of "us" so much that I want you to love David too. I am giving you a being I love very much. How can that be belittling you? I'm gifting you David. All for love Louis, Because I love you both. There is no concept of marriage in our world, is there? We exist as loners preying on each other, or in covens where we agree to live in peace together. Watching our backs. I want us to be in peace together. I want you to love us," Lestat said coldly, "I want you to love him, so we can live together without disputes. Without the disputes Claudia dragged us into. Claudia was our past; David our future. I want you to love no one else but us. Be exclusive to us. Don't be stubborn, Louis, like you always have been. And what did it cost us? Claudia and you running away to her appointment with death. Her making a plot to murder me. All this could have been avoided if you could have trusted me. Didn't I provide for you both? Provide even immortality? How many times did I have to protect the two of you from your own inner demons? You wasting away on animal blood. Claudia's stupid attempts to hide her kills. You, staring off in to space, becoming a part of the furniture, if I didn't rouse you into going out. The minute the two of you thought you put me in my coffin was the minute you two both fell apart. You became a dutiful slave to her shell of coldness and insanity, and she had no one to protect her from her own foolishness. All because the both of you turned on me. Do this for me out of love for me. Prove to me that I can trust you. That you will love me and those I love. Do you love me?"

"Yes," Louis said, staring at the ceiling, unable to look at Lestat.

"Then trust me. Afterwards, just the two of us will go out."

Lestat got off of Louis. He ran his hand through his mob of blond hair. He choose not to look at Louis. He rubbed his chin sure of what he was doing was the best for all three of them. At least he hoped it was for the best. He tried to convince himself it was. He knew this was. He sighed knowing Louis would see the wisdom of his decision. Leaning sullenly against the wall in his blue jeans and tight T-shirt, Lestat's body was tense, every muscle, his triceps and biceps tensed out beautifully. He was like a cat sensing prey or danger. His lips curled in a cruel smile. Feeling the cruelty of his demand on Louis and on himself. Sure of the correctness of it even if it was monstrous.

Lestat left the room determined to have Louis submit. Louis stared at the ceiling. He heard a small noise and there was David Talbot studying him. His intelligent, dark eyes stared impassively at Louis. He looked to be about seventy-five. Louis knew that Lestat thought him to be a wise, and worldly man. He had experiences in life that were forever barred from Lestat because of his dying at the early age of twenty. David was handsome, beautifully lined, with slate gray hair. He was fumbling nervously with the buttons of his white, sharp, starched shirt. His hands dry and full of creases.

Louis turned his eyes back up at the ceiling.

"We're supposed to be a coven," David said briskly to Louis, "The two of us are to love one another. I'll just touch you. I'll have to cut your wrist with a pen knife of course. My being mortal, I haven't the fangs to bite you with. No need to be alarmed," David said in a quick voice which was used to being obeyed, "Lestat and I do this all the time."

Louis softly sang an old Blues song he used to sing so long ago under his breath.

"Are you just going to lie there?" David said nervously, removing his shirt, reveling his old man's chest.

"Isn't that enough?" Louis said more sharply than he intended to. He suddenly felt sickened with rage.

David bent down to kiss the straight line of Louis' mouth, "You're beautiful," David said soothingly,

"All for love. This is all for love, isn't it?" Louis said softy.

"Yes, Louis. For love," David said, his mortal breath on Louis' face.

"Tell Lestat," Louis said gently, pushing David away so as not to hurt him, "That there are some things I won't do for love. No even for him."

Louis swung his legs off the couch and strolled out of the room, leaving an abashed David looking on.

Chapter 29

Raphael opened the door, alerted by soft tap that someone was knocking on it.

Louis strolled in, marching purposely to Raphael's unmade bed. Louis leaped on the top of the bed, jumping up and down, "Here I am," he breathed, huskily, "At your disposal."

Louis scooped up a bed sheet in both of his hands. He kept jumping on the bed, winding the sheet about, letting it balloon above him like a parachute. "Isn't this what you always wanted?" Louis said somberly, "Me. In your bed. Bouncing about. Here I am. Come and get me."

"Louis Blue," Raphael asked, standing in his bedroom's doorway, "Why?"

"Why not?" Louis stopped bouncing. He stood forlornly on top of the bed. "You were right. He doesn't love me, Lestat. He just wants to jerk off inside of me. Lestat was just a memory I ennobled with each passing year with more and more good qualities. Your memory plays tricks on you. Doesn't it?" Louis said calmly.

Raphael winced at the word "memory" knowing that Santino had deleted much from Louis' memory.

Hypnotized by the slender, somber figure standing on his bed, Raphael advanced to Louis. He took Louis' hands in his and pulled him down to lie on the bed.

Louis was breathing harshly, his eyes half closed. Raphael studied the moon struck look of defeated, surrender of Louis' pale face. He closed his arms around Louis' body, breathing gently against Louis' face.

Raphael sunk his fangs in the pale, curve of Louis' throat, and drank the salt and sorrow of Louis' blood. He reached under Louis' sweater, pinching the nipple between his fingers.

Louis started to stiffen. Raphael's love making brought a flood of involuntary memories which saturated his mind and soul. He remembered being laid out flat. A slap. Screams held in. A comedy of horror so intense in its violence that it was too comic, To intense to be real. He remembered feeling like he was going insane. He remembered feeling lost, his memories of those he loved being taken away, then returned, only to be taken away again, then finally returned. He
remembered being frightened, angry, lonely, feeling used, and hopeless. He remembered a dark face licking at his struggling, angry body, holding him so tightly, he felt he couldn't breathe, that he'd never breathe again. Another, with dark hair, pressing him down, inside of him, fucking him till he felt two dimensional, like he was nothing, meant nothing to no one. He remembered the name, Santino. The conversation they had. The mockery of his voice when they talked about revenge and justice. Hunting and gathering.

Louis pulled himself away from Raphael. A steady stream of blood, as if his eyes were wounded, fell down his face. Sitting up, drawing his knees to his chest, burying his head in his arms, he said shakily, "What you did."

"Louis Blue. What did I do?" Raphael said urgently, afraid.

He couldn't get himself to say the exact word. "You hurt me. Why? You forced me. I begged you, pleaded with you, to leave me alone, and you forced me. Why?" Louis said softly.

"I didn't want to," Raphael lied, knowing in truth, he delighted in what he had done. He honestly said, "Louis Blue, I love you. It was wrong. It was a mistake. What we did. We loved you in our own way. After that night I knew it was wrong. I vowed never to hurt you again. Louis Blue, you know in the end we are all killers. You were so beautiful, so defiant, so unattainable. We revenged ourselves on you for your indifference of us by trying to tear you apart. To wound you. We couldn't. To the very end you were defiant."

"Was it just a game then? To see how much ugliness from the both of you that I could take? A game for you both?" Louis screamed in anguish, feeling like a fool, "Tell me it was nothing personal. Just keeping yourselves entertained. I loved you as a friend. You treated me like I was nothing to you, not a friend, not anything. I wasn't your enemy. I never hurt you. And you did this to me. Why? Give me some sort of reason!"

"I'm sorry," Raphael said, numbly, "I love you. I always loved you. I was drunk on the newness of my death and rebirth that night. Nothing was real to me that night, except for the fact that you were given to me to use. I felt that I deserved you for having died that night."

You both made me believe that Lestat was dead."

"To protect you from him. He went underground. He was as good as dead. If Lestat is so wonderful why are you here? Louis Blue, I'm sorry, forgive me."

"I was terrified," Louis cried out, "I was so alone. I thought I was going to be put to death that night. I didn't know how many more monsters Santino would force upon me. He enjoyed watching you force me. You enjoyed what you were doing to me."

"Louis Blue, please," Raphael said too afraid of his grief to touch him, "Listen to me. I'll never hurt you again."

"What you did to me," Louis cried out, shuddering. He reburied his head in his arms, not being able to look at Raphael, wanting to hide himself.

"What did he do ?" Came a voice from the doorway, "to you?"

Louis looked up from his arms, his face wounded with bloody tears.

"What did he do?" Lestat said coldly, his handsome, arrogant, face twisted in a ugly smile. He had let himself in looking for Louis. His eyes were a mob of fury and violence. Lestat was as tense as a man can be. Prepared to do anything to revenge Louis. "Tell me Louis. What did he do?"

Raphael looked wide eyed at Lestat standing dangerously still in the doorway. Raphael was so still he couldn't even hear him breathing, so still he couldn't hear a heart beat, but he could feel hate and anger radiating from Lestat like flames. The murderous fury beneath Lestat's icy exterior just waiting to be unleashed. He knew it would be a point of honor. That nothing but his death would satisfy Lestat for what he had done to Louis. Raphael looked away from the more powerful , wrathful Lestat. He looked at Louis and calmly, submissively waited for Louis to tell Lestat what he and Santino had done to him.

Louis took himself mentally away from the eyes upon him by locking himself away into thought. He sat on the bed ignoring the two. He was in shock. A part of him wanted to fling the truth about. To see blood being shed on his be half.

Violence, he thought, that's all what it boils down to. Claudia's attempted murder of Lestat. The vampires of the theatre murdering Madeline and Claudia for her crime. My revenge upon the vampires. Santino's revenge upon me. And now I suppose it's time for more violence. A sob broke from Louis' chest. Lestat almost leapt at the sound of Louis' sob on to Raphael. Lestat was never so ready to kill in all of his immortal or mortal life.

With one word, I decide how the future is going to go, Louis thought calmly, It's time to bury the dead. Bury Claudia. The vampires of the theatre. Enough of this violence. I'm sick of violence.

He looked at Raphael who was waiting for him to sentence him to death. I never loved him, or wanted him as a lover. But, he was my brother on the Devil's Road. With one word, I could cause a killing here tonight or save a life.

Louis' eyes widened upon Lestat. Louis said, "He did nothing." Louis started to shake. "Nothing, I need to leave now." Louis felt sick and dizzy.

"What do you mean he did nothing? Look at you. You're trembling, you're crying. Don't lie to me, Louis. Claudia all of that mess could have been avoided if you would have come clean on how much she hated me. How she was contemplating my murder."

"Non, please, don't throw the past in my face," Louis said, "I only knew of her intentions. I didn't know of her plans, just that she wanted to put you in your coffin. I didn't think she'd go through with it, I just dismissed her threats."

Louis," Lestat said, sitting beside him on the bed, putting his arm around Louis' shoulders, shaking him. "We can't keep making the same mistakes. Tell me the truth. Don't dismiss this, What ever happened it has to be dealt with." Lestat glared hungrily at Rapahel, "Dealt with now."

Louis swung himself off of the bed. "What he did is my business. It happened so long ago, I don't even remember it." Louis let the irony of his words hit Raphael. He couldn't even look at him, Louis said awkwardly, "I'm going, Thanks for letting me come over to talk."

Lestat took a hold of Louis' arm. "I'm seeing you back to my place,"

"Of course, Lestat," Louis said shakily, confused, just wanting to be taken away.

"You can't play the run away every time we have a disagreement. If you'd rather" Lestat stopped talking. His eyes were icy cold with rage, boring into Raphael's expressionless eyes, He tried to read Raphael's thoughts, but his shields were too strong. He felt cheated of a kill. He projected into Raphael's mind, I do not have any idea what happened. Just that you did something to hurt him. Do not ever attempt to see him again, if you do, that will be excuse enough to kill you.

Raphael sent a message to Lestat's mind, He came here of his own free will. He's always welcome back. But Raphael knew with a soul sinking plunge that Louis would never come back. Not with his remembering that night when he and Santino fatally abused him.

Lestat turned on Louis angrily, "Did I drive you to this? Being here? Are you here to spite me?"

"Oui," Louis said simply. He wanted to rage, throw things, erupt. His hands folded and unfolded into fists. He said throughout clinched teeth, shaking like he had a fever, "I want to go. Now. Please."

Louis let Lestat drive him numbly to his place. They didn't exchange a word in the car. Once they were inside of the enclave of Lestat's bedroom, Louis laid his head on Lestat's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Part 30

"Sorry for what? For not telling me what he did to you? Not going through with sleeping with David?" Lestat asked soothingly, his young man's face concerned, "Did he hurt you? How did he hurt you? Why?" Lestat asked, pressing the flat of his palm on Louis' cool forehead as if Louis had an illness that could be medicated away.

"If I wanted to tell you, I would have." Louis said, shaking Lestat's hand away, "He hurt me once."

"How?"

"It's over with," Louis said somberly, remembering that evening, then evenings before it, trying to come up with reasons why it happened to him. He thought to himself, I was raped because I had been uppity. I committed the crime of speaking out. Sticking up for myself. Arguing against Santino's authority. I was raped for taking revenge for Claudia's and Madeline's death, There's no mystery to all of this. The reasons are crystal clear. What is rape to Santino? A being who killed scores of his own race to control and purify his coven? Nothing. Rape was nothing but another means to control, subdue, and punish. He did what he felt I deserved. What knew was his right to do, being the stronger of the two of us. What is death to Lestat? He'll do what he feels Raphael deserves. Death. He shut his eyes, thinking, I want to run away, I want to hide. I never want to see anyone again.

He opened his stunned eyes barely able to see.

"Secrets, always secrets with you," Lestat said caustically.

"Is David here?" Louis asked shakily, ready to leave if he was.

"No, he flew home to attend to some business matters. Tell me what happened," Lestat demanded.

"Let it go," Louis said angrily, feeling burned, "I'm never going to be with David." Louis blurted out.

"That was my fault. I shouldn't have pressured you, Louis. You can tell me what happened between you and Rapahel when you're ready to," he said worriedly.

"I'm perfectly capable of picking my own lovers," Louis said. He shivered as if he was cold. "It's all right isn't it, for me to choose isn't it?"

Louis shook his head. The memories of it all vivid in his mind. I want to tell these memories to shut up. The voices, the terrors. I know I'm lucky to be alive. His first intent was to kill me. I want to tell the horror of it all, the horror of Paul's death and all of it, the horror up to this moment to shut up. I finally get to see it all in my mind, I can grieve now. Louis thought to himself.

"Who do you choose, Louis?" Lestat said earnestly, "You don't have to choose David. Do you want me to take you to San Francisco? To the concert?"

"Yes, " Louis said shakily, "I want to be alive with you. We are both of the flesh and the spirit world. I dwelled in shadows. Being a only a spirit. Shadow boxing too long. I, you give me a reason to go on, to be interested. To be alive. I'll break any rule you want me to break. I simply want to."

I want to, Lestat savored the words, that he heard Louis say. "When I first saw you I wanted to. I had to have you. Just had to Louis. I have to have David too. David doesn't want the Dark Gift from me. David's and my affair will be over once he dies," Lestat said sadly, not knowing the future and his impulsiveness would make a liar out of him. "Can you understand about David?"

Louis stared into space. Lestat's words didn't register. He was thinking of that night. He started to say fixedly over and over again, "Hush, hush, quiet, hush." He stared to compulsively rock back
and fourth as he sat on the bed.

He couldn't feel Lestat who hurriedly took his shaking form in to his arms. "What's the matter?" Lestat cried alarmed for them both.

Louis could smell the cologne on Lestat who pressed him close. He leaned away from Lestat, staring intensely at him. "It's not the end of the world, is it?" he whispered softly.

He pulled himself back to Lestat. I don't want to be alone. I want to be with you. I want the comfort of being close to you, to be loved by you tonight, he thought to himself, not saying the words out loud. He made a choice.

Slowly, he started to undress himself, with magical, deft, movements, "Do you choose me in all things, tonight?" Louis said softly.

"In all things I choose you," Lestat said watching the play of darkness on the paleness of Louis' slender self.

Such silent movements. Movements fitting to a prayer.

Lestat sat on the edge of the bed, silently watching. Finally he said, "You don't have to do this, I can just hold you tonight."

Louis reply was to kiss Lestat passionately on the lips. "I want to be with a lover tonight who chooses me, and who I choose back."

He sat himself naked on Lestat's lap, his back to him. Struggling with the fear inside of him. It was time to lie fears to the grave. Time to take down the graven fantasy of Prince Charming Lestat to the void. I want new memories to smother out the old memories, I want to dig graves for every thing done in the past, I can accept Lestat's weaknesses, and my own. I can love him for who he is and not who I wished he was, Louis thought to himself.

He would remain faithful to Lestat with all his heart for all of the evenings he lived. He knew fidelity was impossible for Lestat. Lestat's compulsive need for constant attention, to feel loved by all made it impossible. Louis understood, and as much as it would hurt him when Lestat strayed, as long as he felt he had the main part of Lestat's love, he could accept it all.

He wasn't a follower. He knew there would be moments he would become rebellious, causing Lestat to become confused and resentful. Causing him to bolt to another for comfort and understanding, till he became bored and returned to Louis for more.

"Lestat," he whispered. His eyes swept up wide in passionate arousal as Lestat pieced his throat.

Lestat suckled at the wound he made in Louis' flesh. He reached down between Louis' open legs, using his palm to rub and caress against Louis' cock and balls, playing gently then roughly pulling at the flesh. Lestat removed his fangs, letting the blood wash down Louis' diminutive nipples. The tickling feeling of flowing blood on Louis' chest, chilled and excited him both.

He leaned back against Lestat's chest. He could feel Lestat's hard, engorged cock straining inside his velvet pants. He got up from Lestat's lap and pulled his crushed, red, velvet pants down till they came clean off. He pulled open Lestat's legs, kneeling between them. He pressed his mouth to the vein in Lestat's inner thigh, breaking the flesh, taking demanding, thirsty, sucks as Lestat leaned over him to play with his fingers inside the crack of his ass.

Louis pulled out of Lestat's thigh, gasping when he felt Lestat's strong, flexing finger inside of him. He calmed himself down to allow Lestat to shove another finger inside of him. He felt deliciously dealt with. His trust for Lestat flaming on his face. He wanted someone to believe in. He stayed kneeling, rocking against the play and force of Lestat's hand caressing his hard nipples, undulating against Lestat's search of his thighs and cock, taking quick, fulsome breaths. Lestat's other hand was pushing and pulling his fingers through out his ass. The pressure of having Lestat inside of him was intoxicating. "I want you," he breathed to Lestat.

"Then get on your stomach, on the bed, cher, and I'll take you," whispered Lestat.

Louis did as Lestat ordered. His body shivered, then soothed out into frantic, little bouts of excitement as Lestat jelled him, pleasing him, fingering him to prepare him be fucked.

Louis cringed, knowing Santino had done this to him, without it being his choice, Without the savage, gentleness, or kindness that Lestat was using on him. Santino's acts upon his body was meant to use rape as a means of punishment for crimes he clearly committed. That's what devils do--they punish.

This was not punishment. This was choice. This was what he wanted. Let fate use him as he deserved to be used for what he chose to do.

Louis jerked with wondrous happiness at the pressure inside of him as Lestat's cock entered him. He could feel himself stretch. His muscles trying to convulsively push the foreign object out of himself as Lestat pushed himself completely inside. He grinded his hard, throbbing cock through out him. Lestat flexed his hard, muscular, perfect ass repetitively, shoving himself with waves of motions in Louis' responsive body.

Lestat felt utterly masculine. His soul bubbled at the hilarity of it all, to have his proper fledging dancing under the demands of his hungry cock was just too surreal.

He gasped, jerked, and spasmed inside of Louis. He quickly withdrew, opening Louis' legs wide to expose Louis' opening. He lapped at the bloody mess he had made of Louis. Louis squirmed with delight, trying to keep his cries muted as Lestat kept entering him and reentering him with his pointed, teasing, lapping tongue.

Lestat reared up and drank blood from his throat. Louis felt the suck and tug of his blood escaping into Lestat's mouth, he whispered quietly, "Take this from me. Make it last."

Turning Louis over to face him, Lestat mounted him. He rubbed his body, his hard cock against his parted thighs, caressing and fondling Louis' cock with his hand till Louis doubled up in a lost to this world orgasm.

Later, he lay quietly, breathing hard within Lestat's arms.

"Welcome back," Lestat said simply, "To stay?" He asked mussing up Louis' hair.

"Till the end of all my nights and more," Louis mused blissfully. He didn't consider himself to be Lestat's. Or Lestat to be his. They were together because they wanted to be together for the moment. Love kept them together even in moments they would be kept apart from each other.

Lestat sighed, thinking, The hilarity of it all. To feel so helpless and needful in Louis' arms. To know how much my happiness depends on him.

Louis sill had a canker in his heart from Santino's and Raphael's ugly treatment of himself.

But here, at a time when Lestat was on the brink of war with all the covens, he, he, Louis made a bid for peace. Let devils punish each other with lynchings, murders, torture, rape all that. My world, a vampire's world has no laws, no real rules. Rules are written to be broken. Vampires address grievances with killings. I will have no killings done for my sake. I refuse to be anyone's cause.

Louis knew Raphael was influenced by his newness to the dark gift to commit the act he did.

He was tired of revenge, of death. The ricochet effect of revenge, I kill you, your friend kills me, and my friend kills your friend. Sick of it.

The ricochet violence of his past was put to rest by one vampire, Louis, himself.

The ghost of his violent past though did not choose to stay in its coffin and grave long.

Part 31

The next evening when they woke, Louis laid his cool face on Lestat's cock, enjoying the rigid, smoothness of it. The ivory coldness, he brushed it with his lips. He whispered, "You are mine. My woman, my man, even my child. You are my immortal, beloved. We, you and I are all these things to one another. Get out of this bed, my beloved. You like to be on display. Let me see you with my vampire eyes."

Slowly tearing himself from Louis, Lestat stood in the vaporous candle light. Taking him in with his eyes, Louis could find nothing but perfection in Lestat. His long, muscular legs, ending with his curved, shapely ass, his tapering waist, the flatness of his abdomen, his broad chest, and strong shoulders. He was everything he wanted. Louis opened the drawer where Lestat kept the gel.

"Louis, don't open that," Lestat gasped, striding over to shut the drawer.

Before he could, Louis pulled out a dildo, a fake, plastic penis. He swiped at a strand of hair hanging in his face. "Where does this exactly go?" he asked bemused.

"David," Lestat said shortly, shutting the drawer, "It goes in to David." He shook the hair out of his face. "He likes it."

"Does he?" Louis said, digging in the drawer despite Lestat's squealing protests, pulling out a vibrator. "And what else to we have here?" He pulled out a riding whip too. He made a look of distaste.

"All for David," Lestat said.

"Come here," Louis ordered.

Lestat had to smile at the command in Louis' voice. He slipped under the cool sheet next to Louis.

"Amazing," Louis said, switching on the vibrator, applying it to Lestat's nipple. Lestat laid back, his skin in tingling, in pleasant shock at the electric sensation against his hardening flesh.

"Mmmm," mused Louis, trailing it between Lestat's legs, to rest on his tensing up balls.

Lestat murmured, "Oui." The stroke and shake on his flesh tormenting him. He stained and gasped against the vibrating touches being firmly, then lightly applied to him. He felt dizzy, heating up to the playful directness of Louis' teasing.

"Do you like that?" Louis purred,

"Oui," Lestat gasped, undulating at the tortuous pleasure it gave him.

"Is this better?" Louis asked, breaking the skin of Lestat's nipple roughly with his fangs, drawing in his blood with a sweeping motion,

"Yes, yes, better," gasped Lestat, tugging at Louis' hair, "Much better. Please Louis."" He felt submissively on fire, his blood draining in Louis' commanding, tough suck of him.

Louis released him. His emerald eyes a fire lit. "And this?" He scooped his face down to lick and tease Lestat's balls. Nibbling them lightly, tugging at them with the hot hunger of his mouth.

"Oui, Louis, that feels so good," Lestat cried.

Louis trailed his tongue up from Lestat's balls to his abdomen, enjoying the effect it was having on Lestat's trembling flesh. He pressed his tongue against the hard muscles underneath Lestat's smooth flesh. His mouth pounced on Lestat's abdomen, piercing it with his fangs, giving it a hard suck. Lestat gasped, his body jerking under Louis' mouth. Louis released him, licking the wound. He stared up at Lestat. "Delious. I can have seconds? Right?"

"Oui," Lestat said shakily, "Help yourself."

Louis broke the skin of Lestat's abdomen slowly this time, inching his fangs inside of him. The tugs and jerks of Lestat's flesh was a banquet of arousal, as he slowly withdrew blood. He released the flesh, and said with his blood kissed mouth, "Was that better?"

"Yes, better Louis, better," whimpered Lestat, arching his back and ass up with rapture, rearing his head back as Louis penetrated him with his long, graceful, artist's finger.

"Pain. Do you like that? Do you like pain? The whip?" Louis asked.

"Louis?" Lestat whispered.

Giving Lestat a quick slap on the face, Louis smiled. He couldn't help but feel irritated that Lestat had these toys, and that had used them on David. He knew he wasn't being fair. But, he couldn't help how he felt. Lestat put his hand to the sting of his face.

"Like that? Do you like that?" Louis asked, removing Lestat's hand from his face, kissing the open palm of his hand. Lestat's face burned; Louis anointed it with a kiss.

"Do you want to be whipped?" Louis asked, taking the riding whip in hand.

"Perhaps," Lestat said, looking away, losing his breath at the surprising force of the whip hitting his chest. Louis gave a low laugh, licking the trail of dripping blood.

"No pain, please," whispered Lestat.

"Enough pain," Louis agreed.

"The dildo, this plastic penis? Like this?" he asked, pointing it at Lestat, "Or would you rather?"

"I'd much rather," gasped Lestat, watching Louis drop the object.

"Lestat," Louis said, "Leave for David all the plastic he wants. As for me. I want nothing but your flesh, your blood, your soul, your heart, your very self. The bones of you. Leave for David everything else."

Louis felt sad for Lestat, knowing that David preferred the plastic penis, and toys to Lestat's hard cold hands, and vampire cock. That David had no desire for Lestat's cold, vampire crack.

"Oui, Louis," Lestat moaned, as Louis parted his thighs. Lestat gave a quick, rasping call of pain as he felt Louis' huge, thick cock penetrating him.

"Is this better?"

"Yes, Louis," he wept, his skin a soft, rainfall of moistening blood sweat.

Louis caressed Lestat's shoulder, pushing his cock roughly inside of Lestat, causing Lestat to give a small cry of hurt. Louis roughly possessed Lestat's strong body, rocking against him with hard, aggressive strokes. The yank and pull of Lestat's small opening squeezing his cock wonderfully firmly drove him pleasantly out of his mind. He loved to watch Lestat withering against him, the intense look of need and want on Lestat's face. He pressed Lestat's quivering body against his. He drew his long fingers against Lestat's cock, fingering, playing, then gripping it hard, massaging it firmly.

Roughly biting into Lestat's straining neck he let the blood pour into the opening of his mouth. Pulling up Lestat's silky shirt that he still had on, he let his fingers roam and explore the bare flesh hiding under the smooth, cool fabric. Then he gloved Lestat's erection. He gasped, bucking against Lestat, creaming his load inside of the hard, moist, hold of him. Lestat jerked and quickened, pouring cum into Louis' hand.

"The taste of you." Louis licked at Lestat's bleeding neck.

"What do I taste like?" Lestat whispered, his body ebbing in and out with a gentle after glow of sexual sensations satisfied.

"Like fine, dry, red wine. You taste like love would taste like if it had a taste. Love tastes of cool, firm, pale flesh, hot cum and poured out blood. You taste like the taste of a brisk, cold breeze before a snow storm. You taste like blood. Wonderful, power, salty, burning on my tongue, blood," Louis teased. "Tell me. Do you like gimmicks and bells?"

"David likes them," Lestat sighed, taking Louis in his arms, climbing on top of him. "Man, woman, or child. We are neither, Are we? Neither submissive or dominant. You and I?"

"We'll always be equal," Louis soothed, playing with Lestat's hair. "Adults."

" I would like you to be submissive most of the time," Lestat said, placing his head on Louis' shoulder, "Be a victim, a victim of mine, that I hold as you die a death both short and sweet, no room for bitterness or regret. Be my song. A song we can both sing along to in harmony. At times, be my rage that I can't handle, a rage I can't keep still. Be still be the quiet, in the silent moments when I want no words between us, when I just want to stare and lose myself in the
green, cool forest of your eyes. Be my laughter that I can't hold in that bubbles and dances about. Be my tears that I can't hold in, tears that run away down my face, no, never be my tears, never run away. Be mine forever, the drops of sand in hour glasses, let us walk in that sand hand in hand forever, for all eternity. Be my sun that sets, taking me to lie with you. Be my moon that rises, taking me to wake with you. Be mine in all things. Blood that combines forever."

"We'll take turns being submissive. This night. I am yours," Louis whispered.

"Curse any night that you're not mine."

Louis brushed his lips to his soft, waves of blond hair, that always appeared to be blessed by sunlight's lumination. He couldn't answer.

"David and I, we haven't been together for a long time," Lestat swallowed.

Because he doesn't love you my poor Lestat. Louis thought to himself. He had taken the liberty of observing David and Lestat together when he had been first been introduced to David that night before the night Lestat tried to slip him in to David's bed. David was not attracted sexually to Lestat's body or to his personality. He wasn't attracted to Louis either really. He had been only been curious about looking at Louis' body, tasting his blood, foundling him, more for Lestat's benefit than his own. The initual attraction that caused David and Lestat to try these toys, faded for David. David, in truth, preferred for a partner, another human being. A mature human being that he could relate to as an equal. Even if Lestat was a human being, Louis knew David wouldn't want him above all others. Louis thought to himself, He loves you as a beloved, unruly, rebellious child. You're the child he never had. A child to guide, influence, share his mature wisdom with. To share with his stories about himself of his past, and to share his insights with. All of this--the toys, your passion, he does not want. You're the lover, he doesn't yearn for. Your the child who he want to only befriend. He did this only to keep you as a friend. Poor Lestat, too old for Marius's tastes, too young for David's tastes. You'll always be David's "dear boy", but never his love above all others. Always just a friend.

"Shh," Louis said, out loud. "It's all right. I don't care what you and David do. I love you."

"You should care." Lestat laughed, feeling a little resentful. "What ever Raphael did to you, I care about that."

"It's been forgotten," Louis said, jumping out from the bed, grabbing at his clothes, "Take me out, I want to go out."

He had forgiven Raphael. As for Santino, he had nothing but contempt for him. Santino was nothing but a force of evil destruction without feelings. Dead to him. That was all Santino was to him, dead to him and he hoped the world. He know could remember it all. Even Juan and his coven of gypsy, rogue, vampires that had to leave Rome out of fear of Santino.

Part 32

They left Lestat's place, spending the evening clubbing and dancing. Lestat couldn't take his hands off of a suddenly bashful Louis.

They discreetly picked anonymous women from the crowd to dance with. But, their moist eyes let each other know that they were dancing only for each other.

Is there people about us? Louis though to himself. Is there anyone but us in this room?

They were surrounded by a sea of mortals, dancing, laughing, jumping, and flirting about. The noise of humanity having a good time bounced and leaped off the walls, mixed in with the pulse and beat of the music blaring about loud and boldly. Louis didn't notice the mortals. He barely heard the music. All he cared about was that he was with Lestat.

Later, they went to an abandoned park. It was so quiet. You could hear the rustle of leaves. So quiet you could hear the beat of your partner's heart. You could hear the evening's breezes whisper to the nodding silence of the fairest moon, glowing in the black silk cloth of a caressing night. The stars pin points of singular brilliance. They talked, made dreams. Lestat took Louis by the hand and waist and slowly danced with him, unseen by mortal and immortal eyes. They sang
as many songs as they could remember softly to each other.

Louis laid his head on Lestat's broad shoulder, and with the in and out tremor of his smoothed out voice, which sounded of star dust, satin, and intimate whispers, hitting the high notes with clarity, he sang an old Blue's song for Lestat:

"Living for you, is easy living,
It's easy to live
When you're in love and I'm so
in love, there's nothing in life but you.
I never regret the years,
I'm giving
They're easy to give
When you're in love.
I'm happy to do what ever I do, for you.
Maybe I'm a fool, but it's fun.
People say you rule me with one wave of your hand.
Darling, it's grand.
They just don't understand.
Living for you is easy living, it's easy to live
When you're in love, and I'm so in love
There's nothing in life but you."

Lestat rewarded Louis' song with a passionate kiss, which was so much more rewarding to Louis than the applause he had enjoyed so long ago on stage.

They walked back to Lestat's place after a successful hunt.

"My band is still out on the town," laughed Lestat as he unlocked the door, letting Louis in.

Louis looked tired. Dawn was so close. Lestat grinned, helping him up the stairs to his bedroom. He pulled back the blankets, after stripping a sleepy Louis, and slid him under the covers and sheet. He stripped himself, and slid into the bed next to Louis.

"Do you love me?" Lestat asked a nodding off Louis, half teasing, half serious.

"Oui," Louis said sleepily,

"Why?" Lestat said.

"Why not? I love you freely. We're free to leave, free to stay, Together or not, I'll always love you. You're not to use that whip that you use on David on me. I'm not your slave, or your submissive. You can't label me. Assign me a role to play in your life. I'm simply myself."

Louis put his arm to his eyes, trying to refuse to cry except in privacy. His eyes bit back the blood tears that threatened to come out. He suddenly was hit by a wave of sadness, remembering how it felt when he had been a slave that Santino kept. His slender chest started to shake and weep. He couldn't stop it.

"Louis, please tell me what happened," Lestat implored, "I can help."

It's too late for help, Louis thought sorrowfully to himself, You can't help. I have to surmount this. Deal with this. Finish it by myself. And go on with my life.

"Nothing, nothing, nothing," Louis breathed, making himself calm down. "Never, please Lestat, I'll volunteer this information some night. Not now. This isn't the evening for it. Please, it happened in the past. I refuse to make it part of our future together. It doesn't belong in our future together."

Lestat thought to himself, I hate that you can't tell me the truth about what happened. You act so tough. You shouldn't have to be so tough.

He cravenly wished that Louis truly was weak. He damned Louis for his independence. He wished he could be clinging, manageable, helpless, but then he wouldn't be Louis. He decided to back off and wait for Louis to disclose what happened. Louis never would.

Before Louis could nod off, Lestat pushed and forced himself inside of him. Louis gasped and stiffened, barely being able to breathe in Lestat's arms closed tightly around him. Louis bit his lip in exquisite, mind absorbing, pain. He relaxed, feeling simply exquisite, wanted and wanting.

"Sorry Louis," Lestat whispered in his ear, "But, I insist I have to be the dominant one, at least in bed. At least most of the time in our bed. I would never hurt you, but I need control. Submit yourself at least to this, if nothing else."

"Fine," Louis choked, "Loosen your grip, please. Think that you have control. But once in a while, I'm on top."

Lestat loosened his hug. Louis slipped into sleep.

Lestat stared at him sleeping under him. He knew Louis was oblivious to his surrounds, So he whispered, "Louis, I." He couldn't finish his sentence, the words had too much worth to them to say out loud, to expose. He laid his head on Louis' shoulder, His cock still gloved inside of Louis' body. He simply said, "I do, I do, Louis, please believe me, and I always will."

Lestat stared out into space, thinking, But, Louis, you make it so hard, I do, I do, and I will, I will forever, but I wish you could confide in me. You're choosing to protect another over putting your trust in me. Trust me. Let me help you. Do what ever it takes to help you. There shouldn't be one sad thought in your head. You make me feel like there is no control in our lives together, only unpleasant surprises around the corner. He sighed, his breath mingling in between the strands of Louis' heavy, thick hair, and he waited for death sleep to claim him for yet another day.

part 33

Louis woke up the next evening with Lestat on top of him. The haunting feelings of being smothered over swept him.

"Get off of me. Please," he said hoarsely.

"What's a matter, Louis?" Lestat grinned, "Don't you want me on top?" He kissed Louis' gasping mouth.

"Non, just please, for a moment." Sweat broke out on Louis' forehead, singling to Lestat to press his lips to Louis' red stained hair,

"Please, for a moment," Louis gasped, panicking, feeling like a scream was working its way from his lungs to his lips. All he could think about was the claustrophobia of having Sanitino's hand pressed hard against his lips as he helped himself to his body, forcing himself inside of him without mercy.

Lestat slid his lips to Louis' jugular vein. "Shh," he whispered against Louis' flesh, as he cut into him.

Louis relaxed against his naked body, flesh to flesh, self to self, rocking against him. So drained, he thought, I want to be lost in you, as I lose my blood to you. Lost in you.

Lestat felt himself quickening right down to his soul, the remarkable, sweet satisfaction of having Louis' blood going to his head like a wand making magic.

He held his wrist to Louis' thirsting mouth who broke the flesh into pieces.

"Ahh, Lestat," he cried, watching Lestat's blood flow and run down his arm. He drove his tongue up along the thin river of blood running against the pale hard, flesh of his arm. The scent of it, to taste, to feel, to touch, all this red, wet, madness. He drank the rich, robust flavor of his lover into his mind, body, and self. The rock of it sending him spiraling.

Later he laid his face against Lestat's.

"Tell me now, " Lestat said gently, playing with Louis' lips with his forefinger. "Why so frightened?"

"You know I can't stand being in closed places. You frightened me, You made me feel trapped," Louis lied, "Why ask a question when you already have the answer?"

He closed his eyes concentrating on the string selection in Beethoven's fifth that Lestat was kind enough to put on the stereo.

"Sorry, I upset you, Cher," Lestat said solemnly, "Perhaps I shouldn't have started what I did?"

"What you did," Louis said, rising up to greet Lestat's mouth, "Was wonderful." He put the flat of his hand to Lestat's chest, "Wonderful," he whispered, "and what I wanted."

Lestat grinned and kissed Louis' hand. He suddenly changed from being thoughtful to being excited. "Tomorrow night Louis, we go to San Francisco. Then," he pressed his forehead to Louis', his body shaking with joyous anticipation. "Then I'm going on stage," he thrilled.

Louis turned his head from Lestat's, hearing a commotion of heavy, mortal feet and low masculine, boisterous voices, accompanied by a shrill, carefree, feminine voice.

"That's my band," Lestat said proudly, reaching over to where Louis' jeans were lying on the floor, tossing them hard against Louis' bare chest. "Come on, get dressed. I have to introduce you to your new friends." Lestat grabbed Louis' sweater, straddling him, pulling it over his head.

"I can dress myself," protested Louis, weak laughter under lying his voice.

"But this is so much more fun," Lestat grinned, mussing up Louis' hair, brushing Louis' open mouth with his lips, "You're not scared of meeting them? Are you? Are you? Come on!" he teased, pushing his hands up Louis' sweater, tickling him under his ribs.

"Stop," gasped Louis, struggling to get out from under Lestat's tickling fingers.

Lestat pulled his hands out and lovingly, embraced Louis. "Come on, you. Let's go down stairs."

Louis wished he could hesitate, but Lestat left no opportunity for it.

Lestat took off an extra pair of sun glasses from his dresser. He placed them over Louis' eyes. "There, Cher," he sad, softly kissing his pale cheek. "We don't want them falling in love with your vampire eyes." Lestat slipped his sunglasses over his own eyes.

"My hands," Louis said quickly, looking at his luminous nails.

"Keep them in your pockets, Louis," laughed Lestat, lightly hitting him on the head with a pillow. "Look at my nails, Louis." Lestat held out his hands. All ten nails were painted a vibrant black, "Lovely, huh?" he laughed, "You'll have to learn Cher how to live with mortals now."

"Live with them," Louis said woodenly, remembering how Lestat tried to pressure him into letting David taste him as if he was candy to be passed around. Louis shook his head at the memory. Damn, he thought to himself.

Lestat grabbed Louis by the hand, and pulled him off the bed. "Stand right there," he ordered, getting himself dressed hurriedly,

"I'd rather sit," Louis said. He wondered how Raphael was doing. He sank to the top of the mattress.

"Come on," Lestat said impatiently, A huge, beaming grin on his face, putting his arm around Louis' shoulders, "They're going to love having you around."

Oh sure, they're going to love having another blood sucking bastard in their midst. If only they knew, Louis thought to himself, amused.

The children of the rock band Satan's Night Out was busy in the kitchen, rolling hashish cigarettes. Alex was busy cutting a gram of cocaine on a mirror with a razor blade. He cut the white powder into thin lines. He rolled up a dollar bill, applied it up his nose and snorted a line. Larry snickered, "Hey man, I'm getting the next line."

"Fuck you," whispered Alex, taking another healthy hit. "I bought the stuff, Get your own bag."

"Now, boys," Touch Cookie grinned, laughing in her silk shirt and skin tight jeans, her full breasts slipping and sliding against the silk, "Behave!" she slipped her hand on to Alex's thigh. "Give me a hit, baby," she cooed.

"Fuck you," he growled, "Hell woman, you just got done doing lines of speed. Fuck off."

"I want more," she said petulantly, "I want some coke now, don't be such a greedy mother fucker. You're so mean. Come on Alex," she crooned, pressing her hand against his back pocket to get at his stash.

He spun around and smacked her on the lips with a hard kiss, "Fine woman." His head was intense with a visionary, intense high. "Give it up later, and you can partake," he laughed, hugging her close.

"Mind blower," she laughed.

"What about me?" Larry whined, "Shit you fairy, I'll pay you back later."

Lestat made a soft sound in his throat as he entered the room with Louis.

"Hey, Les, Boss Man" Larry said, with deceptive calmness, "Want some nose candy?" His stare at Louis was frank with appraisal and distaste. "Alex will share with you I'm sure. Order him to give me a hit."

Louis looked away, not knowing for sure how to act. He felt rather awkward and out of place, being sized up by mortals.

"This is Louis," Lestat said in a significant tone.

"Hey, like that pretend dude in "Interview" cool," Alex said appraising Louis also. "You look like the junkie type, skin and bones. You wanna hit? Beings you're so popular with the Big Man,
Lestat, here," he glanced at Lestat, "I wouldn't mind sharing some coke with you."

"Non, thank you," Louis said politely, "I would prefer not to, if you please."

"Hey, another Frenchie," laughed Tough Cookie, "Cool, I love that sexy accent."

Lestat found himself tightening his hold around Louis' shoulders.

How about a slice of pizza," thrilled Tough Cookie, taking a slice from a white, tomato stained box. "Mushroom, olive, pepperoni, and onions!" She laughed, "With extra cheese." She held it out dangerously close under Louis' nose.

Louis held his breath. He never smelled anything so nauseatingly greasy. He shut his eyes at the melted, slimy cheese, and the gleaming oil swimming on top of it. "Non," he cried, his stomach threatening to hurl the contents of blood inside of him onto the floor, "Non, thank you," he pushed away the slice as gently as he could. "I plan on eating later."

"So have a beer," Larry said, handing Louis an icy cold can.

"Thank you," Louis said, holding the open can in his hand.

"A fucking journalist from "Time Magazine" wanted to interview you. Talking about interviews," Alex smirked at Louis. Louis returned his smirk with a thin smile. "I covered for you and did it myself. He still wants to talk to you, man, but he only wants to interview you in the day time. You're not the only rock star out there you know?"

"I can only do it in the evening, Tell him, if you please, then set it up."

"Fuck, Lestat," Alex cried out, smashing his fist angrily against the table. "This is fucking bullshit, man, after this concert you got to start coming out!" He threw his hands out wide, "Out baby, in to the sunshine. You've got to start selling yourself, MTV, man, wants to set up an interview. "Play Boy" wants to interview you. Hell, Hugh Hefner wants us to be referees for a "Beach Baby Volley Ball Game," Les. Think of it "Playboy" models bumping, bouncing, grinding around, playing volley ball. Whoo!" he yelped, making grabbing motions with his hands. "Topless, Les, topless! Sun, sand, bare assed, bouncing, titties. Who could ask for more!"

Louis sighed, staring at fixed, at the ceiling, nibbling on his bottom lip. Inwardly wanting to grin. Amused at Lestat being put on the spot by a mere human.

"Only engagements at night, remember?" Lestat said coolly. "Only at night. I am the Vampire Lestat, remember?"

"Ya, right," Larry laughed, "look at me. I'm a vampire." He grabbed Tough Cookie and nibbled her neck, she shook merrily against him.

"Stop, stop!" she giggled, "Ohhh. Ohhh, Ohh," She pretended to orgasm, "don't stop, don't stop, Ohhh, Ohhh, drink me vampire. Fuck me, fuck me dead!," she shrilled.

Louis couldn't stand it. He looked away pained. Lestat saw his discomfort.

"Come on Louis," he said softly, taking the beer from Louis' hand, placing it on the table, "lets go out."

Part 34

He started to head for the door with Louis when Alex hurriedly grabbed Louis by the arm. "Where are you guys going?" he demanded.

Lestat stared at the hand on Louis' arm. The mortal's hand felt warm and peculiar against Louis' sweater. He shook it off gently.

"Not that it's anybody's business, but were going to Club 59," Lestat said.

"Hold it," Tough Cookie worried. "A lot of paparazzi go there."

"So," Lestat said impatiently.

"Tough Cookie call one of your girl friends to be a date for Louis here." Alex said, going back to his mirror with lines of cocaine, rubbing some on his gums. "You can be Lestat's date."

"We don't need dates," Lestat said tersely, "I'm his date already."

Alex looked at them both owlishly, "No good. Uh, Uh. Lestat we have to talk."

Lestat's reply was a shut door.

"I don't feel very approved of," Louis laughed, pulling his hands out of his pockets. He didn't like putting his hands in his pockets. He felt it wasn't a graceful thing to do. One more little fall from
grace, he thought to himself.

"They're worried about our image," Lestat said mockingly, "They never used to be like this. When I first met them they were innocent and sweet," he sighed, "Now they're all hopped up with coke, speed, pot, booze. Worse, they're paranoid about their fame. Fame that is banked on me. They're afraid all this will disappear. The fans, the paparazzi, the groupies, their complementary drugs. The money. Especially the money."

"Performers," murmured Louis.

"I, Louis, for your information, I am an artist."

"Yes," he said softly, believing it with all his heart, "You're an artist."

"Not a writer, not yet. I plan on writing my autobiography. I tore up my copy of "Interview" you know. It was such a farce. I'll never let you touch a pen again. You're not good at it Cher, except to make miserable fiction."

"It was just a point of view," Louis shrugged his shoulders, stopping in his tracks. He glanced up at the sky. "They don't want us to be perceived as a couple do they? I don't want to be a problem for you and your band, not so close to your concert. They find me threatening. Beings, they don't want us to go out. Should we stay in?"

Louis gave Lestat a half smile, thinking to himself, I don't want to go back into that madhouse with those insane mortals, with their hot, heavy, drug laced breath, and their greasy, grubby, grabby hands. And their scornful, judgmental eyes. He said out loud softly for Lestat's sake. "We can go back in."

"Non," Lestat said briskly, leading Louis to the garage, hitting the intercom button, "The Hell with what they want. We're celebrating tonight, I want to show you off, Cher," he laughed, feeling a burning, shameless, satisfaction at having his arm draped around Louis' slender waist. "They'll have to live with the fact that you're my lover, and I'll be seen with you. But, Louis we probably should be discreet in public. Do you understand, Cher?"

"Of course," laughed Louis, "No grabbing, touching, kissing, tearing off our clothes, and doing it in front of your worshipping public. I can handle that. Mustn't break your fans hearts."

"No we mustn't," grinned Lestat.

He talked into the intercom, "We're going out, Rick. We want to take the limo." He made a face at Louis. "Part of the trails and tribulations of being a super star. You need a body guard." He shut off the intercom.

"A vampire needing a mortal body guard against mortals," Louis said bemused, a taste of irony in his voice. "We didn't need one last night."

"The club we are going to tonight is not a small one, this one is a large, popular one where stars like yours truly, go to be seen," Lestat laughed, "Beside, Beautiful One, I can't exactly rip a too enthusiastic fan apart with my bare fangs can I?" He teasingly exposed his magnificent fangs at Louis. "I can't drain in public a rowdy heckler? Now can I?" He growled at Louis teasingly, grabbing at him.

Louis laughed, pressing himself against Lestat, throwing his head back, his neck arched forward sexily, invitingly to Lestat.

Lestat nuzzled his throat with his lips.

"Sir," Rick said, a forty year old man with a grizzled chin and a bald head. He had come up the walk after being summoned from the main house. He was solidly built. He was a ex heavy weight boxer. He looked at the two lovers, with no expression on his face.

"We're going out to Club 59," Lestat said smartly. Rick opened the back door of the silver limo. Louis slid in first, sinking into the soft, combed leather of the expensive upholstery. He laid his head on Lestat's shoulder. This is all so much, he marveled to himself, feeling slightly ill. This is all so much, he had to pause to think up the words, So much mortal glamour, excess, it's garish. Hilarious, pathetically ridiculous. He sighed, wishing with all his heart he could stifle the disapproval he felt. It was all too much, too opulent he thought to himself.

"Lost in dreams?" Lestat teased, as the limo snaked through the streets, like a long, graceful ghost. "I'm going to make all your dreams come true, Beautiful One." He cupped Louis' chin, and nestled his lips on Louis' mouth.

Louis sighed. "You will, you have," he lied, feeling consumed and buried by too much, heaped upon too much, too fast. He missed the twilight silence, the contemplativenessof his immortal life. "I love you, Lestat," he breathed in his ear, Lestat's long hair tickling his face. "I do."

The limo stopped at the night club. The music was canned and loud. Despite his misgivings, Louis was surprised to find excitement and happiness welling up inside of him.

Lestat grinned at Louis' sudden out burst of exuberance. "Glad we came, Cher?" he asked.

"Oui," Louis breathed, honestly.

Rick opened the door for the two. Lestat grabbed Louis' hand and pulled him out of the limo.

There was a long line of wanna be's and wisha be's, standing in line to get in. Louis laughed softy under his breath. They were all dressed so outlandishly. heavy gold plated jewelry, glitter, brocade, velvet pants, silks, boots, all colors of the rain bow were represented in the clothing of the people in the crowd, boas, skirts clinging to thighs, jeans that didn't allow breathing, braless breasts ending with pointy, dainty nipples. They smelled of soap, shampoo, and deodorant. They smelled Louis thought wistfully of thick, delicious, wonderful blood. He could hear the heart beats contained in all those mortal bodies, the flowing of their blood pushing through veins and capillaries. He felt a surge of hunger that threatened to knock him off his feet. He stared fixated at the mortals standing in line, wishing he could be dismissive of his hunger.

Lestat pulled him along to the head of the line. "It's me, Lestat," said his partner proudly.

"Lestat," thrilled some in the crowd. "Autograph, autograph," chanted and cheered voices.

Lestat cheerfully in love with his fame and fans, signed slips of paper presented to him and kissed some girls. Rick hovered near by protectively.

Lestat felt so ecstatic, so loved, that he couldn't help but lean over to kiss Louis. Louis' eyes widened in humorous, mock alarm. He shyed away from Lestat's approach. Lestat ducked his head, laughing sheepishly, remembering what he told Louis about discretion They gave each other a look filled with significance and pride for one another.

Louis was a agog with how decadent it all was. Paparazzi holding cameras yelling at Lestat to look up. Lestat gave his most wonderful grin, posing like the star that he was. The lights from cameras flashed into the night. How amazing, Louis thought to himself, All this shattering of the rules, as if the rules had been written on glass just waiting to be shattered. Here we are not only getting our pictures taken over and over again, but to be put in to magazines. Lestat is signing his name, giving over his written name! The name that is forbidden to mortals. It made Louis feel rather deliously guilty to break all these rules.

"Hell, Louis," Lestat whispered amongst the flashing lights of the cameras. He smacked Louis playfully on the shoulder.

Louis laughed, rubbing his shoulder, teasingly. Before Lestat could forget himself and pounce and embrace him for all eyes to see, he turned sharply on his heel.

They hurried into the darkness of the club. Electric lights shown on the dance floor just enough for there to be a little light in the blackness. A disco ball swirled above them, The crowd appeared to be easy, and relaxed, but that was just for show. People mulled about with subdued frantic motions, sending glances here and there looking for "some bodies", looking to hook up with a temporary lover for a one night stand, looking to score some drugs. Every one in the crowd hoped that someone was noticing them, would approve of them, and might approach them for fun, for the purpose of having a rip roaring good time of sex, drugs, and partying. At Lestat's request, Rick left with the limo. Lestat told him he would call him on the cell phone when he was needed.

The tied up tenseness of the room throbbed through out Louis' and Lestat's nerves. They were pumped and primed to enjoy themselves. "I wanted to kiss you out there," Lestat said ruefully, "Let the world in on our secret, that I'm the one who kisses you. I wanted to. You know I do."

"It's enough knowing that you want to," Louis said soothingly.

Lestat's eyes shined wetly at Louis. "Thank you for understanding, Cher."

"It's nobodies business what we do, but our own," Louis said, watching the crowd, fascinated with the mortals, catching his breath in surprise at Lestat's hand being under his chin, turning his head to face him, tilting his head back, parting his lips with the pleasant intrude of his tongue. His kiss was warm and hard against his mouth.

He closed his eyes returning Lestat's kiss. "What about being discreet?" he said his mouth pressed against Lestat's as he said the words.

"Your right, Cher," Lestat laughed, putting his hands on Louis' chest and teasingly shoving him away.

Louis looked about the darkness. He felt a tingling sensation going up through his spinal cord, his senses alerting him to the danger in the room. Rogue vampires, he thought. He could feel their presence, but couldn't see them. He looked for them in the darkness.

Part 35

Louis tensed taking Lestat's hand in his. The electric lights of the club reflecting from
his eyes.

"Be calm, Beautiful One. Why are they here?" wondered Lestat. "This isn't a vampire bar."

"They're here probably looking for victims," Louis whispered back, nervously.

"Louis Blue," said a blond haired, insolent, fresh, fledgling, in a voice too low for mortals to hear. "I thought you were one of us. I thought you understood about the rules. About the importance of keeping our society secret. So, your real name is Louis Pointe Du Lac."

"You're a murderer like your lover the imp, Armand," whispered a female rogue, her face a fresh, pale, newly dead one. "It's said that you kill fledglings like ourselves."

"What gives you Ancients the right to kill us?" asked a young male, a fresh killed and resurrected vampire, "Why? You should love us. We're vampires like yourselves."

"We just want to live our anonymous lives in peace," whispered a voice from the crowd, "is that too much to ask for?"

"Another voice whispered, "Your vanity is going to turn the wheels of war between us and mortals."

"How can makers make us, and then abandon us like, like a new born baby a careless mother tosses in a dumpster? A child you force out into the darkness of the streets?" A rich blood tear appeared out of the corner of a rogue vampire's eye. "My maker, Louis Blue, you were there the night he abandoned me. I was but four years dead. Why? Why do ancients give us the Dark Gift only to abandon us with no knowledge of who we are?"

"No culture, no family, no religion, no music, no art, no novels, no governing body, we have nothing in our Savage Garden. No written history till now thanks to you Lestat. You Ancients brought us in to a world of limbo, quiet, and secrecy. Makers make fledglings then toss them out like abandoned pets!" the female named Monica cursed, "Now you would expose us to humans? Vanity! The both of you, greedy, heartless! Louis Blue you should have never written your book! And Lestat you should have given us, not the humans the history of what we are. What you wrote in your songs, our history of Those Who Must Be Kept belonged to us and no one else. You took our history and used it for cheap entertainment. You used it to glorify yourself. To make yourself a star to mortals. You have cheapened us, you have endangered us! All for vanity!" Monica put her arm around the weeping rogue. "Don't cry, Britt" she said softly.

Louis couldn't look at them. He stared at the colors of red in his glass of burgundy. A part of him yearned for those anonymous years when he lived with Raphael amongst the rogue covens in peace as Louis Blue.

Lestat merely sneered. He mocked in a whisper, "Such hopelessly, weak degenerates you all are. Who cares what happens to you? When nothing will happen. No one believes in vampires, fools."

"And what if they discover us through the antics you two insist on doing?" the vampire with the blond hair, named James sneered. "By God, I'm sick of you ancients. The way you use us. First as mortals, living your lives through us because you're too aged to live your lives with out a mortal for a seeing eye dog to lead you all through a New Age. Like that fuck, Armand. With his bulging, amber eyes in his pretty face, his dainty, little clawed hand keeping hold of his leashed mortal, Daniel."

"Poor Daniel," whispered Britt, "I was like him once. A mortal slave to my maker. When I was his slave, he worshipped me, so I thought. We would argue all the time, I would beg for the dark gift. Promises, promises. I'd leave. I'd be self destructive. The romance of it all, he always fetched me back." Her eyes dreamy, then hard as diamonds. "Then after the Dark Gift, four years later, my lord, my twelfth century lord, locked me out of our home. I thought it was ours. All my stuff littered on the yard. You knew how frightened I was to be alone, Louis Blue. I wept on your shoulder, you comforted me. You found me a safe place to go to. I guess I wasn't a pretty mortal anymore. I was pretty once. He had a new mortal on retainer." she joked bitterly, " I guess you ancients simply hate us for what we are, your evil off spring, but why? Why? Why are we put on the Devil's Road only to be hunted and murdered by you ancients? Why are you with him?" she hissed.

"Yes, him," said Darryl, the vampire with the black, spiked hair, his slender body a beam of light, as dangerous as a laser "Him, the one who flaunts himself, so starved for love, he seeks it from mortals. Fool! Louis Blue, we always liked you. Leave him."

"No, stay with him and convince him Louis Blue, to stop this madness. They took your picture with him outside of the club. You know the rules, no pictures. Convince him to go back into the shadows where he belongs, where we all belong," begged James.

"Louis would never try to talk me out of the concert," Lestat said calmly.

"Surely, Louis Blue," said, Darryl "Surely you can't agree to this. Surely, it must sicken you the rampage, the wars rival covens conduct. The murder of the young amongst us by the old. Don't we have enough violence in the Savage Garden? Surely you don't want to risk a war between us and mortals, Isn't killing them for food enough? Should we start killing them for sport? Declare this a hunting season? Only kill males, leaving only enough to breed with the females we spare? Damn you, Louis Blue, we don't want the insane war that your lover is threatening to unleash upon us all."

"Listen, Louis Blue," Brett pleaded, "This madness has to end. Lestat will be discovered. Oh please, Louis Blue, the living that we're related to still walks the Earth. It will shatter my family to know what I have become." She lowered her head into her arms. Her body shaking, "It's not fair to expose me to my mortal family. They think I am dead."

"Louis Blue," cried Monica, "Can you honestly say the ancient's ways are sound? Hunting the weak of our kind? Abusing them. Abusing mortals too. What of Pandora? Ripping hearts out of her victims dead or not. Khayman, pulling them apart to suck the marrow of their bones. As if their meant nothing to anyone. Damn it! There is no need to desecrate a body. No need. I don't care if they are only humans. How do you think their loved ones feel finding the remains of their children, their fathers, their mothers, desecrated. Thinking, dwelling upon the cruel, suffering pain they endured while were still alive. As they were trying to die speedily to escape from the painful grip of the monster that held them. Kill mortals swiftly, painlessly, respect their familles by not leaving a corpse rent to pieces. By God, Louis Blue, the Ancients are devoid of any respect for any living thing. Mortal or immortal, and you would pit these monsters in a war against mortals? Madness, unforgivable madness."

"Lestat and I are not Ancients," Louis said, still staring into his drink. "The Ancients do not want war any more than you do. War would break their hearts too. It won't come to war."

"To us you're ancient," laughed Monica, "two ancient old man. If our race is discovered they will go to war, and you know it. Blood lust will cause us all to enjoy it whether we like it or not. We are killers meant to kill. That can't be helped. But, Louis Blue, we would rather not kill in a war. We kill enough daily as it is. How do you know it won't come to war? No War!"

"Louis Blue haven't you ever looked into the face of your victim, and saw your reflection in their features? As if they were related to you? And it hits you so hard that you're killing a human being that never harmed you. It maddens you. You have to run to a mirror, look at your white, unlined face, remind yourself over and over again that you're not their brethren. That you may have been once upon a time been a human being, but no more," Brett said softly.

"Don't think about it," James whispered, "Brett don't. You'll go insane. Underground. In nature animals devour other animals alive all the time. God made nature like that. He doesn't hate nature. He doesn't hate us either for what we do. There is no reason for our hunger, it just exists. Just like God, us, nature, mortals just exist. There is no reason for anything. It's just the way it is. We have nothing to feel guilty about. It's beyond us."

"You believe in God, James, still? Don't. Where is his existence? Pray to Akasha and Enkil. They will someday bring a reign of peace between fledglings, rogues, ancients, and mortals," Monica said, patting Brett's back tenderly. "They bring a reign where hunger will no longer exist. Where love will reign. Those Who Must Be Kept love all their children. I know they do."

"Claudia was right to have tried to kill him, Louis Blue. No maker should have seduced a child into being a killer," whispered James.

"Claudia wasn't seduced," Louis whispered.

"She was forced," James said softly, "She had no choice. She was forced out of lust perhaps not for her frail body, but for yours, Louis Blue."

"No," whispered Lestat, "Not lust." He looked down at the table. "Love, I couldn't allow him to kill a Holy Innocent. A child."

"Liar, you both have killed children. We all when the occasion arises, have killed children out of soul numbing starvation. You wanted a child to enslave. Enslave Louis with a child," Monica
hissed.

"No," Lestat whispered, "I wanted a family to love and care for. To be responsible for, I didn't know what the consequences would be for her. What parent can tell the future for any child that they have conceived in to the world? I made mistakes out of bitterness from my own childhood, for my own life as a fledgling. But, I'd do it again. I loved my family of vampires."

The vampires all laughed ironically under their breath.

Lestat squeezed Louis' hand. They stared at each other sadly.

"The ancients rape, Louis Blue. We have to protect ourselves," Monica whispered. "he not only beds you, but he beds with a mortal. He loves the mortal more than you. Like the Ancients all love mortals more than their own race."

Louis' face burnt with an unholy heat thinking of David.

Lestat swallowed and gave Louis' hand another squeeze.

A face glowed as white as chalk against the blackness, His quartz pink lips hardened into a thin smile. His dress was that of a conservative business man. His eyes as cold and polished as onyx. He projected into Louis' and Lestat's minds, Don't listen to the whines of these weaklings. You are both right! Why should we crawl and fall into the cracks and crevices of the night? Let mortals know of us! He closed his open hand into a fist. A tight grin on his face. He projected to both of them. We are beautiful, superior to those we hide from. Mortals are but dry, dying twigs to break.

"Non," Louis whispered too loudly, causing some mortals close by to turn and stare at him. Louis lowered his voice, and continued to whisper, "You are all putting too much significance to our actions. It's only a show."

"Louis Blue," said a familiar voice to his side.

He looked up to the source of the voice. His eyes opened wide in alarm. It was he, Juan, the rogue vampire he had known so long ago in Rome, during the time he served out with Santino as his keeper.

"Does your lover know?" Juan whispered.

Louis gasped in fear knowing his secret was about to be spilled out. Before Juan could say another word, Louis pushed his chair back, standing up, screaming, "It never happened!"

All the glasses in the club shattered. Human beings drove under tables, fearing the Earth quake they felt they were in the middle of. Many started running, crowding to get out of the door, hurting, and shoving each other.

Louis bared his fangs in a rage at the rogues, snarling at them. They stared at him. Their eyes rigid with anger and fear at his exposing his vampire nature to mortal eyes. Only the being in the conservative business suit smiled at the appearance of Louis' fangs, thinking, Let the holocaust begin. Lestat was so stunned by Louis' scream that he forgot about hearing Juan's question.

Louis put his hand to his mouth to cover his fangs. His lips slid over their sharpness.

Under the sharp, striking, high notes of shattering glass, under the bellowing sounds of frightened, panicked mortals, Lestat and Louis twirled around to the sound behind them. A ringing bell of a woman's voice, saying, "Lestat!"

A female vampire laughed, and spit in Lestat's face. She quickly spirited herself away.

Through the haze of splintered falling glass, Louis saw Santino sitting at a table, shaking his head at him. He had a grave digger's expression on his strong, commanding face.

"Leave me alone!" Louis screamed. "Please," he whispered his voice naked with anguish..

Mortals were holding on to their ears. Their features a study in pain.

Louis walked away from the table determined to escape, he started to run, dashing out of the club. Juan following behind him, down an alley.

Part 36

Louis raced down the alley, abruptly turning around, catching Juan by the collar.

"You bastard," he said chillingly, "how dare you. Stay away from Lestat and I. You abandoned me to Santino years ago. You have no rights to bother me now."

"You know the reason for that! I had to," Juan said fearfully, trapped by the sheer force of Louis' strength, "Santino would have killed my coven with no mercy, no pity, to get at you. Would you have my coven's blood on your conscience just to try to save yourself?"

"Oui," hissed Louis, "I would have. He was a monster to me," He stopped, remembering the many occasions Santino was kind to him, tried to win him over. He bent his dark haired head down. "Why is Santino here?"

"Who knows. Perhaps he wants you back. I don't care! Maybe he wants to kill you both for breaking the rules. Good luck to him I say! I hope he does manages to kill Lestat if that's his purpose."

"I want no trouble with either you or Santino. Leave us alone."

"Alone to do what? Destroy what little peace we have in our world? Drag us all in to the lime light? The stare of billions of merciless, mortal eyes? You have to convince Lestat not to go on stage. If you don't Louis Blue, I'll tell."

"What do you have against Raphael?" Louis asked evenly, "You know if Lestat finds out he will kill him."

"I'm doing this for Raphael. For all of us. To keep our shaky world safe. Even to keep mortals safe, Louis Blue, some how you have to get Lestat to be what he is. A vampire. And not a pompous, vain, strutting, parody of a mortal man."

Louis sucked in his breath at the harshness of Juan's words. He felt chilling satisfaction at reading Juan's thoughts, that Juan told no one else his secret. He slipped out the knife he always kept in his pocket, and with his free hand, using sheer force and speed, he sliced Juan's head separate from his body. He leaped back out of the way of the falling body, the falling blood. He whispered softly, "You protected your own, so have I. We both do what we have to do, don't we?"

He turned from the body, waiting fearfully, angrily, wondering if Santino had followed him. He thanked God that Lestat had only heard tales of Santino, but had never met him. He nervously ran his fingers through his hair, chewing his bottom lip, tense and ready to confront Santino if he had indeed followed him.

Lestat emerged from the shadows. "Louis," he whispered "What have you done?"

"Legend has it I kill rogues," Louis said evenly, closing his switch blade shut, slipping it into his pocket, "I guess the legends are true." He laughed weakly, "The legend lives. He doesn't any more."

Louis walked away from Lestat. He leaned against a wall.

Lestat went to him.

"Don't," Louis said angrily, shying from Lestat's touch. "Leave me alone. For now. I need to settle down. I need to calm down."

"What's this "Louis Blue", they keep calling you?"

"It's a name, just a name I use."

"Why did you lose control like that?"

"I was angry," Louis said coldly.

"Are you trying to scare everyone to death?" Lestat asked concerned, "You said something didn't happen. What didn't happened?"

"What they said about us, About Claudia. It didn't happen the way they said it happened," Louis said angrily, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Louis, it's about time you talked about it," Lestat said coldly.

Louis and Lestat turned their heads. Running foot steps were heading towards then. It was a young girl of twenty. Her braces in a big grin. "I caught you!"

"How did she follow you?" Louis asked incredulously.

"I ran at mortal speed so not to attract any unwanted attention," Lestat said lamely, looking away from Louis' smoldering eyes.

"Normal speed!" the girl laughed, heading for Lestat, "You're so funny! I know who you are. You're the Vampire Lestat! My name is Kelly," she thrilled, "I'm your biggest fan!"

"Wait stay back," warned Lestat too late.

She tripped over, falling on top of Juan's body. "What is this?" she said, frightened, running her hands against the cold, bloody headless corpse. "Is this a dead animal? Please! What happened?"

"It's an animal. A dead animal," Lestat said calmly, helping her off the body. Lestat stared at Louis leaning against the wall. Marveled at the elegance of his long, slender legs, crossed at the ankle, the sullen look in his green slits for eyes. The way his hair laid on his shoulder. He's splendid devil, Lestat thought to himself, stirred. "Are you hungry Cher?" he whispered.

"Non!" Louis said harshly, "Leave it alone."

"You haven't eaten. I can tell you're hungry. You look unhealthy. You need to eat," Lestat said, kindly, compellingly. "Here let me get you started," He smiled chillingly at the young, confused girl. Blood lust crested in his eyes like waves. Taking her wrist as if to kiss her hand, he bit and drank.

Louis watched mesmerized. His will over taken by erotic hunger watching Lestat drink. He leapt to the bleeding girl's side, and gently, peacefully pierced her throat. The taste of her blood contained warmth, contained sunny days, contained all the substance that he needed to live.

"Yes," Lestat said, his eyes dewy with lust and hunger, "Taste her, Cher."

Her blood was sunshine on his wet tongue. Her blood was the heat of a clear blue sky filled with rays, and rays of sun; his lover's the taste of cold, midnight, winter evenings, of icy water in frozen over ponds.

Lestat watched aroused, stroking and caressing Louis' hair and face. Letting his hands wander about Louis' body, with soft caresses. He felt as if he was wearing a velvet glove.

Louis at first hated this distraction of Lestat touching him. Distracting him from the pleasure he was taking in his kill. He willed himself to accept Lestat's touches. Merged the touches to the taste and rape of her sun warmed blood. Lestat was stroking his back and ass. Cupping it. Pulling his tucked in shirt from his jeans, caressing his chest, teasing his nipple with whispering, soft, compelling touches. Louis spread his legs wide apart while holding her. He could feel Lestat's clothed erection pressed against his ass. Lestat holding him tightly by the shoulders, then dropping his hands to grasp his hip bones firmly. He listened to the pulsating symphony of the high and low notes of their breathing. The rhythmic soft, murmuring of her dying, sweet breath. The sharp, quick, gasping rasps of Lestat's breathing against the back of his head, gentled by his climaxing. He lolled his head upon Louis' shoulder, pillowed in his hair. She struggled against him, her struggling only making the act more exciting, more thrilling. Her resistance cooled. Giving herself over, willingly saying her good byes. The mercy of his suck on her lulling her to a drowsy peace. Her small breasts rose and fell against his hard chest with every breath she took, till her breasts were still. The taste and flow, to taste that life, dying in his arms. To feel her heart pumping against his chest, the sound of it thumping hard like a drum playing in her chest. The splendor of touches, taste, and sound. It was all shatteringly lovely. He felt blessed. He silently blessed her for dying so well for him. He sighed against her dead body. Arching his head back from her throat. His fangs exposed, brightly white against the bloody, poppy red, of his lips. What was alive and now was dead slipped and fell from his arms.

"Lestat," he whispered, his eyes half closed, taking a cloth from his pocket to wipe his mouth.

"She was a fan of mine," Lestat said sadly, his eyes turned from what once had been a living young woman. "She loved me, I should have loved her back," he said coldly to Louis. The spell broken. "Could I ever be cruel to a lover?"

"Yes," Louis swallowed, "To a lover you are cruel."

Lestat stalked away form Louis. "Wait," Louis cried, taking hold of Lestat's arm.

"Get away from me, Louis," Lestat said harshly, "I don't want to look at you right now."

"Why? Why did you start to take her? Then give her to me?"

"What did you expect? She tripped over the body you left. She discovered you for what you are. A killer."

"Liar," Louis cursed, "You could have mesmerized her to forget. To make her think it was indeed a dead animal. Sent her on her way. You did this out of passion,. To watch me kill. To touch me as I killed. Admit it. And now you regret it. You're ashamed. You're ashamed of me."

"Shut up Louis," he said coldly. He took in a deep breath of foggy, cold air. He strode purposely, deeper into the alley, finding a drunk sleeping in a card board box. He yanked the drunk from the box, parting the man from his blood and soul. He brought the drunk's body, and his bottle to where Louis was waiting.

He grouped the bodies on top of one another, a bundle of hair, bone, limbs, and flesh, He sprinkled the drunk's whisky all about the bodies, lighting a match to it all. Juan's combustible vampire's body burnt hot and bright, quickly consuming the mortal's bodies, as if his burning body still contained his vampire's thirst. Lestat kicked the ashes to the sky, grinding the unburnt parts, like the braces, into the ground with a pound of his foot.

He dusted himself off. Then her turned and walked down the ally. Louis went the other way. Lestat turned around and chased Louis down. "Where are you going?" Lestat demanded, catching Louis' arm.

"I won't follow ten paces behind you like a dutiful concubine," Louis said coldly.

"Come on. Let's go to the limo, Cher. No one can call you a submissive, meek, little camp follower. Come on. I called Rick while you were off killing a rogue. He's probably waiting,"

Slowly they made their way out of the alley, Louis was relieved that Santino had obeyed his request to be left alone so far.

Rick was sitting in the limo's front seat, listening to the music on the radio. He hurried out of the front seat to open the limo's back door for Louis and Lestat,

"Are you all right, Cher?" Lestat asked Louis apologetically, knowing he had treated Louis unfairly over the young girl's death. He noticed Louis was flushed and aggravated.

"Yes," Louis said shortly.

"Why did you kill that rogue?" Lestat asked.

"He attacked me. I killed him. It's that simple Lestat."

"Are you still going with me to San Francisco? Or did they convince you that you should leave me?"

"Non. They are the one's causing all this trouble. If they could just all leave us alone. No one would suspect us."

"Are you sure?" laughed Lestat, "my rebel, my out cast? Come give me your hands," Lestat ordered, reaching for some black finger nail polish he kept in his pocket.

He very carefully painted Louis' bright nails. "You have to hide your vampire self. No more brawling at clubs? All right?"

"Oui" Louis said, staring at his ebony colored nails.

Lestat took one of Louis' hands, admiring his handiwork, he then pulled Louis to his fangs, sinking them deeply into his pale, trembling neck. Louis' eyes lashes fluttered against his cheeks, He let out a lustful, satisfied moan.

I'm lying, he though to himself, I know the rogues are right. We shouldn't be inviting destruction to rule, but I don't care. I'm suicidal for him.

Louis opened his eyes, wrenching himself from the razor sharpness of Lestat's vampire kiss. He held his breath, wincing from the pain the rip in his throat caused him, made by his jerking away from Lestat. He pulled his hand to his wounded neck. Blood flowed out from under his hand to his shoulder. A thin trail of his blood ran from Lestat's lips. Lestat's brazen angel's face stared at Louis in the darkness of the limo. "Stop it." Louis said, in a low voice, "The chauffeur. He is watching us. He saw us."

Louis pressed his forehead to the cool, dampness of the window pane of the car door. He whispered, "How can you enjoy this? It's like being a caged animal. Mortal's watching us all the time. All the time worrying about our existence, what we really are, being guessed at."

"I'll kill him later," Lestat said, pressing his lips to Louis' healed wound, meaning to wound him again, "He's not supposed to be watching," Lestat pulled shut the cover on the glass separating them from the chauffeur.

"He saw. He saw you drink from me," Louis said sadly, "so now it starts, we not only kill to live, but to keep ourselves a mystery to mortals."

"He didn't see anything, Louis. It's too dark to see anything. Except for my nuzzling your neck, that's all he saw. You worry too much."

Lestat traced his tongue along Louis' moist lips. Louis met Lestat's tongue with his own, slipping his tongue into Lestat's mouth, darting it in and out. Louis treated Lestat's mouth like a treat to be savored. Louis let his tongue scrape against the sharpness of Lestat's fang. Drops of blood drizzled inside of Lestat's mouth. He let Lestat's tongue flick, and play against his bleeding one, teasing him, teasing his appetite for more.

Lestat trailed his lips to Louis' flushed forehead. "Cher, what are all these episode of anger and sadness about?" Lestat said gently.

Louis turned his head away from Lestat. He watched the world go flashing by behind the wet window of the limo. "Lestat is it criminal for me to want to be happy? I don't want to take this injury another step forward. Can it be left alone?"

"But Louis. You try your best to hide it, but I know there have been moments that you've been crying. I want to know how to comfort you."

"Silence comforts me. Privacy comforts me. Thinking of someone other than myself comforts me. If I asked to to pretend that night at Raphael's never happened could you do that for me?"

"What you're asking isn't fair."

"Lestat," Louis said earnestly, "Haven't we learned in our vampire world to deaden our feelings? Your concern eats at me. I makes me notice a wound I'm trying to live beyond. I can protect myself."

"From what? From whom?" Lestat said furiously, "Is Raphael a threat to you?"

"No, don't think that," Louis declared, "Raphael and I have resolved what happened between us."

"Then who are you afraid of?"

"Nobody, no one," Louis said softly staring out into the night, "Least of all you." Louis smiled, It was on the verge of his lips to say, Oui, I was raped. Then he thought to himself I'd rather die than tell you what happened. I won't let this rape become me. To be thought of as poor, feeble, raped Louis. An object of pity. I can't stand the thought of pity in your eyes for me. For you to handle me like I'm a fragile, breakable doll. Worse to feel obligated to take care of me. I refuse to be dependent on anyone. I'll deal with this on my own terms. And what of Raphael? I will not drag him another inch into this mess of Santino's and my creation. He lost his mortal life over this. I will not put his immortal life at risk. I'll deal with Santino myself.

Louis felt a surge of loneliness catching at his chest. He put his head on Lestat's shoulder, "It will work itself out Lestat, I promise." He pressed his neck to Lestat's lips, "let me be happy this evening. Make me forget. Make this a night of romantic wonders, just for me, tonight."

"For you Cher," Lestat said gently, promising himself a visit to Raphael's after the concert, determined to rip the truth out of Raphael if he had to. "I can manage that. For tonight, all's
forgotten. But someday?"

"If I want to I promise I will," Louis said gently. He cut his tongue and slid it into Lestat's willing, thirsting mouth.

The limo stopped. They released each other from their kiss. The inside of Lestat's mouth was cool with the taste of Louis' blood. Rick opened the door, waiting patiently for them to leave the limo.

END