Pairing: Louis/Lestat/Armand Paul/slave

Category: Adventure

Summary: Paul falls in love with his first cousin who is a slave on his brother's plantation

Warning: minors having sex, gore, erotic violence

Archive: yes

Comments: yes

Provocateur
By Kris

Louis' legs hugged the sides of his horse as he flew through the clearing.

"Faster," he breathed under his breath, "Faster!" he yelled at Paul and Jamie trailing behind him. His stallion flew from a gallop into a smooth, graceful run. Leaning his head and torso against the animal's neck, he enjoyed the sense of lightness and pride he felt in the strength and speed of his magnificent steed, Satan's Thunder.

Paul and James trailed behind him.

"Your brother is quite the show off," Jamie muttered under his breath.

Jamie wished he could dig his naked feet into the slanty boned sides of his elderly horse, inducing the nag to dash out with a furious speed past Louis' champion racer. His rough hands held lightly on the horse's reins. Jamie smiled lovingly at Paul who chose to keep pace with him rather than race after his handsome and often reckless brother.

Paul was a sturdy, white, young boy of fifteen. Jamie, who was seventeen, thought him to be something more of a spirit than a mere mortal boy.

Paul seems to be able to close his eyes and leave the world of nature and man made structures behind him for a universe which I can only vaguely imagine. A universe closed to me, so why bother speculating? Jamie, a colored boy, thought.

"What did you say?" Paul asked. His eyes had the very aspect of the sky--large, lightly blue, and reflective.

"Nothing, Master Paul. Just talking to nobody but myself," Jamie replied wistfully.

Jamie's horse stumbled. Paul pulled his horse back to trot along side with Jamie. Jamie was his, his? Paul actually wasn't sure what Jamie was. He was the family mystery.

Thirteen years ago, Paul's father came back from to trip to Paris on a hot sultry summer's day. His father had been away on business. During his stay he visited with his wastrel brother Alexandre. Along with presents of fine cloths, fancy buttons, laces, silks and sewing patterns for the house slaves to make into fashionable frocks for his wife and daughter, and formal wear for his sons, Paul's father brought to Pointe du Lac four year old Jamie. Alexandre swore the child might be his. Couldn't be sure really. Alexandre asked his brother to raise him. He simply could not afford the boy's nurse any longer. The boy was giving Alexandre's poor nerves the fidgets. Marguerite, a quadroon, died in giving birth to the child in question, or her death may have been the result of her partaking of a too dangerous of a dosage of opium soon after the delivery. Marguerite, had the unenviable station in life of being Alexandre's young mistress. Due to her habit of falling in love with this and that dandy, anyone who had a purse ripe enough for the servicing of her pursuits in gambling, little gifts to herself, and trinkets, spoiled, irresponsible Alexandre wasn't particularly sure who Jamie's dear papa was.

All Alexandre knew was he had on his hands a pissing, bawling, scoundrel of a pretty boy with golden speckles in his light brown eyes, skin the color of cedar, and brown tightly curled hair tinted with blond high lights, and with an African nose and lips on his small face.

The child, by God, did seem to at least to process the de Pointe's celebrated cheekbones and pointy chins. Jamie was beautiful to his father Alexandre when his father thought to look at him which was but rarely.

Jamie having been born the child of a free woman of color, and his being at least thought of to have a possible share in the family blood should have been a free boy of color.

Louis' father,Valcount de Pointe du Lac decided the Jamie was more of a bastard than not, so he made him a house slave.

Jamie was not taught how to read, or how to do figuring with numbers. Louis' mother, Marie was scandalized by the boy's neglectful treatment by her husband who had such a tough, unsentimental viewpoint of the world. Valmount didn't feel he had any duty to his brother's child whose blood was suspect, other than that of keeping Jamie alive and forcing him to be useful. Marie took pity on the child and made sure he was included in Paul's fencing, and art lessons along with his religious instructions Her husband with exasperated fondness considered her to be a fanciful and romantic creature in her spoiling of Jamie. To her delight Jamie turned out to have a keen talent for the harpsichord. It was his task, along with working in the kitchen, to entertain his masters after he helped serve their meals.

He was a boy who learned how to do the activities gentlemen passed their idle hours away in, along with how to spit and polish, and how to say, "Oui, monsieur, and non madam."

Rebellion often crept in Jamie's mind, he knew because of his background he was deserving of quite a lot more than slavery. His master's children by his octoroon mistress enjoyed their white father's dutiful indulgence of providing them with an education. In New Orleans a yeller boy born of a white man's mistress was educated, then went to Europe to go to a university there. He was not supposed to be a slave to so called gracious masters.

Jamie learned early how to keep his facial expression servile and his comments bordering on near idiotic in the presence of Valmont When as a young boy he ever tried with a child's insolent pride to be like one of them, to look them in the eye like he used to look his father white father Alexandre in the eye. Valmont would take a strap to him, beating the insolent devil out of his hide.

Twelve year old Louis was awkwardly nice to him. As the eldest he always felt he had to please his father, emulating his ways as much as possible so he too could be a man other men admired. He only consciously differed from his father in his treatment of Jamie. After Louis came back from visiting his Uncle Alexandre in Paris, Louis was more distant to Jamie. Really except for his immediate family Louis was extremely passive and cold in his relationships with other people, preferring to be adored or to go unnoticed rather than to be the one to adore anyone. Louis was not empathic about the feelings of others. As if having empathy for anyone would be too painful of an issue for him to face. After his Parisian trip, Louis had monthly occurrences of nightmares which he couldn't remember. The slaves on the plantation knew he was a man being courted by the supernatural. They rubbed their gris-gris charms to avert the evil eye they knew
was on Louis. They didn't want the evil eye to take its attention from Louis and take a good look at their own fates.

Only Paul would come to Jamie later after a beating, and put his arm around him, sharing with him his baby talk, then years later his young boy's voice, always his words were of gentle friendship and consolation. Occasionally, back when he had been a small boy, Jamie resented Paul. Wishing Paul would stay away from him after had had been whipped. He felt if Paul would stop treating him like a human being then the beatings and the ignominy of his life would hurt his feelings less and less. It would have been easier to be the faithful animal his master wanted him to be. Indeed, when he acted more like a dog than a confident child his master Valmount showed him the same gentle, but stern affection he showed all his slaves, horses, and hounds.

Rivalry between Jamie and Paul's growing devotion to Christianity cooled the warmth of their relationship. For a very long time Paul had once been the only family Jamie had in his lonely childhood. His father, Alexandre, never asked about him after he had given him up, sometimes he wondered if Alexandre hadn't actually sold him to Valmont. Families drift apart. But real love never did. He cherished Paul still, and for always.

Louis pulled up on his reins, waiting for Paul and Jamie to catch up with him He horse idly bit at the turf.

His hair is a radiant sun above his pale face, Louis thought affectionately. Too pale, he moaned inwardly. His mother and sister may have wished Paul would deign to go to balls with them; Louis would have been over joyed if only the child would go outside more and capture some of the sun's warmth into his school boy's face. His brother's face was that of a pale acolyte's who was kept cloistered and starved from nature. Louis couldn't help but feel a despotic love for the little Saint Paul in his family, and he couldn't help but despise Paul a little too for his inactivity in practical manly pursuits.

A lake shimmered in the hit of the sun's rays. It laid apart from the ground seeming to be a piece of sliver heaven placed upon the earth's rude surface. Reeds moved about in the heat. Stirred up some folks would say by an invisible loving hand.

"I'm glad I talked you into being out here with me," Louis said smiling. Paul dismounted from his horse. Wiping his brow with his arm.

"I'm glad too brother," Paul said in a timid rejoinder, really wishing he was far away, banished from the roast of the merciless sun. Paul wished he was back in his oratory kneeling on the cold stone slabs of the floor, praying to his crucifix. God's eyes looking down upon him through the little wooden doll's eyes on the cross. He could feel the searching glaze of those eyes on him, like he could feel the touch of an invisible entity's lips pressed against his lips. Those lips hurt, stung him to a kind of passion which pushed him to an unfathomable sexual ecstasy of the soul. Unseen hands moist with what only could be blood from wounds left by nails, caressed Paul's chest as he relentlessly prayed and chanted. There was no sun, no blasphemous sun, the very sun Egyptians once worshipped and now various New World heathens still worshipped. There was only the Son casting a cooling glow throughout Paul's imagination in the close of darkness. He knew himself to be an object of Christ's loving sighs.

In dreams. Why does your eyes always have to look as if they are looking into a dreamscape Jamie wondered. A treasured feeling of awe ran through Jamie's heart for his master, his cousin.

Louis lounged on the ground gracefully. Louis was a stretched out feline on the grass. Paul sometimes fancied his brother had cat paws in his calf length boots rather than the feet of a mortal man.

"Paul," Louis said gently, "I would like to have your company to myself more often."

"You have my prayers," Paul said humbly. The harsh metallic shine from the lake burned Paul's eyes, forcing them to shut themselves away to the familiar shelter of darkness.

"But prayers are not enough to appease me," Louis gently coaxed, brushing his finger against Paul's face, "Paul though I appreciate the prayers you say for me, listen to me. The prayers I love most to hear are found in the lapping of water upon the earth. The drone of insects between the reeds and between the thin blades of grass. All of this, the voices of our horses, the sounds of our mother and sister, your sounds Paul, your laughter, I miss it. I miss you."

"You miss father," Paul said sympathetically.

"The prayer I miss most of all," Louis sighed, "Is the sounds of father's footsteps going down the hall. The candle he once held in his hand to light his way. His voice as always inquiring, never intrusive or threatening, always engagingly interested in our lives," Louis said sadly, "I miss my father's voice which held my father's prayers for me most of all."

Paul felt awkward, his shoulder pressed against his brother's. He wished he could tell Louis of the prayers he heard. Beautiful, musical voices petaled like roses around a core of sacred holiness. The voices alive with prayer. Saint Anthony of Egypt. His voice tiny and rasping, but so proud. Saint of solitary places, who lived on salt and bread. The saint who had a visitation from Satan himself. Satan who was dressed in the hide of a beautiful, alluring woman. A woman wearing a black wig, smelling of musk oil, Satan's male face smiling, breasts on his chest, and his hips moist and womanly as Eve's ever were to touch. His cock hanging from his vagina like an exotic fruit to pluck. Satan's blood a seductive drink. The devil had no gender; and he had all the delights of the two genders. Saint Anthony in the desert scorned the devil's delightfulness, and the devil went away, nervously adoring the saint.

Paul heard the voice of Saint Catherine of Alexandria who resisted a pagan emperor's attentions. Her lovely virgin body was to be impaled to a spiked wheel. The spikes flew out and though they did not hunger to taste and bite into her flesh. These spikes were thirsty for the blood of pagans. They flew off the wheel into the flesh of her tormentors.

And most dear of all Saint Michael, the archangel who defeated Satan, his voice was of brass trumpets and the crash of cymbals. These Saints all caressed Paul with the sacred sacraments of their voices. Undressing Paul to be naked from his flesh, bones, and offal till he was nothing but an exposed beating heart. His bridegroom, Jesus was bodiless but for his heart too. Christ's sacred heart, would come to lie by his heart on their stone floor bed.

And Christ's thorny, bleeding heart would stab itself into Paul's heart till they beat together joined as one in a song of drums, voices of saints, and trumpets.

Paul couldn't tell his brother of his visions. His brother loved him and humored him. Him and his mother. His dark haired mother, her hair pulled back from her magical face now too old to be a charm of a youthful face. Louis humored her holy water, little statues of virgins, stories of mystical saints, little charms of crosses, and rosemary sewed in green velvet pouches to ward off devils. She would regale Paul with her stories. Once upon a time Louis too would sit with her and listen to her tales of angels flying across the sky to catch the smallest hatching falling from their nest. Nothing missed the notice of angels. With time he turned completely into being his father's son. No matter she had Paul. Still, she couldn't help but resent her oldest son's contempt for her. Contempt Louis tried but could not keep hidden from her. Any more than his father could.

"I'm going in," Louis said, unbuttoning his cotton day shirt which cling to his flesh.

Paul was startled by the pale skin of his brother's chest, the pinkness of his small nipples, the way his muscles rippled, and his slender waist. Slowly, Louis pulled off his boots, stockings and breeches, he stood before Paul more sensual than Saint Anthony's devil

"I do not understand you Paul," Louis said, "How can you worship and live in the dark like a mole? Look around you my brother, you should fall into a trance glazing upon the fresh growth of indigo in the field. The small sprouts whiskering the furrows. This is God, not some abstract deity born from your hopes. You're a fool, my poor brother. Everything has mystical significance for you. Doesn't it? Everything is a sign of God for you. A branch shaking, surely it cannot be the current of the wind making it move, non, it must be the work of an an angel's hand, trying to signal to you. There is no revelations to be found in the movement of a branch, the appearance of an animal, a comet. The only meaning found in nature for man is how perfectly wonderful it is to be alive."

"How can it be so perfect when nature is so cruel? Don't you remember the dogs cornering a deer? The carnage." Paul whispered.

"Ah, but even so, it was perfect cruelty. Take off your clothes. Join me. It's hot."

"Non, I'll stay," Paul said softly, his eyes avoiding his brother's nudity. His crotch felt uncomfortable, his organ straining against the buttons of his breeches.

"Have it your way," Louis said tenderly.

Paul watched his brother wade into the water, finally once he was in waist deep Louis dived under.

He turned to Jamie who had been silently listening the whole time.

"I, you," Paul said weakly. He could feel the bake of the sun, the humidity pressing into his mind whipping it up into a state of sweltering, sinful bewilderment. He knew Jamie would probably love to join Louis in the water. Such familiarity between a slave and a master was unthinkable.

"I'd rather stay here with you," Jamie said, afraid of being heard. Before fear could warn him to stay away, Jamie's hand impulsively closed around Paul's hand. Paul quickly tried to pull away. Jamie's face was too close to Paul's. Paul felt a sanity of emotions which almost broke the spell his beloved Christ had on him

Before Jamie and Paul knew it their lips almost touched. What should have been an act of innocence was corrupted by the world. Innocence was forced to wear a mask of lies and superstitions. Their spontaneous gesture had been watched by Louis' observant green eyes.

(2)

Paul knelt on the cold stone floor. His eyes fixated upon the cross of the man who had garish stab wounds on his sides between his ribs. The wind outside rustled and rattled the leaves. Wisteria and jasmine scents waltzed outside. The wooden man's bones seemed to be twisting in his inhuman flesh. Paul's fingers touched the cold, unyielding, painted wood. His stomach convulsed in pangs of dull hunger from his fast of bread and water. It was all sweetness this turmoil of suffering. The voices of his saints surrounded him like wild animals calling in the night. Confiding to Paul secrets about the after life. How devils who had not fallen far from heaven were made to be as white as snow on Sundays. It was the privilege of these devils to sing the morning sun in. Swaying and rocking his body, Paul was captured in the throes of spiritual rapture. His blond head was bent low on his chest as if his neck had been broken. His back rigid and straight.

He felt a pair of warm lips kissing the sweaty moistness of his bent neck.

"Jamie," Paul whispered, both frightened, dizzy, and desirous to be kissed again. To experience the carnality of such a kiss along with the spiritual ravishing of his soul

Jamie's burnished brown hair brushed against his. His poignant lips pressed against the flesh of his neck then formed into another breathless kiss.

"Paul," Jamie whispered huskily, "Should I stop?"

"Please," Paul said, all most a faint. The hunger to be held, the curiosity of it all, banished from Paul's mind all other hungers.

Gently, Jamie took hold of each button one at a time till finally he parted Paul's shirt to reveal Paul's slender chest. Paul smelled of unwashed flesh, Jamie could taste Paul's scent before he even licked at the pinkness of his small nipple. Slowly, Jamie pulled down Paul's britches.

"I can't, I can't," Paul whispered his teeth chattering. Through it was hot Paul's exposed thighs and cock felt cold. He shivered under the moist hands touching and caressing his erection. All the saints' voices went still.

Jamie pulled back the foreskin, stroking it up and down against the head of Paul's cock which was already tearing with pre cum. Jamie slid it into his mouth.

"Don't," Paul whispered, meaning it this time. Pulling himself away, Paul tried to leave, instead Paul fell on top of Jamie, kissing Jamie's rose leaf red lips. Paul savored the feel of Jamie's tongue inside of him. Sliding his naked skin against Jamie's home spun cheap clothing, Paul helped Jamie to undress till Jamie was equally naked. The two boys rocked against each other. Each as virgin as the other. Jamie was considered to be bad luck, a bad omen by the other slaves. He had very few friends, none of them lovers.

Gasping at the feel of Jamie's inexperienced hands, running up and down his spine, playing and cupping the curves of his ass, Paul shuddered against him ejaculating on Jamie's brown thigh.

"I can't love you. I cannot love any man," Paul whispered in shame.

"You can't?" Jamie asked, his eye lids hiding the sorrow in his eyes.

"Kneel with me," Paul begged, "Kneel with me at the altar and take my hand."

"Father," Paul said solemnly to the crucifix as they knelt together, "I love you and only you, I have not loved another man. As you marked the race of Cain for the murder of his brother Abel, you marked such men to be inferior. I didn't sin against you," Paul said humbly, "You sent my servant to console me."

"What consoling did you need? You seem perfectly happy to me," Jamie said angrily, standing up.

"Non," Paul said, reaching for Jamie's hand, "Oui, I am happy in all ways spiritual. Dead to the physical. Perhaps this is God's reproach to me. Everything happens for a reason," he said solemnly to Jamie, "You are an innocent. Your soul and mind, the condition of it, cannot take in the significance of the act we committed together. In this you are a child and only capable of wrongful acts while as for me."

"This is in act of sin for you," Jamie said, believing it, "Is this the only way your magic can work for you. To be cloistered? For you to punish yourself by depriving yourself of food, sleep, and companionship? Is that why you are a being of magic?"

"My religion is not a thing of magic," Paul said tempering his annoyance, "My religion is not directed to spirits but to the flesh and the soul. The bread and wine, the corporal and spiritual You make me sound as if I am some kind of witch. Witches have power. I have no power. My God doesn't serve me like a witch's god does. I serve Him. Listen to me Jamie, when I was five years old I had a visitation from an angel, he read to me of Saint Frances' deeds, his ministry. The angel told me he believed in me, dear Jamie I'm here a hermit waiting for my destiny to reveal it self."

"I should leave you to your angel then," Jamie said, dropping Paul's hand.

"Non, please visit with me. Tomorrow night. My body has been mortified by yours. Let me prove each and every night with you my devotion to another. By my refusing the temptation you bring with you is but another thorn I will bear for love."

Jamie left Paul to his nest of an eagle's berth where no sinner could ever hope to leap off of to fly into Paul's spiritual world.

Once alone Paul cried, taking a small riding crop to his body, he raised his arm, slashing his chest till bits and pieces of flesh split open and the red stripes bled. Paul could no longer raise his whip because of shamed exhaustion. "I love you," he whispered to the cold wooden man, knowing Christ's wounds had been harsher than his.

With sensitive hands Paul touched the blood on his body, licking the moisture from his hands, imagining himself to be in a chalice. His blood ready for any clean soul's consumption.

Every night here after Jamie would come to Paul. Loneliness, love, and wonder driving Paul to come and hear his words, and bear witness to Paul's worshipping silences when Paul was listening to his voices.

And every night his hands would strip the God's slave. For Jamie deduced from Paul's bloody infected wounds God must come nightly into the room after he left to whip his servant. Slave to slave he adored Paul showing his adoration with his soothing touch. Taking a sponge warm with water Jamie cleaned Paul's crusted wounds.

"Why does your God hurt you so?" Jamie asked one night.

"Because He loves me," Paul said, "He does it to discipline me. That is why bad things happen to good people Jamie, to make them strong." Wearily, Paul fell into Jamie's arm, cuddling with him.

"I love you," Paul whispered, "Non, not you, but your sympathy."

"You once sympathized with me when I was a child, and I had welts on my back. Was that why your father beat me? To make me strong?" Jamie asked as he swabbed the sponge against Paul's slender flesh. Paul's skin was encroaching too closely into the hollow spaces of his bones

Jamie dared not tell Paul anything of how he really felt. About his desire for freedom. It would be misconstrued as a betrayal. And it was. Every night Jamie said Louis' words to Paul imploring him he should go outside, he should be a help to his brother Louis, advising Paul to eat more and pray less. These words only made Paul cringe in rebellious guilt. Finally, Jamie stopped all together repeating the words Louis told him to say to Paul.

Jamie didn't understand the white man's religion other than knowing for a fact Paul had angel wings pressed tightly beneath the skin of his back, wings ready to burst forth wide open to fly out into the sky with.

He had his own mysteries. Voodoo ones. Jamie's acts of service to his Gods were done through free will kindly done acts to other slaves. How can an act to a master, even a freely given act of sympathy be considered an act of devout serve to Legbra, the god who joined the seen world and the unseen world together? Or to any other God? Ague, the sea god, Ogoun of fire and war, Erzulie of love. His love for Paul he knew was not considered to be pure by his Gods because his love had its roots in slavery, the control of his will, and his lack of freedom to choose.

What would I do if I were free? Jamie thought while Paul laid in his arms. Paul's voice fell into religious whispers, rising to joyous, fervid shouts. Paul was talking in tongues. The supernatural talking through him. Paul didn't make any sense, his words were gibberish. What if I were free never to be your servant? Jamie thought.

Drawing his hand across Paul's chest, his mouth mingled with Paul's, taking the earthen dusty flavor of Paul's lips made dry from thirst. Jamie made Paul's lips moist. Jamie stripped himself of his clothes and helped Paul to disrobe. The ritual of their prayer begun.

Licking the calves of the saint's legs, Jamie found delight and solace in the salty masculine hardness of Paul's cock, delighting his mouth with the feel of it. Enjoying the sense of power over a weak youth who could order him to be killed. The taste of Paul's flesh which he could not bite with his teeth, any more than he could bite a communion wafer. Jamie could only allow Paul's hard flesh to be in his mouth, till it gushed forth with Paul's bodily wine, then dissolved into softness.

Paul quivered under the suck and torment of Jamie's tongue licking at his wounds. Letting Jamie take again his hardened organ in his mouth. His nipples were stiff under Jamie's fingers.

I love you, I love you," Jamie whispered.

Jamie's hand ran along Paul's cock, pulling, yanking the skin, the friction making, compelling, Paul to raise and rock his hips against him. To press his balls to the the hairiness of his. Jamie fingered Paul's ass, caressing it, then piercing it with his forefinger. Paul shivered against him tears in his eyes.

"Should I stop?" Jamie whispered, "Does this hurt? Tell me what to do."

"Non," Paul whispered back, crossing his legs around Jamie's bare back pressing him closer to him. He gave out a little whimpering cry, the pressure inside of him from Jamie's finger blossomed into a orgasm. He cried out again and again in Jamie's arms.

Paul wouldn't touch Jamie back. Wouldn't kiss Jamie, wouldn't look at at him, while Jamie made love to him. Jamie had to bring himself to an orgasm. This he did without resentment.

The the talk would begin. Paul told him what his voices had said, and that he was praying for the end of the world where God's chosen would be liberated from their sins.

"There would be no masters only servants on the world," Paul said, his words catching in his throat.

"Will I be there with you?" Jamie whispered, his breath caressing Paul's face.

"You are my servant now, but some day you will desert me to belong to Him. Hand in hand we will belong to no one but Him."

Equals at last, Jamie thought longingly. Then in your heaven you will be able to touch me with your hands, and perhaps even kiss me.

He knew Paul had to be a sorcerer. A better man than other men. No man devoted himself so wholly to magic and spirits. He didn't care what Paul said, the angels and the loas which drifted between the spirit world and material world were the same. Paul's saints and his angel were the loas. And his acts, their sexual acts on the floor were expressions of God. They only hurt themselves. He prayed to Erzulie sprit of love to soften Paul's God's heart towards him, for Paul's God to allow Paul to open his eyes up and to see him fully as a human being, and not a half man half beast.

After the love making sometimes Jamie was able to coax Paul to sit outside with him. Paul wouldn't go far from his sanctuary. Paul would sit on a stone bench,; Jamie on the ground. Both would look out into the garden, telling each other stories they knew about witches, and zombies, and imps. Paul timidly said one evening, "I don't like it out here."

"Why?' Jamie asked.

"Because I want you to sit up here with me on the bench," Paul said wistfully, "Or I would like to sit down there on the ground with you."

"We can't," Jamie said, "if we were caught, Paul."

"Go inside the oratory with me, please, where no one will be watching us, it's late," Paul shivered, "Please Jamie, it scares me. I'm a coward. We don't belong outside. This is no place for us. We belong inside where it is safe. I want to sit beside you. It's our only place to be together," Paul said humbly, despising himself a little, but knowing he was right.

Nightly after Jamie left, Paul lit a small fire, his hands trembling. Putting a stick to the flame he waited till it glowed. Pressing the white heat of the stick to his chest right above his left nipple Paul grimaced in pain. Repeating the ritual three times.

Taking up his whip, Paul flogged at his already burnt flesh. Wanting to dismiss what he didn't want to acknowledge to himself. That the all too real world of his father and mother was wrong, and it was getting harder and harder to accept the social mores he had to live under. Only through taking on pain did Paul feel he could make the world a kinder place, take the world's sins on himself, till the world someday would be less filled with hate and it had room for love in it. His hand dropped the whip, falling to the daisy Jamie had in all shyness brought him. The freshness of the flower pressed against Paul's face. It smelled so simple and pure, bringing fresher tears to Paul's eyes.

Every night, green eyes watched Jamie go to Paul, knowing eyes who were wrong in thinking they knew everything possible about the two.

(3)

Louis rode his horse down the filthy alley ways of New Orleans. He had no idea one day this squalid piece of real-estate would one day be the location of the French Quarter with its upscale restaurants, expensive stores, and vendors selling everything from baseball cards to paintings.

Two hundred years from now, he himself would be one of the artists sitting quietly in a folding chair, making small talk with his friends and people passing by, selling his paintings of New Orleans' scenery.

Louis had his pistol cocked and ready in his frock coat. His confident manner kept the pimps, sailors, and cut throats away.

Dismounting from his horse, Louis tied it to a post in front of a shabby Greek Revival building. A filthy child ran at him, bumping into him.

"Excuse me," the child muttered, trying to get past him.

"Non, excuse me," Louis said politely, capturing the boy, retrieving his wallet the child had stolen.

The child's hungry face grimaced in fear. Such an offense even for one as young as he was a hangable offense. Squirming and twisting he tried to escape. Ducking his head, he fully expected the dark haired, tall man to backhand him.

Laughing, Louis scooted down to be at the child's level. Louis said very gently, "Look in your pocket young man. I think this must have fallen out of it."

"What?" the twelve year old boy said confused.

"This," Louis said smiling, dropping a coin on the ground which would feed the boy for at least a week, "Now hasten away."

Without a word of thanks the boy scurried away, searching for more pockets.

Chuckling ruefully, Louis opened the gate and made his way up to the house. The garden in the yard was overgrown and neglected with weeds and jasmine growing aimlessly and wild. The air smelled of taverns and of the grinding poverty from recent emigrants from Germany.

He was greeted by a burly, heavy jawed woman. Inside of the house the walls were decorated with yellowing, cracked old paintings of nudes.

Women with heavy haunches, ample bosoms, and unnaturally pinched waists were encouraging drunken patrons to drink their glasses dry and to order up another one. All of the women seemed as fading as the tired nudes hanging on the peeling wall paper. They looked to be as old as Louis' mother except for a few young squinty-eyed whores.

"You'll be coming to your regular room then?" said Old Sally, an Irish woman who had the appearance of being a burly black smith dressed in his wife's clothing rather than a madam of a whorehouse.

"Oui, " Louis said politely, tipping his hat to her, subduing the anticipation he felt out of his voice. He inquired about her health, and asked if she had received any word from her family back home, treating her with the respect he would treat any woman of his acquaintance.

"Nay, I haven't heard a sound out of my family back home. So kind you are to be asking. You be happy to know the room is occupied" she lisped flirtatiously out of those enormous lips.

"Merci, Madam," he said, earning from her the declaration: he was quite the gentleman.

Going up the stairs, the gas lights making his face seem greenish, he entered into the bedroom. The whole room reeked of feminine odors, dirty laundry, perfumes, slops, and make up.

The occupant pacing in the room was not a woman; he was a twenty year old man.

The sight of him wrung Louis' heart out.

"Jean what is the matter?" he asked calmly.

"We can't continue with our friendship."

Jean sat quietly on the bed, tears falling from his soft brown eyes. Jean came from a family of middle class merchants. Louis flopped lazily on the bed, laying his head on the stale moist pillow, studying the cracks in the ceiling. He really didn't care now that Jean was crying. He lived this scenario enough times where he knew exactly what Jean was going to say.

"I'm going to be married next month."

Of course, thought Louis wearily.

"She's a fine girl. My cousin. It's the custom of our family to marry our cousins," Jean rambled.

I'm sure it is, Louis thought, cocking one leg up, he smiled a vague smile. He heard it all before from past lovers. The first time he head the "speech" he had been somewhat devastated. Now he simply frozen inside.

"Louis you have to understand it's a matter of duty. Besides, what you and I have been doing. How can it continue? It's not real love. How could the two of us have a family? I want children."

Now that hit a nerve, Louis had to admit he wanted to be a father too. He often thought what with his brother Paul destined for the priesthood and himself being the way he was how could it be possible for a child to be born into the world--a child who had his father's hands? Who would that child be? If not child, perhaps it would have to be a grandchild who would have the same color of green eyes and the same slender but strong hands his father bequeathed him. He supposed it would fall upon his sister to bring such children into the world so his father's line would continue, it almost, non, it did seem to be a monstrous betrayal on his part not to have children. After all his father brought him into the world, and Louis did not consider his father to be a much flawed man. Louis loved his father very much, he wanted to see a child who would copy his mannerisms, the very mannerisms he copied from his father Valmont. Besides there was the issue of loneliness, Louis thought to himself above the noise of Jean who was muttering on and on about honor.

Louis couldn't possibly imagine himself any lonelier with or without a woman in his life. Perhaps he would resent her, but it seemed to Louis many men at least once in a while had occasions where they resented their wives for capturing away their youth from them. Louis wasn't getting any younger, and the thought of being an eccentric bachelor went sourly through Louis' mind. No one to watch over him in all the small ways a wife takes care of a husband. No one to distract him from his ledgers, the plantation, to sit with him quietly in the parlor, watching the fire burn down the logs in the heath. No one was a frightful concept. To be nothing but on his own till the end of his days.

"I never got the impression," Jean said wiping his eyes, blowing his nose "that I ever met much to you."

Louis knew what would happen next of course after this evening was over. In about a week perhaps two, he would receive little notes from Jean. At first formal notes, then the notes would be expressive using warmer words. Words tinted with regret and longing, followed up by an invitation to meet once again. An invitation silly with declarations of love and how he was missed, and what a fool the sender was to have broken it off with him.

And all those little notes and the invitation would pose as little more than an insult to Louis. When it's over, it's over. Conjuring up the ghost of an ended relationship was for the weak minded. It always seemed to go like that; the provocation of an affair with a young man through mutual touches and looks, later the frequent couplings in sordid secret places like this, and then respectability would rear its head and the another affair would be sacrificed to the dictates of society and marriage.

Getting up off the bed Louis thought for a moment about spending a Christmas with children he one day hoped to have. Their small hands busy receiving presents. He with an indulgent proud smile on his face. A son or daughter sitting on the floor. His or her head pressed against his knee. His hand on his child's hair, giving the same advice and homilies he learned from his father's lips. Valmont sometimes found himself taken away from his children's inner lives because of his responsibilities, but he always made sure he was there to watch events such as his daughter Therese's dancing at her first ball, or listening quietly to Paul's dreams of being a priest, or to take Louis through the necessities he would have to know to run the plantation some day. Valcount was their stern guide through life. His wife Maria now that he was gone had became quite as reclusive as Paul. Spending her days in a small chapel Valmont built for her in the house. Therese spent her days in her room, reading romance novels, staying at various friend's homes for weeks at a time.

Louis considered Jean's face. He kept his eyes cast down so Jean would be unaware of the hard, cold criticism in them. All Jean's physical faults Louis was willing to excuse him for because of his availability blared out to Louis. Jean's eyes were piggish and ill humored, really, through his face was quite handsome enough. Jean's frame which his skin fell on was too slight and almost womanly. And his mannerisms were often high keyed and hysterical. Jean talked too much.

Louis bit back the word congratulations, he felt it to be too bitter of a word for the occasion, through he would be sure to send a nice wedding present.

He left the house, leaving Jean. He went home in the twilight hours.

Once he was home, he noticed Jamie, a slave who was a friend of Paul's, stumbling up from the oratory, heading for the back door to fall exhausted on his cot in a small room off of the kitchen.

He almost felt a sad kind of kinship with Jamie, a kinship he quickly dismissed from his mind. It was rumored Jamie was the son of his uncle Alexandre. His father never believed it to be true. He knew Jamie and Paul were more than likely sexually experimenting, in fact, Louis told Jamie, to seduce his fifteen year old brother. From the lateness of the hour Louis deduced his ploy worked. He hoped it would temper Paul's fantasies about his religion. It was starting to worry him. Paul seemed too intemperate to be a priest. His actions, standing in the dark for long periods of time, his arms out stretched as if he were on an invisible cross, was disturbing to see. He hoped Jamie would draw Paul into the real world, and out of the mystical world which he feared was devouring Paul..

Going to his room, he opened up a bottle of brandy he kept on his bed table. He sipped the hot liquid down, determined to drink himself into a pleasant oblivion. A place where no one would lay a claim on his attentions. He knew his father disapproved of pubic drunkenness. This was the way a true gentleman got himself drunk--in a quite place.

Sullenly, he put his empty bottle down, taking the trail to the maids' bedroom. Opening the door, he said in a low hurt voice "Yvette, I'm cold. Come lay in bed with me."

Yvette woke from her slumber, moaning and groaning a little. She exchanged glances with the other house slaves in the bedroom they all shared. She followed Louis up to his room. She was a merry plump little mulatto. She could barely suppress a triumph laugh. Doctor Rodin de Bones, a witch doctor, sold her a charm to catch her master's fancy, and it was finally working.

She shook her behind as she walked. Dr. Rodin de Bone's laughter running though her head along with his words that no magic in this world or the other world would warm that man up for a woman's bed.

Dr. Rodin de Bones had been happy enough to take a chicken she stole in exchange for the love charm.

She held her breath going under the covers and sheet with him. If she could only manage to keep Louis interested in her charm. Louis would free her, set her up in a fine small house in town, their children would have the opportunities slave children had no access to. She wondered if she could talk him into adopting her two older children. They had black complexions, but if he loved her, surely Louis would treat them as almost well as the children they would have together. She reached her hand determinedly between Louis' legs, touching him like she enjoyed touching her man Francis, a field hand. She knew Francis would understand. She had to do what she had to do to get at least herself and her children free. And maybe, maybe she could even talk Louis into freeing Francis and helping Francis out with some kind of trade in town. Her maybes flying in her mind were all about dreams.

Rolling over, his hips pressed against her groin, Louis fell asleep in a drunken stupor, appreciating her warmth if nothing else.

(4)

Standing with his arms out stretched in his oratory, Paul waited. The sounds which he mumbled had no semblance to prayer, no semblance to words. His arms dropped to the sides of his filthy shirt. He had only hours ago had a vicious argument with his mother about his austerity. His brother took his mother's part. He never felt so distanced from his saint's voices. Try as he would he could not hear one word, not a whisper from them It was late and he was frantic Jamie sill hadn't shown up, and he was terror stricken he never would never again.

Silence, it was madding, nothing but silence surrounded him. Paul felt abandoned by God, by everyone.

He had seen Jamie earlier in the day as he always saw him doing his house hold chores.

Jamie had seemed distanced, full of day dreams. Paul's mother, Marie, who usually strove to be patient with her slaves was so rattled from her fight with Paul she slapped Jamie calling him a lazy good for nothing who should be sold to a new master for the crime of dropping a pottage cook had made for her.

Paul hadn't said a word in Jamie's defense, nor had Jamie tried to defend Paul when his mother insisted Paul clean himself up.

Falling to his knees in defeat, Paul refused to take comfort in the fact Christ suffered too. Christ couldn't possibly understand the pain of loss he was in. Leaving the wooden man behind, Paul got on his horse

He rode through the slaves quarters. He felt too intimidated to shout Jamie's name. Black faces stared up at him. He writhed under their resentment. He went further into the woods.

Pounding beats from tam-tams ripped the misty, humid air to pieces. Women and men were dancing in a clearing. Their jet black bodies glittering in the glow of a huge bonfire. Leaping and swaying, they held snakes twisted around their arms. Their hips gravitating obscenely. A huge black man, Dr. Rodin de Bones, seemed to have the ability to fly. So high were his jumps and his twistings in the smoky air. His mouth was distorted with prayers to Eurulie the spirit who rules over love, telling the spirit to take possession of the young boy dancing before him.

"Jamie, " Paul whispered in disbelief.

Jamie's legs slid out from under him Dr. Rodin de Bones dropped withering snakes on his slender undulating body. A keening sound of ecstasy came from Jamie's lips, his song keeping rhythm with the beating of the tam tams and the chanting voices around him.

Nauseated, Paul sped away.

He's the devil, the devil, Paul thought, his chest breaking with sobs He couldn't see, he rode his horse deeper and deeper into the woods. Everything spun around Paul, the trees making a canopy over him, blocking out the sky and the stars. He felt trapped.

A man, non it couldn't be a man was running through the trees. His hair was destroyed from the stylish coif it once had been in His dandyish clothes ripped. He fell hard on the ground, exhausted, heaving air coming from his lungs.

"Angel," Paul whispered in awe and horror. It was the angel he had seen when he as five years old.

The brilliant creature looked up at him where he had fallen. "Paul," Henri gaped.

Before Henri could tell Paul to run and escape the fate which was sure to fall on himself, another angel broke through the shadows. This one had auburn hair, a boy's beautiful face, and the cruel mouth of a thug. He threw himself on top of Paul's angel, pulling out a sword from his scabbard.

"What brings you to New Orleans cousin," Armand whispered, placing the sword at Henri's throat drawing blood.

"I'm here for the same reason you are, cousin. I'm here to try to convince Lestat not to commit yet another folly ," Henri said bravely.

"You can't stop Lestat any more than I can. Through I would love to try. Should I?" Armand whispered, sliding the sword across his throat, cutting through Henri's gold ascot.

Armand watched fascinated as blood seeped down Henri's chest. Redness soaking the brocade and the richness of Henri's expensive great coat. Armand's lust to kill was ready to explode. He had to take a deep breath so he could stop himself from cutting Henri's flesh any deeper.

"I shall not kill you my dear. I have a much better murder in mind," Armand taunted him, lecherously licking at Henri's blood, peeling away the wet ascot from his throat.

"You're raping me then? How flattering," Henri wheezed.

"You're little worth it sweet cousin through you be of the pretty sort. You like to be the man in these matters, oui? For me you'll consent to take the woman's passive role in our rough play" Armand laughed, "I'm bored and must have something to pass my night away with."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"And who are you to tell me what I should do," Armand laughed, taking the sword, placing it under Henri's ruffled shit, slicing it open. "Tell me? Why not pass the time with a good rape?"

"Here's why!" shouted a voice behind him

Paul almost fell off of his horse, A beautiful woman made of white mist; she was as white as the milky way hanging over head, kicked the foul ravisher right in the ass.

Armand went flying over Henri. Henri leaped up, running for Paul. "Son, you have to get away," he ordered, jumping behind Paul, taking the reins , holding on to Paul tightly, determined to get him to safety. However temporary that safety might be.

"Ha," Henri yelled galloping off.

"Ah sweet sister," Armand laughed, rubbing his backside. Turning around, grabbing Bianca by her slim wrist, Armand teased, "How touching of you to make this motherly display of protecting your fledging. Let the rogue fight his own battles with me."

Pulling Bianca along with him, Armand chased Paul's horse down. Pulling Paul off, Armand made Paul see the illusion of black wings spouting and then spreading out magnificently from his back.

"The little monk now has reason for celebration," Armand said hatefully, "I've been watching you. Do you know who I am?" he roared.

"You're, you're," Paul wept crossing himself.

Armand flapped is great illusionary wings," That's right my ripe little monk who is ripe for the taking. I'm the devil."

"Stop teasing the child," Henri yelled outraged, threateningly raising his walking stick to him.

Opening his mouth so Paul had the full witness of his fangs, Armand brought Paul to him savoring Paul's fear, his prayers he could hear racing though Paul's mind for his two angels to recuse him

"Angels," Armand laughed, "But my dear boy, they be but devils too like myself."

"It isn't true. What he is saying," Henri said, "Paul when I read you stories about Saint Francis so long ago, I didn't tell you I was an angel."

"When I saw you, talked to you," Paul stammered, "You were the reason I was first convinced that I would be a saint."

"A saint who let's a devil worshipper play with his sweet ass," Armand mocked his eyes glittering like Hectare's moon, "I've seen you with your black paramour. You've been nothing but possessed of Satan since the age of five."

"Armand leave the boy be. Stop it," Bianca implored him, "Don't make him pay my dark brother for what happened to you in Santino's cult, in Mairus' villa. He's innocent of the crimes you felt have been carried out against you."

"Silence sister, why can't I hate him? Him with his egotistical innocence. Do you know boy I was once a monk like you? A real one, not a pretend one," Armand hissed in a venomous voice, "I too danced to visions in my head caused not by God, but by cold and hunger. I painted those visions on canvas till I was raped in a slave ship. Visions," Armand said, "They fool you Paul. You've made a fool out of yourself thinking you're beloved of God."

"The voices in my head. Devil's The voices were the voices of devils?" Paul said weakly, "Insanity? Non, you're the father of lies."

"Listen to me Paul," Henri said, grabbing his arm, "You are not cursed. Those voices could very well be the voices of saints. Paul you have to understand this is real. You are not going insane. Armand let me have some time alone with the boy," Henri pleaded "To explain to him."

"To explain to him what we really are you fool? You breaker of laws. Let me have some time with this saint," Armand said savagely. Running thought the woods, Armand dragged Paul behind him.

Tree branches scratched and slapped Paul. His face became a mass of bruises and blood, his clothes barely protected his body. His stockings feel away in shreds. He lost his shoes.

"Look Paul. Look at your illusions," Armand cried, forcing him to see.

Slitting open the neck of a rooster, Jamie swung it around, the fighting bird's headless body struggling to get away to die someplace in peace. Sparks from the flames glittered around Jamie.

"He is the one who had spelled you," Armand said in a sad, deceiving voice. "It happens. I was seduced by a great witch called Marius. Only by killing him will you break the spell on you."

Letting Paul go to fall on his face, Armand laughed while Paul picked himself off of the ground. Running at Jamie, Paul slapped Jamie with his small riding whip, slapping him over and over again.

Jamie fell to his knees, he dared not protect himself. The other slaves dared not come to his aid least they be hung.

"You animal, you Satan," Paul wept, he scooped down picking up a doll Jamie had dropped.

The doll was made of straw and mud. Paul's stomach churned. The doll was also made from strings of blond hair.

"You witched me. I was never in love with you. You witched me," Paul wept, dropping the whip.

"Non, Paul please," Jamie said urgently, "What makes my Gods any less than your own? My prayers, my little dolls any less than your prayers, your little dolls of saints and virgins? I prayed and made a blood sacrifice to influence you to show me your love, or to leave me."

"How can I have show you any more love than I already have? Jamie, we come from too separate of worlds," Paul cried.

"Give me my freedom. We can go into the wilderness out west," Jamie pleaded.

"Non, you have seduced me with you tricks," Paul yelled, "The devil himself told me so."

"Would the devil advise you to the determent of another devil?" Jamie pleaded.

Falling to his knees, Paul embraced Jamie. "Hit me," Paul begged, "Forgive me. I panicked. I was trying to save myself. I let him deceive me that you were evil. He tried to turn me against you. He can't I won't let him. I love you. I want to love you. I want to chose to love you. We'll find a way to wash our sins away so the devil can't touch us. Jamie I saw the devil. He was beautiful. My angel I saw him too, and anther angel. They are weak. They are no use against him. Jamie we have to escape. Jamie, he means to kill us."

A gun shot sent all the slaves running into in the woods to hide.

Dr. Rodin de Bones tried to get Jamie to run away too. "You don't be needing to be messing here with this dead white boy. I tell you he be dead already." Dr. Rodin de Bones implored him.

"Non, I'm staying," Jamie said, trustingly to Paul. Louis stormed up to the three. Dr. Rodin ran away, hiding his face, fearing his master's anger.

Yanking up the riding whip where it had fallen, Louis hissed, "How did my brother get hurt. "Who did this to him and why?"

Paul twisted his arm out of Louis' hand. He swayed on his feet reaching for Jamie.

"Get to the main house immediately, Jamie," Louis ordered.

Gathering up a fainted Paul in his arms, he carried him on his horse to his house.

"Louis," Armand whispered from where he was hiding.

"Lestat's intended," Bianca whispered back.

"Isn't he magnificent. The way he takes control of a situation," came a voice from behind them.

A charismatic, tall, feline man smiled graciously at the them.

"And you would create another monster yet again?" Armand said sinisterly, "The boy seen us. And I demand the pleasure of killing them both."

"You can't," Henri said, reasonably, "Paul will think it's all a vision caused by seeing Jamie in these unfortunate circumstances."

"Bianca take yourself and your fledging back to the old world where you both belong," Lestat said pleasantly. "Armand mind your manners even for a former coven master you can be quite an embarrassment."

"Lestat, Bianca escorted me here so I could implore you to leave the man alone. You don't understand when Louis was fifteen I took all his imagination and his beliefs in the supernatural away from him. Louis will make a horrible companion for you." Henri said.

"And why did you do such a dastardly disservice to him?" Lestat said, genteelly playing with the lace on his sleeve.

"Louis was having fever mad dreams about you after you helped me save him from Armand's coven. He was going insane. It was the only way I could think of to save his poor mind. But if you reveal yourself, Louis will revert to being confused about what he really believes in. He will be conflicted between faith in God and his disbelief. His mood swings will be divistating. Armand is right, Louis will go insane"

"What do you think mademoiselle?" Lestat asked, favoring her with a wink.

"Is it love, monsieur?"

"Oui, it is true love," Lestat said sincerely, "From the first night I saved Louis and Nicky from Armand's coven I've been in love with the boy now grown to be such a splendid man."

"Then do what your heart tell you to do," Bianca said pleasantly, "And if your affair of the heart goes awry, kill him."

Lestat turned a bright angry red.

"How can it be love?" Henri cried. exasperated, banging his walking stick on the ground. "For pity's sake man, you have seen him but a hand full of times."

"It would seem some of us have been spying on him. I love Louis for his fire, his courage, and because he is a gentleman. I love him for his folly." Lestat declared, "How can one such as you Henri know about love? You who no one has ever fallen in love with."

Henri winced as if Lestat had hit him.

"No one has fallen in love with you at least who you would love back," Lestat said more charitably, "I will see this to the end one way or the other."

"Can you not see thanks to me he isn't the same boy you knew ten yeas ago who believed in God and mermaids?" Henri begged.

"And this is what makes Louis a splindid young man. I think you are exaggerating the consequences if I wed my blood to his body. It would be a pleasure," he smirked at Armand, "to have a lover not polluted with the belief in God and all those tried old principles. Nay, thanks to you my friend, my Louis will make for me the perfect companion. He has no God, so I will teach him how to be a god!"

"Yet another fledging to grace the nether world with," Armand said in a cracking, dry voice, "Lestat the blood you received from your maker Magnus has to be tainted. Look at the fledglings you have brought into this world. Gabrielle--mad as a hatter. Nicky--he stumbles about like a drunken idiot telling everyone he's a vampire, and he can make them into vampires too. I will not allow you to put another crazed monster on the devil's road!"

"I'll give Louis less of my so-called tainted blood. Gabrielle is not insane; she's eccentric. Nicky's insanity was your fault. You tortured Nicky into believing there was no goodness in the world only evil," Lestat said hotly, "I have made up my mind."

"Bianca, Henri go home, you fulfilled your mission," Armand said crossing his arms against his chest.

"You attacked me," Henri said outraged.

"I wasn't really going to hurt you," Armand smiled a shark's smile, "I only wanted to frighten you away cousin."

""What about you brother?' Bianca asked.

"I will stay and keep Lestat out of trouble for the sake of the the regard Marius has for him," Armand said spitefully.

"You mean for the sake of the regard you have for me," Lestat laughed, easily throwing his arm companionably around Armand's slumped shoulders. "Come my Armand. Let's hunt together. The governor is having a ball, we can catch a straggler coming home. Do not be in such an ill humor against me. You can try to talk me out of my nuptials."

"Before yon go please swear to me you will not hurt Paul," Henri pleaded, "And Lestat at least give Louis a choice. It is so unfair of you to spy on Paul Armand, to be so jealous of him."

"Why shouldn't I be jealous of a boy who was just like I was once? I can imagine Mairus falling in love with a Paul," Armand said lightly.

"Of course," Lestat said coolly, "My intended will be given a choice."

"And you too Armand swear to me to leave Paul and Louis alone," Biannca begged, "Remember my dear sweet brother those nights I tried to nurse you back to life."

"Ah Mairus was the true doctor. What a snatch he does from death's jaws," Armand teased, "I swear."

Behind Armand's swear was the memory of Nick being held down , on his knees, his hand on a tree stump. Armand slowly sawing off his hand and then the other. Next, he threw Nicky's hands in the fire. Then he tossed Nicky's bleeding body into the flames. Listening to Nicky's shirking, to the hiss of his blood boiling in his smoking body. I t was a night for sad dancing the night the fiddler died.

"You needn't worry about Paul or Louis," Lestat said lazily as a lord giving largess to his peasants. "He has my protection."

Worry was all Henri could do, he knew of Nicky's end. So far no one yet who was living or undead had the courage to tell Lestat about the death of a man he once loved above other men.

"Poor Armand," Bainca said wisely, once she and Henri were alone "He lied to me when he swore to leave Paul alone. I knew he would lie. It gives him pleasure to lie to someone. He has a jealous heart. Armand sees Jamie and the poor boy reminds him of Ricardo. Armand is grieving over his never having a love as innocent as Jamie's and Paul's. Anything which causes him grief must die. As for Louis, ah the jealously he has for the man is unthinkable. He wishes the man harm."

Henri said to Bianca. "I'm not leaving. I can't leave."

"My son," Bianca said, "I can not help you any longer in this matter, because I am of the mind. Armand may be right to kill them both."

"Why?" Henri said sadly.

"You know why. Either of them would make for disastrous vampires."

"Then we should leave them alone and let them be mortals," Henri said furiously.

(5)

Waking up in his bedroom, Paul whimpered painfully. All his bones hurt under his skin. He put his hands to his chest. He shivered in the clean cotton day shirt, and the breeches he was in. New stockings were on his calves. His body smelled all creamy of soap.

He put one leg out of bed, a dart of pain hit him right in the stomach. He felt like the whole world was floating on a boat. Stumbling out of the bed, he made his way purposefully to his brother's study.

At his desk was Louis working on his ledgers. He was holding tightly enough to his quill to break it in half. His face was all tight in a fearsome frown. "You slept all day. Sit down Paul," he said wearily without a glance his way.

Shakily taking a seat, Paul said in a small voice, "Louis I hear the voices of saints."

"How were the marks made on your chest, your legs," Louis cried throwing the quill down. "Why is your face battered?"

"You're not listening to me. Louis I hear the voices of Saint Catherine, of Saint Michael. Louis I, I see angels, and the devil. Louis the devil has become more powerful than God, more strong than the angels."

"You did not hear voices," Louis said angrily slamming his fist on the desk, worried about his brother, "Your so called voices are the result of a foolish child making himself to be sick. You have made yourself have a break down with your zealousness. I forbid you to go to the oratory. It was my folly to indulge you in your desire to be a priest. It's gone to far."

"Louis, I am not ill. I hear voices, I please Louis. I want to go to out west. I want to convert Indians to our faith up in Canada like Father Isaac Joques. Louis, Jamie wants to go with me. Jamie is as devout as I am. Non, don't shake your head, he is! Last night Jamie had a desperate fall from grace but he's back. He, he may have some doubts, but I know in time he will be absolutely unwavering in his beliefs. Jamie, he's, he's a fine person, he deserves his freedom Louis so the both of us can join the Society of Jesus up in Canada. For the sake of God, for my sake Louis please free Jamie."

"Is this what your voices told you to do free Jamie and go to Canada?" Louis said dryly, now starting to get really furious.

Paul looked away, "Non," he said in a small voice.

"I thought so. The Iroquois not only tortured Father Isaac they also killed the man. The man Paul. Father Isaac was a man who made his choice after he lived long enough to acquire an education. He was not an impressionable romantic child imagining himself going out in the wilderness to be received by a grateful people. A people who frankly did not want Father Isaac or anyone else like him in their midst. The tribes out there want to be left alone. You would not last one day up in Canada! I will not have you getting yourself killed!"

"Louis, listen to me please. I think the reason why the devil has become stronger than God is because of men such as Hume. Men who teach miracles are impossible because miracles violate nature. These men have turned us from God. God is injured by these men! Louis, I see and hear miracles. Men are becoming more atheistic thanks to Voltaire, Rousseau, and De Sade. They have no idea about the truths I have seen. I know such a thing as an interfering God and devil exist for I have been interred with."

"You have interfered with yourself, your health, and your emotional well being with your superstitions," Louis said firmly, getting out of his chair.

"I have to, we have to, brother, to save my life you have to sell Pointe du Lac."

"You're asking me to sell my own father," Louis cried in disbelief. "Paul, this is papa's plantation given to us from him.!"

"Father is dead. I've very much alive," Paul pleaded frantically, "If not Canada then let it be Paris. Louis my life is in danger. You have to give our slaves their freedom. I beg you. You, mamma our sister have to come with me and Jamie to France."

"Jamie?" Louis said cryptically, "Did Jamie put those burn marks on your chest? This idea of yours. Freeing the slaves, selling the plantation, this is all Jamie's doing. Isn't it? You are doing nothing but parroting his words. He's taken advantage of your youth and your fanciful mind for his own sake, not God's!"

"Non, Jamie would never hurt me," Paul said desperately, "Mamma will agree with me, Louis. Please. Louis the devil is here, right here, and he hates us. For the sake of our souls, our lives we must leave Pointe du Lac behind us. Or we all may all die!"

"What are you guilty about?" Louis said caustically.

"Guilty?" Paul gasped.

"Why should the devil go out of his way to pick on you? What have you done to make yourself believe you are so evil the devil has designs on you? What sin are you seeking to do penance for by becoming a missionary in France? I know Paul, I know."

"I, Jamie and I," Paul said confused, wringing his hand, "We haven't committed any sin." He blushed remembering the devil's words that Jamie had put a spell on him. Pushing the traitorous thought aside he repeated, "We haven't done anything wrong."

He couldn't look his brother in the face. Louis put his hand on Paul's shoulder while Paul started to cry.

"I know you and he have been sleeping together."

"Non," Paul whispered.

"Don't lie to me Paul, and now the guilt, it tortures you. Paul you have nothing to feel guilty for. All of that which has been written in scripture is a lie. There is no God which lays out social sins for us. No God to cower in fear under. It is in your nature to want to sleep with Jamie. Your nature doesn't lie to you."

"If you won't help me. If you won't sell Pointe du Lac, I will go to France on my own. Jamie has nothing to do with why I inflected burns on myself! Jamie will come with me," Paul said determinedly. "Where is Jamie?"

"Jamie will not come with you. He belongs to this house. You're a fifteen you old boy. You are not going any where. I will lock you in your room till your mind becomes reasonable," Louis cried , his face turning pale with worry, and regret "Jamie doesn't love you. I told Jamie to seduce you."

"You told him?"

"You decided to become a priest before you even tried life out," Louis said softly, pleading with Paul to understand his motives, "You were not acting like a boy who wanted to be a true priest Not as I understand priest to be. You didn't serve the poor. You kept telling me you were not ready to leave Pointe du Lac to go to the seminary. You were become little more than some medieval mystical hermit. It wasn't healthy. I told him if he could get you out of the oratory into the world I would give him his freedom."

"Jamie?" Paul said helplessly.

"Has been little more that a prostitute in all of this the whole time," Louis said, squeezing Paul's shoulder, "This is my fault. The world is a wicked place. And men have been known to be wicked. I am a man, Paul. I guess Jamie once he knew he failed and he could not persuade you to spend less time in prayer in the oratory, he decided to come up with this scheme to have you plead on his behalf for his freedom. Jamie has been wicked to use your illness to get what he really wanted all along. He was supposed to help you, not encourage you in your mistaken and harmful beliefs. Please brother let me help you. I'll hire a tutor to take you aboard. You will go to Rome, Paris, Germany, Venice. All of this is me fault. I thought after experiencing what it was like to be with another boy you would want to try out more of what the world has to offer to an intelligent beautiful boy like yourself. You deserve to see all of which is beautiful, true and wise in this world. Reality will wean you from your fantasies."

"How can I see what is beautiful in this world when I will soon be out of it? Louis Jamie and I are going to die," Paul pleaded.

"Don't talk such madness," Louis said gently.

"Jamie loves me. You''re lying to me about Jamie."

"Jamie was my tool to induce you out of your illness. And even if it were possible that Jamie loved you," Louis said guiltily, his eyes downcast. "How can you imagine yourself really in love with Jamie?"

"How can I imagine myself not in love with Jamie!" Louis, please listen to me," Paul begged.

"Non, Paul, I will loan him out to the Freniere. He will work on his plantation. You will have forgotten him once you have made your grand tour of Europe. Jamie has done nothing but contribute to your being morbid. It is necessary for you to be separated from him before he does you any more harm. If you still want to enjoy his body when you come back. Enjoy him in a more practical manner. You can can have him for your valet and use him as you please. Paul to think you love a man who is beneath you. A selfish, cunning, manipulative, childish savage!"

"You sound like father, Jamie is not what you are claiming him to be!" Paul cried. Pain in his side spread out like a rushing flash flood.

"When you are as experienced as our father was experienced you will understand these matters better. I have bumbled all of this brother. I so hoped after experiencing what life can be like when you are being held by another, you would seek someone else out. Someone who is more suitable for you. I can help you in this. I can introduce you to boys your age and with your taste, or to men who are much more handsomer and sophisticated than Jamie. Men who will be much better guides. Please forgive me."

Running out of the chair to the gallery, Paul turned on his brother.

"Louis," he cried. A strong wind was bearing down on Paul. In the storm was the beautiful Satan, laughing mocking him.

"Don't," Paul screamed. "Leave me alone. Louis. Help. Help me someone."

The sparse light in the room turned black, till there was nothing but blackness collapsing upon Paul.

Armand lifted Paul up in the air, moving so fast, blocking Louis' mind. Louis couldn't see him with his terrified eyes.

Moving with the speed of a demon, Henri swooped down on Armand from where he was hiding, having been watching everything from a window. Back handing Henri to fall backwards through the open window he came from, Armand threw Paul down the gallery stairs. Flying towards Louis his eyes filled with passionate maliciousness, Armand readied himself to kill Louis also. Yanking Armand up by his shoulders, Lestat carried him up to the rafters of the ceiling.

Running down the stairs, Louis watched and heard the dull thuds Paul's body till Paul landed a twisted boy at the bottom of the stairs. All of this happened too fast for Louis' eyes to witness.

Louis reached out to him, he knelt beside him, imploring Paul to wake up. His mother Marie pulled him off of her youngest son. She slapped at Paul's face, screaming at Yvette to get a cold rag for her son had fainted.

"Louis don't, Louis don't," she said tearfully, trying to wake up her son, "Louis what have you done? Why? Why did Paul yell, 'Louis don't'? What have you done?" She drew back away from Louis in fear. The guilt on her eldest son's face was hideous to see. "Did you push him. Why was he screaming for help!"

"I killed him," Louis whispered, in both belief and disbelief, "Mother, I didn't mean to I swear. I think mother, I don't know. I might have killed him. I didn't push him!" His face burned. He dared not confess to his mother about Jamie. About Paul being afraid for their lives. He didn't want the last memory she had of her son Paul to be a memory filled with sordid scandals of about him. "Yvette, send for a doctor," he whispered. Then he yelled, "A doctor."

"Why did you kill him?" Lestat cried in a angry voice, "Why? His brother didn't believe him abut seeing the devil."

"What's one less monk troubling the world? " Armand said coolly. "He knew about us. He knew too much. Why did you stop me from killing Louis? You're as great a fool as Heniri. Non, no one can rival my pathetic cousin Henri for stupidity. Ah if he were not my cousin how I would have loved to have bricked him up in a niche in the catacombs. I would have made myself comfortable and listened to that fop's dying cries melding with the cries of the other weak one's of our race. If you cared so much for Paul, why didn't you stop me from killing him? You've been up here with me in the rafters, You knew what I intended to do."

"I happened so fast. I didn't think you would make good on your threat," Lestat said ashamed. "I thought you wouldn't go through with it."

"How little you know me for all that I know you love me," Armand said bitterly.

"Love you or not imp. I alone have the fate of Louis de Pointe du Lac in my hands. You shall leave your hands off of him," Lestat insisted.

"Choose his fate well," Armand scoffed, "For if he ends up being as crazed of a nuisance as his brother Paul was, I will be the one who chops his head off to feed to my fires."

"What makes you think I would not kill you for such a crime?" Lestat said coldly.

"Because my Prince," Armand whispered spitefully, "You do love me too well to harm me permanently."

"Never trust the durability of the love I have for you my murderous friend," Lestat said cuttingly, leaping out the window.

"I have no trust in you. I have only faith. And I know how much good having faith in anyone or anything has done me," Armand said sadly, following Lestat.

Henri looked through the French doors. He was standing outside on the verandah. He could see only bits and pieces of Paul. Too many people were blocking his view. Louis was holding on to Paul's hand. Louis didn't know what to say. Maire was praying with broken words. The slaves were gathered about curious to see him. Henri finally glimpsed a small smile on Paul's battered face.

Good bye angel, he heard Paul's voice in his mind.

A tear slid down his face. He remembered the boy of five, his vain boasts that he would be a Saint Francis who would convert the world. Paul's small head resting in the crock of his arm, as he read to him. The feeling of belonging to such a small life, the warmth he felt, if only for just that one memorable night which was colored in gold in his mind. Ah Lestat, Armand, I hope you never love someone you're helpless to protect." He leaped down from the vendaugh The whole world felt like an accusation to him of what a failure he was. "Good bye beautiful one," he whispered

(6)

The warehouse was filled with the smell of smoke, sweat, whisky, and silent anguish. All sorts of flesh was on sale but the palest. Louis took a sip from his silver flask. He could barely see because he simply didn't want to see. He wanted to be nothing more than dead, and if that yet wasn't possible being drunk would have to do. In his hazy thoughts he went over and over again the memory of Paul screaming for help, imploring him to believe that his life was in danger.

Taking another swig, the vision of the inspector who had questioned him during the day, swam in the alcoholic sway of his mind.

"Tell me again, tell me again," Louis heard over and over again as the inspector sized him with up with his tiny blood shot red eyes. Louis could tell the inspector knew he had something to hide about Paul. Louis also could tell the inspector had made up his mind not to look too deeply into his bother's case. Inspector de Franval knew the de Pointes was a family of high standing in the community and he did not see any need reason to create a scandal. He hinted around if Paul possibly killed himself. The deadly look on Louis' face made de Franvel feel distinctly afraid. He knew the de Pointe's had legendary tempers which no one wanted to go up against. Louis's great-great grandfather, Dolmance, had the most impeccable manners you would ever want to see on a man. A sweet, gentle sort who one sunny day loaded his pistol and shot his mistress Juliet, for partaking of a flirtation with a servant. This after Juliet had been carrying on an affair with Dolmance's brother for the past six months. A situation Dolmance was well aware of. The inspector knew of Louis' indulgences with many of the sons in the upper reaches of society. He couldn't help but wonder if Louis and Paul had a jealous falling out over the attentions of one of these well born young men. Might not Louis having invited his brother into his pastimes, found himself replaced in a lover's affections by his own younger brother? The last thing the inspector wanted was any kind of that knowledge to be made official to the public. New Orleans was a place you didn't want to make rich enemies in.

De Franval questioned Marie about Paul. She had her white rosary tangled in her hands as if it were a beautiful chain. She wanted to exonerate her oldest son, but how could she, and still stay loyal to Paul--the son who loved her best. She broke down in tears telling him about Paul's cries for help.

She struggled with her words as if she were playing with fire. Without Louis there would be no one to run the plantation, she would be ruined. Therese also. Worse she felt like every word she said was a weapon which could be used against her memory of who Paul was. Marie had the feeling Louis was keeping some terrible dark secret about Paul, and she didn't want to know. She wanted to remember Paul as he had always been to her. Even with her doubts about Louis' innocence she still depended on his protection. Tearfully, she prayed Louis, guilty or not, would not be arrested for Paul's death. That it would all be explained away for her and she could go on with her way of life, the only life she knew how to live.

The daughter, Therese had been over at a friend's plantation. The slaves De Franval questioned told him about how Paul was lifted up in the air by an evil sprit. Slaves gullible ignorant, always telling lies. Yvette, a pretty house slave, told him about how she heard unearthly laughter while Paul was falling down the stairs. More nonsense. But what it did establish was Louis was no where near Paul when he fell down. Case closed the boy slipped. It was an accident.

An accident, Louis wondered over and over again, How could it have been an accident?

Jamie shuffled forward. Wrist and leg chains gripping at him, dragging him down with every step he took away from what once was his life. He wanted to put his hands to his thighs to hide his nudity. He felt as if he had no humanity left to him, and being ashamed was useless and ridiculous. Men with rich clothing and a few sporting ladies called out to each other explaining over this child's beauty, or this man's strength, or the sturdy legs on this woman. They inspected the merchandise carefully, looking the meat over for clues to see what kind of servants they would make. Occasionally a wanton remark was made over the charms of a pretty young female. These ugly insults made at the young girls were done to further shove the men, women, and children into a state of bestiality. Jamie wished he could take them all far away, the frightened children hanging on to their mothers' naked legs. The mothers who were no longer allowed to play the role of mother to their children who would soon be sold from them. The fathers, the sons, the daughters, the lovers all with dumb, passive expressions on their dark and brown faces. Jamie's turn came up. He took his place standing before them. All the while he was standing before them; the slave seller explained over Jamie's virtues, pointing out what a fine, sturdy back he had, and that he could play the piano.

Sell him, Louis thought bitterly to himself, Sell him so I don't have to look at him anymore.

Louis felt it to be perfectly fair. Paul was gone, now it was time to make Jamie disappear.

A fat, burly Monsieur Dubois, a husky man of fifty years with sandy hair, bought Jamie for $250.00. He asked if he could come up and have a look at what he paid for. Trailing his hands on Jamie's naked thighs, he pinched them both, raising his hand, barely almost touching Jamie's cock. He placed his hand on Jamie's abdomen, prodding him, glazing greedy up into Jamie's beautiful brown and golden eyes, thinking he would fuck him for a couple days then send him out to his sugar cane fields to work

Jamie shivered wanting to throw up. He couldn't believe while he was feeling so devoid of having any kind of manhood at all this man would be desiring him. He couldn't believe the man was so aroused by him that he wanted to touch him as if he were a human being, a boy, when he felt like he was nothing but an animal, empty, a nothing. He bit his lips refusing to cry.

"Turn around to let me have a look at your back, " Monsieur Dubois said, stroking the small of Jamie's back, pinching and cupping his ass while the crowd could not see what he was doing. Jamie did as he was told, turning his back to the crowd. Taking his whip he patted the back of Jamie's thighs, forcing him to spread them. "Bend over now," he said evenly, The crowd went attentive, lustfully glazing at the beauty of Jamie's youthful, muscular, golden brown body.

"Now de Pointe, you didn't put some tar up his ass to hide his having dysentery, did you now?" Dubois laughed. The crowd laughed along with him.

Louis took in a drunken breath disgusted at seeing the rough hands playing and toying with Jamie's body on the pretense of inspecting him for faults while the crowd watched. He hated seeing Jamie's hands, those beautiful, long, strong, talented hands, those hands soon to be destroyed picking sugar cane, those hands, which looked like his father's hand's.

"Three hundred," Louis shouted, now knowing without a doubt Jamie was not the bastard his father claimed him to be. He was his cousin, he was his uncle Alexandre's child, "Three hundred and fifty dollars, four hundred."

"But Monsieur de Pointe, I need him for my sugar fields! Please accept my apologies if my jibes offended you," Monsieur Dubois cried.

The crowd murmured. Disgust and contempt swelled from them for Louis. The gossip spreading like spilled kerosene abut how he pushed his brother down the stairs.

"Four hundred and fifty, I'll pay you four hundred fifty ," Louis cried his eyes flashing
dangerously.

"Sold then," Monsieur Du Bois said fearfully, not wanting to be the next vicim of De Pointe's anger. He fully believed from the cold way Louis hand played with his rapier, Louis was more than capable of murdering a man.

The slave seller undid Jamie's chains, and threw him his clothes.

"Why, why did you treat me this way?" Jamie said breaking down in tears and fear," You've known me since I was a child. How can you do this to me?"

"You used Paul," Louis said coldly, "You used me. You wanted your freedom so bad you took advantage of a sick child. Fine, you're free Jamie. Choke on your freedom."

"I wanted my freedom so I could be with Paul. So we could leave together. We loved each other," Jamie said tearfully, "It was the only way I could think of for us to really be together as as, please. I knew the only way we could be together was if we left New Orleans. Louis please, I loved your brother."

"The worst thing I ever did to Paul was to put him into your hands. You manipulative, evil monster," Louis hissed wondering who he was talking to Jamie or himself. "He was screaming, begging for help. No one helped him. You knew about what he was doing to himself. The burns, how he was hurting himself. You let all of that go on! Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped him, I could have gotten him to a doctor. You did nothing to save Paul."

"I didn't betray Paul's secrets to you, any more than I betrayed your secrets to Paul," Jamie said, fearing Louis would sell him again, "You wanted me to be Paul's whore. I was never Paul's whore."

"You're just a child," Louis said painfully aware now of how thin and haggard Jamie was, "Paul was just a child. I should never should have. The both of you were just children. It's no excuse for what you did to him! You knew he was sick!"

"I thought he was magic. I didn't know! I believed in him! I thought he had to hurt himself to be magic," Jamie wailed.

Stumbling out of the warehouse, Louis left Jamie to starve, perish, he didn't give a damn what happened to Jamie, or to himself, all he wanted to do was to find someone to murder him like he felt he and Jamie murdered Paul.

Old Sally waddled up to Jamie. "Is is true now what they say that you play the piano like an angel?"

"Oui," Jamie said carefully, keeping his head down. Even through now he was free any disrespect shown to a white man or woman would be a cause for his arrest and a public whipping in the town square.

"How would you like to be working for me now then? I own a right nice social house and I can do with a piano player, and someone to help me keep the place tidy. Mind you, you be knowing all me girls be white girls. I don't want you to be bothering them."

"I won't brother them," Jamie said, wondering what to do.

"I be paying you a nickel a week, and that includes a free room and all you food you can eat to chase the skinniness out of you. There you go. I'm not a bad sort you know. I be paying you more if you be doing special jobs for me."

"I'm a good worker," Jamie said reassuringly to her, frightened of being left alone with so many men with pistols and rapiers at their sides.

"Then off with you," Old Sally said cheerfully, taking Jamie with her.

Louis strolled the alley's, singing a profane song of a girl who was the type who harbored many a sailor lad. He held out his hand, catching a rain drop. He sighed, feeling himself calm down, he couldn't stand looking at Jamie, anymore than he could stand looking in a mirror, but he knew he had go back to collect Jamie and bring him home.

"You make for a charming drunk Louis," came out a voice behind him.

A man appeared out of nowhere with beautiful lace at his throat, and an elegant frock coat. He would have been a intriguing man, what with his fine blond hair tied back, and his perfect, sharp white teeth, and his haughty, beautiful angel's face-- a rather stuck up angel's face. Oui, a very intriguing man, if only his rude manners didn't spoil any affect his good looks might of had on Louis. His voice was boldly insinuating. and he was standing imprudently too close to him as if he were inspecting him.

"You have the looks of a big toad who spies a rather tasty, and helpless fly," Louis said coldly, "Look here monsieur, the fly has this to sting you with," Louis pulled out his rapier. "Shall I drive it through you, or would you?" he laughed, bringing his face tantalizing close to Lestat's, he whispered, "Would you like to drive it through me?"

Lestat stepped backwards, he could barely keep his mouth from falling open in a most undignified fashion. This wasn't at all what he was expecting from the gentle, well mannered man he had been stalking for a month.

"A word with you monsieur," Lestat said flustered.

"What just a word?" Louis said sarcastically, "Your mouth looks sweet sir for a toad's. Shall your little fly give your mouth a kiss? Ah, but we all know the shit flies feed upon in their daily going abouts. Shall you dare it, Monsieur Toad?" Pulling Lestat into his arms, Louis licked around Lestat's bewildered mouth, finally locking his lips on his, teasing the insides of Lestat's mouth with his bold explorations.

"Ow, Toad did you bite me!" Louis cried out in pain from having run his tongue against one of Lestat's fangs. "I swear, that's kissing enough from you anyway." Teasingly, Louis put his hands on Lestat's shoulders.

Pushing Louis in the chest making him almost fall, Lestat yelled, "So, you would kiss any man?"

"Oui, even toads!" Louis laughed, goading Lestat to violence, "And not only are you a toad, you're a whore's son, a bastard, a vile libertine who deflowers virgins. You smell monsieur of a whore's slop bucket!"

"And you, you are, you're very beautiful," Lestat said calmly, determined to have this mortal be his lover if it be but for only one night of Louis languishing in his arms, or uncountable nights of eternity on the Devil's Road. Catching Louis up in his arms, he broke into his skin. Louis' blood hit his upper palette, the red liquid spinning around like a wine being swirled in a long stemmed glass. A vortex of pure passion to undress the mortal in his arms, to hold him naked, his flesh straining, sliding against his woke inside of Lestat with a roar. Louis murmured some nonsense. Lestat bit him harder, happy to hear Louis' small cry of pain, gratified to hear Louis' abandoned whisper of pleasure. Louis pushed himself against the golden aura of his beautiful lover. His erection exploding in his breeches. His cock begging to be stroked, fingered, and licked. Lestat pushed Louis up against a wall, deciding he would from drink Louis while fucking him as he was standing. The brick of the wall felt cold and hard to Louis' face, he moaned for more sharp caresses. He felt fingers unbuttoning his breeches, the fine cloth being pulled down exposing his naked thighs. He felt the sharp intrusion of fangs entering into his neck. The parting of his butt cheeks. A cock pushed itself inside of him. He cried out in pain, a wonderful, wicked pain. One he wished he was inflecting on another as he was feeling it also. Lestat's cock burrowed itself right to his anal rim. The cold of this devil's cock inside his ass made Louis' capacity for joy dance like sparks. Lestat released his grip in Louis' throat, fondling Louis' prick, wanting to delight his lover to death, perhaps, perhaps not to death. Lestat's lips descended to give Louis a sharp kiss once again right into Louis' vein, taking another drink. A fist slammed into Lestat's face, a kick went right into his swollen groin. Louis slid down the wall into the mud.

Armand!! You bastard you imp!" Lestat screamed, scrambling up on his knees.

"Every name he called you! I find to be true! Libertine. Toad. Bastard! Whore's son!" Armand cursed, kicking Lestat's groin again. "And dolt!"

"I agree with Armand. How dare you make a liar out of yourself," Henri said angrily, pulling Louis' breeches up, restoring an unconscious Louis' modesty, "You promised to give him the choice. having your way with a drunken man is hardly presenting him with a choice!"'

"I forgot my vow, and who are you to interfere with me! I will have this mortal and you will not gainsay me, by God, either of you!" Lestat swore, putting his fist to Armand's face.

"This man you want I swear you are playing with one who could well set fires," Armand cursed. ducking the clumsy swing of Lestat's fist. "Leave him alone here to die! Least what is between us dies. You had enough fooling yourself with him"

Henri slipped off. He hurried back with a mortal in tow.

"Louis," Jean cried running to his side, oblivious to the two gentlemen arguing by his body. Jean slapped Louis' face gently, checking his pulse. "What has happened here?"

"My friend, and my dear cousin found him like this. I fear he had been attacked and robbed!" Henri said hurriedly.

"Oui, attacked and robbed!" Armand said frantically, trying not to grin at Lestat. Armand felt glad to have a cousin for once.

"Oui, someone's been robbed," Lestat growled ready to crush the young mortal's throat.

Before he could spring himself on mortal, Louis groaned, "Jean, Jean," his eyes fluttered open, he reached for his hands.

Damn it all," Lestat thought angrily.

Jean took his handkerchief and wiped at Louis face, "I have my carriage with me. I'll take you home. I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart." Jean looked up. All three of Louis' good Samaritans had disappeared.

Jean felt an uneasy tickle of fear running up his spinal cord, calling for his slaves to help him, he hurried Louis away.

"What is the matter with you!" Lestat screamed from where they were hiding. He grabbed Henri by his fine ascot.

"Leave my dear cousin Henri alone," Armand smirked. "he was just saving you from the biggest mistake of your life!"

"It's my life!" Lestat stormed

"I saved you from dishonor," Henri said bravely. "Someone has to help you keep your vows apparently!"

"Lestat please come with me." Armand begged, pulling on his sleeve. "Please let's talk this over before you have regrets."

Lestat's lust was in turmoil. He couldn't help but admire Armand's own particular, young, boyish beauty under the cold star light. Even through he knew it was an illusion. How could one tell Armand's youth was a lie except but to look into the ancient evil in Armand's eyes. Armand looked every bit a Renaissance angel having escaped from the canvas of a master painter. Lestat knew he was being seduced, but he didn't care. In a whirl wind of wanting, he took Armand's hand, determined to slake the ache in his loins Louis' escape had left him with.

Henri sighed, hurrying away after the two left, he prayed his cousin Armand could keep Lestat permanently immobilized on his sharp charms. And Lestat would leave Louis alone. Bianca, he prayed her name, then he really prayed, crossing himself for Paul's sake. He hurried away to Pointe du Lac.

(7)

The next night Henri slipped through the door which opened out into the verandah. His feet didn't dare tread on the ground, so intense was he in keeping his presence a secret. Louis' sister was seated by Louis bedside. She was fast asleep.

"You know," Henri said softly, caressing Louis' hair, "I remember you when you were just a boy the same age as Paul. Our meeting seems from a time so long ago. Through it has been but ten years. You were a frightened young man. The small time I spent with Paul had me convinced you both somehow belonged to me. My own family had died at the hands of Madam Guillotine during the Red Terror."

Henri watched the barely perceptible breaths Louis was taking. The pallor of Louis' face was a signal for some undertaker to come in and do his work.

"I used to imagine what life was like for the two of you growing up," Henri said sadly, "It helped me to pass the time away thinking of the both of you as being happy and safe. You've grown to be such a fine young man. What happened to Paul wasn't your fault. It was mine. I pushed him into being an absolute innocent, into having an inordinate amount of faith and passion for the supernatural with my visitation. If I had never taken the time out to read to him. Louis it was only one night, I swear to you, only one night. After that I never visited with Paul again. It was only that one night where I." Henri sighed, "where I pretended the both of you belonged to me, and I belonged to you both."

He sat down on the bed, placing his walking stick under his chin, leaning on it. "It was quite hard to see Paul dead. What can a creature such as I do? I'm like any animal who can only sniff at the torn up remains of his young killed by predators. All I can do is wish it were alive, wish for the impossible, then go my way, leaving him behind You have no idea how useless I am to anyone. I can barely defend myself much less anyone else."

Slowly, he placed his hand on the blanket covering Louis. Soberly, he pulled it back. "I could kill you, It would take Lestat's game away from him. It would more than likely mean my death. I could make you into my fledging another weak soul to wander amongst the monstrous powerful ones in the savagery of our garden. Or I can leave you to your fate. Killing you is the only way I can keep your soul safe."

He bent his head down to Louis' throat. His mouth opened ready to bite down, slowly, he chastely kissed Louis' neck instead. "Who am I to try to save your soul when I threw away my own away?' Henri whispered. "When I decided the world was too cold a place I decided I didn't want a human heart any more."

Henri heard a rustling at the French doors. "It's too late for me to put any plan into action. What do you say to a man on such an occasion? Louis, you're going to die," Henri said helplessly, "You're fate is in his hands. All I can do is pray Lestat will be kind to you," He pulled back the blanket. Kissing Louis' forehead he left out the door leading into the hall. Eerily, he could feel Paul's presence. The presence of a blond headed, tall, youngster who long ago took his hand when he was but five year old, thinking him to be an angel. Henri dismissed the uneasy feeling by crossing himself, and saying a sort of prayer, The iciness of the hall turned back to being hot and muggy. The ghost was gone.

"Paul?' he questioned nervously, "Paul was that you? Are you here? Come back Paul."

"Of course Paul is not here, came a voice whispering behind him.

He nearly fainted. Longs fingers covered his mouth before he could let out a yell of alarm.

"Henri, honestly do you want to wake someone up to find us lurking about, my God?" Bainnca whsipered, " I booked our passages to Europe. We leave tonight."

"But, Louis?" Henri said fearfully.

"Stop with your fantasies! I swear you are blind. You see only with your heart! Every time you look at him its obvious you see a child and not the man he is. The man is not your ward, nor is he your brother," she said taking his arm, leading Henri out of the house into the garden. "Lestat is in there with him. Hush, I can hear the two of them talking."

"What are they saying?"

"Ah," she laughed, "Clever, clever boy, Lestat has mesmerized him. Louis' soul is on cold fire, burning, yet not consumed. Lestat is promising him freedom from his responsibilities promising him release from his petty concerns. Poor Louis! He blames himself so for Paul's death."

"So does Louis believe once he is no longer mortal Paul's death will no longer have any effect on him?"

"Non, non, it is not so simple," she scolwed, " He believes if he survives his death he will have the answers he wants. Why did Paul die? Whose fault was it? Is there a God? Was there a purpose to his brother's death? Louis is chasing down the reasons why Paul existed at all."

"And he seeks to find this information out from Lestat! Oh, he may as well seeking wisdom in a brick wall. A brick wall would be more helpful of a seer. Is he?"

"No, not yet. Lestat desires for him to kill first. Louis is to strip away all his mortal notions he has of basic human decency. He want to prove to Louis anyone would commit murder in order to survive themselves. So Louis will enter their union already a killer of men."

"How pray tell will having Louis become a murderer before he is a killer make Louis feel any happier about being a vampire?" Henry said dryly.

"Honestly Henri it will force Louis to see there is a reason why creatures kill. Men, vampires they are driven to kill under desperate circumstances! Sometimes not so desperate circumstances like in Armand's case. Armand has made it his mission to be a murderer of children, and vampires. Has he not? Human's murder humans for all sorts of filthy reasons. While we vampires, we poor creatures! For most of us the circumstance of our need is but a simple one, we kill humans to live, we are unpolluted by sentiments of envy, jealousy, lust or hate."

"Do you believe in the crazy nonsense you are saying?" Henri said coolly thinking of Armand and other vampires who he was aquatinted with. Vampires who took a evil delight in their kills which went far beyond simply maintaining breath in their bodies.

"In the best of all worlds yes, I believe it, "Bianca said, "As it really is, on well, such is life what are you going to do? Listen, they are headed this way. I do not desire a fight with Lestat of all people," she said, pulling on Henri's sleeve, forcing him to hide in a closet with her.

Lestat's radiance out did heaven. Lestat seemed to be as sweet as a child. He led Louis out of the door to their vicim. Paul followed them his ghostly footsteps even lighter than Lestat's. Out the door the three went to the embrace of moonbeams and mystery.

They found the overseer walking down the path heading towards the slave quarters. Louis threw himself on the overseer. Lestat held the struggling man in place for him. Paul materialized signaling to Louis to stop. Louis gasped, he hesitated then he ignored Paul's ghost.. He drove his teeth into the man's neck, the flatness of his teeth bit and tore till the man's blood seeped. out. Slowly he drank coughing, retching up blood. He could barely breathe. Louis stared into his dead brother's dead blue eyes the light of dawn seemed trapped in those magnificent eyes. Paul's lips were moving. Louis couldn't make out the words, he felt as if his mind were playing evil fever tricks on him.

Louis pulled out his small bowie knife, ruthlessly slicing into the man's thick throat. The man's neck lolled awkwardly to the side, blood dribbled out onto his sweaty clothes. Louis had his hand pressed over the man's heart. He could feel thudding desperately under his ribs. He removed his hand from the overseer's sticky shirt.

"I killed him, I killed a man and a boy," he said, feeling sick of himself, "You must kill me now," he implored Lestat.

"You foolish little hypocrite," Lestat sneered, striking Louis' face, unsure what to do with such a beautiful, spineless coward who stared immorality in the face. Who could do nothing but cower and throw the dark gift away into his face. Wanting to spur up his courage, Lestat fought with Louis, scaring him, almost killing him. Louis snarled, kicking and flaying away at Lestat. It was no use, Louis had little blood in him to fight back. Finally, Louis was on the verge of begging him for his life.

"No man fights as viciously as you just did, and can lie to me about wanting to die," Lestat crowed. "You want to live, and here's how."

Once his beloved was helpless on the ground terrified and angry; Lestat took him, making his killing of him the sweet act of a man in love.

"God would not have allowed this to happen to me, to you, can't you see," Louis whispered as he died, "Paul can't you see? You don't exist expect in my mind now, and in a grave. Paul? Where did you go?"

Louis shook off his desire to have Paul back. He bit into Lestat's wrist with a impatient savage desire, making Lestat clinch his teeth in agony, then sigh as he gave into a vortex of pleasure.

Louis drank in the red sea: drank without an end to sight.

Lestat pushed Louis away. He could sense Armand watching them both in the night. Miles away in the night, watching with his huge amber eyes.

"Beautiful," Lestat whispered drawn in by the liquid pain in those moist amber eyes wet with mourning.

He guiltily stepped away from Louis.

Last night he had used Armand, ravishing him as much as anyone could possibly ravish Armand.

He rolled down Armand's fine silk stockings from his calves, licking the insteps, massaging and caressing the dead flesh into excited animation. Then the pulling off of his breeches, teasingly slapping his rounded little ass. Armand had laughed a deadly serious laugh deep in his throat.

Everything about Armand was serious.

He opened up Armand's shirt, tearing it off of him. Teasing and mouthing his small nipples, punching them playfully at first, then a little harder. Growling at Armand like a beast, calling him his little tart. Then with a nod from Armand's curly head, he took up a switch and whipped him with it. The switch bounced up and down Armand's taunt bleeding skin. Armand grabbed handfuls of the sheet, gasping and scrumming in pleasure, his firm, slender back arching up as if his skin were kissing each striking blow. Lestat bent his head down his tongue trailing down on Armand's blood soaked hot flesh. He smacked the switch on Armand's buttocks, making them twitch in trembling abandonment. Armand tilted his ass up in the air so Lestat could do freely as he pleased. Pausing to lick at his hot little ass, greasing his fingers and thrusting them inside, Lestat resumed hitting Armand. Pulling his punishing forceful fingers out only so could torment, caress and rub Armand's swollen cock

"Hit me, harder. Hit me. Lestat harder, the pain is delicious, it hurts," Armand moaned, his buttocks rocking and swaying under the brutal attentions of the whip.

Beating him furiously, not excited by his actions so much as he was aroused by Armand's excitement, Lestat furiously did as he was commanded. Lestat stopped to take a breath, trailing the switch against Armand's weeping with blood tears flesh, pushing his thumb in Armand's ass, cupping with his hands his testicles, foundling them roughly. He used the lubrication of Armand's blood to insert a small wooden cock inside of Armand's ass, pushing it in and out. The smooth polished wooden cock caused Armand's entrance to open for a bigger cock. Lestat slid himself inside of him, once the wooden one was removed. Lestat squeezed and played with the length of Armand's cock, while he jerked and shoved inside of him, his cock rubbing against the delicate gland inside of Armand. Armand gave out little screams, the pleasure of Lestat's gloriously, devastating, large cock was more arousing than the ejaculations of blood gushing out from the cuts on his skin.

The fire inside of his ass, his cock, his whole entire body bit and tormented him till he had an orgasm deep inside of himself, his cock exploding with cum in Lestat's firm hand.

Lestat climaxed while driving his fangs in Armand's neck, drinking his blood, the sweetness of Marius was in his blood. Ah Mairus Lestat thought greedily He imagined it was old Marius' blood he was drinking. Maris, Armand's maker. Marius' body, his thrusting cock was tearing apart. Marius, dainty delicious on his tongue.

Armand reached for Lestat's wrist.

Lestat pulled it away, "Non, you only seduced me to have a taste of those who must be kept."

"Ah" Armand said panting, "So Mairus did let you drink from them. The origin of our race. It explains a lot about your strength. Marius never has taken me to the ancient fountain of their bodies for a drink."

"I wonder why?" Lestat said lighting, pulling on his clothes.

"Perhaps, he doesn't trust me as he apparently trusts you. Perhaps he thinks out of spite and jealousy I would kill them in their vegetal state. It's true, if they die all we vampires die. Do you think about dying much Lestat?" Armand said drawing his legs up resting his head on his knees. "Ah, Marius would call me son you know whenever he entered me. Son," he whispered.

The beautiful angel who fell too hard from heights too dizzyingly high for him, Lestat thought of Armand, Quietly Lest said, "Perhaps Mairus was right not to turst you."

"As you are right not to not to love me."

"Armand , Armand, I do love you." Lestat cried, kissing him.

"Ah you say you do. You do not adore me anymore than I adore you," Armand lied, "A price for this evening. I demand you pay a price."

"Always a price," Lestat said, putting his hand to Armand's face.

"Oh, Lestat you never paid for anything have you?" Armand said gently, "My coven destroyed by the reasonableness of your argument there is no God. So we owe the supernatural no worship. Your lover Nicky abandoned by you. Oh, my Lestat, I ask just for for this once for you to honor me on this occasion. A price."

What's your price?"

"Kill Louis, or leave him alone for him to cause himself to be killed," Armand whispered.

"You motivation?"

He, he is too weak to be one such as us. He frightens me. Weak vampires could prove to be the undoing of us all. Their clumsiness would lead people to wonder, then know about our existence. Then we will be hunted down."

"He frightens you? Ah, liar, you are jealous of him. I will pay your price unless I decide the payment is too dear to me."

"Am I dear to you?" Armand asked, the lights from the candles made his body a thing mystical and divine.

"You know I do," Lestat said falling back into Armband's arms.

Lestat's memories of the night before faded as Armand turned and walked away. Angrily, he refused to help Louis die from his mortal life. Lest purposely was flippant, wondering what he had down, and why he had done it. In his guilt over how he treated Armand, and even how he treated Nicky, Lest spitefully did everything he could to humiliate his new fledgling. Lestat was furious at himself for hurting Armand, for his caving in, and not being able to resist Louis' fatal charms. He had to have Louis, had to have him, had to, and now that he had him, he wasn't sure he wanted him. Lest wished Louis would disappear, blaming himself for own stupidly, wondering if Armand was now his enemy.

Lestat mocked Louis, going into his den, reading his accounting book, telling him he was a rich man, pawing at, and touching his things as if he owned them now, being deliberately hurtful. Then Lest made a sniggering remark about how Louis would have to sleep on top of him in a coffin. He leered at Louis like he was a filthy goat of a libertine, lording it over a young, helpless, delectable boy. Louis could only tremble in outrage and fear, confused and heart broken. The person he thought to be an angel was nothing but Lucifer himself. Louis never felt so tricked or lied to.

Henri and Bianca were long gone. Having hurried away on to the ship, The Sea Hawk. They sailed away to Greece. Bianca hummed a wild cheerful tune, hungry to be reunited with her lover Marius.

Ah if Armand only knew it was I who is now keeping our father's bed warm. She shivered in anticipation. Nightly, Marius would take off her long string of pearls after he first had knotted them around her neck. Then he would slip off her ball gown and her stockings. He could not maintain an erection for her. For this he needed a young boy. But there were other way he would pleasure himself with her, bleeding her dry, while she sucked him dry. She then would lie back on his great bed, giving herself over to his playing fingers inside of her cunt. The gloating power he had, power over her to make her eyes wet and glisten, and her mouth grow heavy with groans. This was sometimes arousal enough for her impotent old man. He yearned to have the whip hot on his back side, and so she smacked it on his wicked hide.

Some nights he busied himself licking at boy's delicate cock making the boy twirl around so he could kiss and lick at his backside as she whipped him. His mouth tickling and blowing kisses at the boy's balls. Maris would wither and twist in the bed till the sheets where wet with his cum. And then he would kill the child. She refused to join in the kill. Always leaving before he did the killing. He always assured her the boys he used were thieves and whores, She didn't care what he did as long as he let her nightly liberate his blood from his veins.

Ah, my sweet brother Armand would choke the very life out of me if he knew I was Marius' favorite now, she laughed to herself, squeezing Henri's arm. Thank God my fledging is too old for Marius' games. I would hate to see Henry physically hurt like some of the rogue vampires Marius entices in his bed. Henry doesn't deserve it, she thought, furiously protective of her handsome fledgling who she had given the role of being a son to her in her long life. Through she looked but of the age of nineteen, she lived so far for five hundred years and more.

I should have killed Armand for hurting Paul, if only because it hurt Henri, she thought lovingly squeezing his hand.

She stretched, she was a luscious, savage animal in her shiny vampire skin. Through she enjoyed doing her tricks with Mairus it was Pandora she saved her true passion for, she dreamed thirstily of the soft places between the fiery one's open legs. She hugged herself, knowing Armand was hurting, yet again abandoned by a lover for another, oui, this was revenge enough, knowing Lestat had utterly rejected Armand, and now Lestat had a new fledging on his hands. She laughed a laugh a laugh sounding of crystal, Armand must think himself to be such a fool. I almost pity him. I suppose I will pity him later. For now its amusing.

Henri looked reflectively into the night sea, wishing he had Louis at his side.

He turned to Bionic and said, "Is my luggage safe? Do you think it will be all right?"

"I do not know about your luggage," Bionic said softly, rubbing her face on his.

Henry went into their cabin, not in the mood for small talk or gloating, He went to his coffin. His last thought were a prayer for Louis, Jamie, Paul and himself.

Lestat and Louis too were in a coffin. Lestat looked up at the tense pale dreaming face pressed against his.

I couldn't help myself, Lest raged, feeling angry at Louis and at Armand both. . He felt almost as much anger as regret for so impulsively creating Louis.

Before he knew what he was doing Lest found his mouth deeply kissing Louis'. Licking his dying flesh which was still tingling with mortal warmth. Lest felt a sturring in his strotum. He calmed down his lustful thoughts of Armand.

Non, my love, for you are my love, but I have the capacity to have many lovers in my life time. And I will not be denied. You will be but one of many. I think I may end up loving you out of them all to the highest degree. Tomorrow night I will seduce you once again with my wiles. Make you see me again as an angel of wisdom and strength. Or perhaps, he thought wishfully, Since I made your introduction into darkness such a brutal voyage you will feel compelled to seduce me so I will treat you better. Show me your charming ways Louis, the charming ways which I have watched so far from afar.

Lestat died. Paul sat on top of their coffin, he was very wakeful. Paul was dreaming a dream of Jamie, and he shuddered. In Paul's dream his brother was selling Jamie at the slave auction. It had to be a dream. He put his hand out to take Jamie's but the hand was too far away to touch. Finally, Paul couldn't help but give a small, imploring laugh at all the nonsense. the folly of it all. He laughed at himself for never truly allowing himself to completely love Jamie, he laughed at Lestat, Armand, his brother Louis, all of them except for Jamie. Jamie was no laughing matter.

Leaping from the coffin, his ghostly body was suspended in the air. He did a little dance in the air, then he fell to dance on top of their coffin. Paul turned into a shimmering light which was as bright as the sun's rays on top of the sea.

(8)

Louis mindlessly worked at his rosewood desk not really having any motivation to make any sense of the business letters he was reading. Gingerly, he touched his chest with his long slender fingers, not really believing himself to be real.

Earlier in the evening he awakened from his death sleep. His eyes staring right up at the lid of his coffin. He hurriedly threw it open That little thrill of panic that he had somehow been locked in his box chased down his throat like a shot of rot gut whisky.

He then straightened out his clothing, reminding himself to take on the gestures of a mortal man, knowing he was no longer one. His body was aching, stiff and starving. Hungry for the blood which would animate his limbs to renewed vigor and strength. He strode into the stable. The sound of scurrying feet could be heard up on the loft. Hurriedly, he climbed the ladder with preternatural speed. He leaped on the source of that dry rasping sound. A hideous sewer rat which would make for his meal. If its sad tasting blood would not completely calm his hunger it would slacken it enough for him not to seek out his true desire for the taste of a human being. He tossed the rat from him, going down to the main house..

Louis chewed on his quell, he couldn't get it out of his mind the disturbing way it felt to wake up in a box every evening.

"What are you doing?" came a voice behind him. A rose was dropped on to his papers.

"A present to make up for the misunderstandings between us." said the voice.

Louis' lips stretched into a bewitching smile. He brought the rose to his straight nose. "Ah, how thoughtful of you. A rose from my mother's garden." He almost wanted to add the words, she doesn't understand me either.

"Merci," Louis said instead, trying to keep his face engaging.

"You look lovely tonight," Lestat whispered into his ear, squeezing his shoulder. He puzzled over Louis' appearance. Of late, Louis had only appeared in dull suits of mourning. For past nights he would wear nothing else. Tonight he was wearing stockings of fine white silk, tight velvet black breeches, and a white, linen, ruffled shirt opened all the way down. His skin looked beautifully creamy and blood tinted from the dazzling whiteness of his shirt. His hair resting untied on his shoulders reminded Lestat of what night would look like resting on ivory. Experimenting, daring himself, he slid his hand inside of Louis' unbuttoned shirt. He half expected Louis to angrily slap him.

Instead, to his wary surprise, Louis didn't stir. Passively, he allowed the hand to pinch at his nipples, and caress his chest.

"Mon ami," Lestat breathed in Louis' ear "You're giving in much too easily. Where are your reproaches? It's only a rose."

"It came from you didn't it?" Louis breathed, despising himself. He took a breath to steady himself to do some more simpering.

"So it did come from me. I thought you didn't like me," Lestat teased, hiding his hopes, "What has so suddenly changed you then? Is it my apology of sorts which makes you kinder?"

"The way you treated me the night I was created," Louis breathed.

"Oui," Lestat said ashamed, "Louis, I was out of sorts. Panicked, I acted the fool towards you out of sheet panic. Your creation was a choice for me too you know. A significant choice which has changed my life forever.

Louis touched the porcelain figurine on his desk of a tiny merchant sitting at his own little desk. A merchant adding up his profit. The cold hard touch of the porcelain material the merchant was made of startled him. Louis reflected he had more in common the hollow porcelain than he had now with any merchant.

Lestat tilted back so he could have a better look of Louis.

Strands of dark hair fell into the thinness of Louis' cheek accenting the sullen rebelliousness of his seductive lips.

Louis leaned forward catching Lestat unaware. Pressing his mouth to Lesat's cheek he kissed it, then gave his face a lingering lick full of wanton suggestion. He undid Lestat's ascot letting it fall to the floor.

"Monsieur," Louis said, blushing, stopping his undress of him, pretending to be overcome by his boldness, affecting a voice of shyness.

"Lestat, Lestat, please call me Lestat no need to be formal with me," he mummered, the flesh on his throat tingling from where Louis' strong stoking fingers reached up to touch him.

"Upon reflection and out of common decency, I must swallow my pride and admit to you I was wrong. I now blame myself," Louis said, looking soulfully. Louis turned his face away from his, "for your beastly behavior to me the night of my creation. After all," he said quickly turning his face so their lips were tantalizingly close enough to kiss, "What impression did I give you of myself?" He shut his eyes as if he were in pain simply thinking about it. "I presented myself to you as a common ruffian. A public drunkard, a barbarian," he said earnestly, "I threw myself at you. Kissing you! You, a complete stranger. What kind of behavior should I have expected from you? Kind, respectful, benevolent behavior? Non, I behaved like a rough ignorant fellow and you treated me justly."

"Do you not remember anything that went beyond a kiss?" Lestat said softly, ready for the joy which would be finally his tonight.

"Non," Louis said flatly, forgetful of being pressed against the wall and being ravished, "Oui, the sweetness of your bite. Ah, I remember that well."

"Louis," Lestat said guiltily, thinking of Armand.

"And now I know all you wanted to do was to provide a roof over your poor father's head!"

The night after Lestat created him, Lestat moved in his mortal father, much to the regret of Yvette who had the added burden of taking care of the impatient old man. Louis formed a gentle bond with him, feeling for the old man's ailments.

"Louis, I, that was only part of the reason for your immortality. And I do thank you for the kindness you have shown my father even through I can not stand the old goat. Non, do not make such a face, I am but joking. It tries my patience to be with him through. His mortality you know it , well sometimes. I can only force myself to tolerate him in his weakness. I'm feel afraid whenever I lose my patience with him I will end up killing him."

"My poor Lestat," Louis breathed.

"You must understand my dear Louis," Lestat said, feeling like he was dreaming, hoping he wasn't, "My father came from a great line of men, landed gentry, and he was a failure. He fell into a dark depression literally. He was going blind, and he was too proud to tell anyone of us. Think of it Louis daily his vision was eroding. He chose to drink himself to a stupor to cope with his illness. Starving us in the bargain, his family. We went without food and were cold many a night. I never was educated properly. It wasn't till my brother Augustin became old enough to manage our estate that poverty eased up on us. He unlike myself as the oldest son had some attention paid to his education. And when Augustin left to be on his wife's estate, she came from a line of common merchant stock. He quite forgot about our family except to visit us. Augustin had a pronounced dislike of me, always slandering me and belittling me. I fear he was jealous over the slight affection my mother had for me , for she had little to do with him. He was even, I think, afraid of her. I think she hated him from the moment he was born, if she didn't ignore him, she would give him presents of curses, slaps and blows. I hunted to keep meat on the table. Augustin's wily new family desired our family name more than they desired Augustin, or his near starving relatives," Lestat laughed, " Oh from afar I can pity my wretched father, but now that he is my responsibility, I can not but be impatient with his inability to act, to take care of matters. Yet, what would have I done if I had been him? And it was I who was losing my eyesight? I hope I would have handled things differently. I did not have to bring him here. He only reminds me of unhappy times. But what else could I do?"

"I know it is difficult for you," Louis said simply, looking at his hands, trying not to flinch. In truth he hated the way Lestat would sometimes scream and rant at his dying father. He despised Lestat's utter lack of self control in these instances. After hearing his family history he felt a sympathy for Lestat, but wondered at Lestat's utter lack of sympathy for others, and at his lack of forgiveness. Now that he was a vampire Louis well was aquatinted with the lightness of life, how easily it could be taken, he wondered at Lestat's disregard for the slow death his father knew was creeping so insidiously upon him much as his blindness once did.

"Louis, as I said, putting a roof over my father's head was only part of the reason we are here tonight," Lestat said, taking his hand and bringing it to his lips. "The truth is, I want, I want."

"To what?" Louis said, gently prodding him.

"I want to be with you. When I saw you out in the alley in such despair, wanting to die. Wanting anyone to come along and slit your throat, or shoot you, I couldn't allow any cut throat or thief the honor of taking your life," Lestat bantered lightly.

"So you killed me?" Louis said, his eyes widening like a foolish innocent's.

"Oui, because, you're so beautiful," Lestat said softly, not taking his eyes off of him.

"Tell me how did vampires come into being?" Louis said ingeniously as he could, opening his eyes up even further.

"Why as any other being come to be on the earth," Lestat said swallowing, thinking of Akaska and Emil, how Akasha was possessed by the spirit of Amel, a blood thirsty spirit which transformed her mortal self into what the world calls vampires, He made a vow to Marius who was watching over Emil and Akasha's inanimate bodies he would not tell any one of their whereabouts. Maris warned him if he did he would slay or imprison anyone he told his secret to.

"Louis," he said, now starting to get annoyed, "You've asked me this question before, over and over again. You've used different words, but the words have the same meaning."

Louis dropped the act of seduction, crossings his arms over his chest. His eyes turning into hot, green fires. "And again you become angry with me, defensive," Louis accused.

"You thought I would come up with the answer for you? You would somehow prompt my memory if you batted those green eyes at me?' Lestat smirked. "How unbecoming of you. Vampies continue the race of vampires not through reproduction, but by slavery. Once upon a time in the garden of Eden there was a handsome blond young devil and he happened to come across an extremely pretty man with soft dark hair," Lestat said lightly, touching Louis hair, getting his hand viciously slapped for his trouble. "And the blond devil took said man to be his eternal slave, after making him a vampire of course. And that is where my dear Louis little vampires come from."

Slamming his fist right into Lestat's grinning face, he yelled, "Don't you ever dare call me a slave, Monsieur de Loin Court!"

"Or you'll what? The evil temper on you!" Lestat half cursed, half laughed, twisting Louis' arm behind his back, giving his arm a hard twist just for good measure, "Why shouldn't I slap your face back for you, monsieur?"

"Slap me, go ahead, I dare you, give me a good excuse to make an attempt on your life!"

"Why not challenge me to a duel if you so baldly desire to murder me?" Lestat taunted him, letting him go. He strolled over to the gun case, taking out a dueling pistol, holding it lightly in his hand, pointing it right at Louis' chest.

"Tell me? Are you ready to duel with me?" he said seductively, pulling on the trigger.

Louis fell back gasping, the bullet entered through his skin, he could feel it shattering his heart.

Yvette, and Omphale came running into the den, "Master Louis are you all right?" Yvette cried, trembling. "We heard an explosion."

"Lestat laid the smoking pistol on the table. In a low threatening voice he said, "Leave, nothing happened do you see a dead body in here?"

"Leave Yvette, leave Omphale, my dear friend here accidentally fired my gun," Louis said in a hushed voice.

Crossing herself fearfully, putting her hand to her gris-gris charm for protection, Yvette left, pulling a frightened Omphale along with her. Omphale's huge black eyes were arrested to the red liquid seeping out from under Louis' hand which was pressed against his chest. Trembling, she allowed Yvette to drag her along.

Once they were alone, Louis removed his hand, the blood gushed out in a rush, "You empty headed bumpkin," Louis gasped.

"Where is your gratitude?" Lestat said in a mellifluous voice, "Tell me where is your gratitude? You would be dead from a mortal wound such as this if not for me," Lestat said causally, kneeling before Louis, unbuttoning his shirt, making a ball of it and throwing it over his shoulder. He tickled Louis' abdomen.

"Ah, I am lucky to be immortal? I swear cher, your anger alone is enough to kill me where I kneel before you," Lestat said, smartly.

"Why? Do such a reckless deed?" Louis said furiously.

"You would bleed less of you would only drink the blood of humans and leave the blood of animals to other animals.

"So are we human still?"

"Lestat said reflectively. "Non, we are not humans."

"Why not? I say we are. We have been inflected by a type of cancer, a plague. It doesn't make us any less than what were were born to be. I'm still myself no matter what!"

"Are you? Non, you are different, changed. Louis you are no longer human," Lestat said firmly, "I shot you to prove my point. Your skin, hair, your feelings about mortals how can you even ask me if you're still a human being?"

"I feel like mortals are distant from me even when they are merely a couple feet away. Till."

"Till you focus on one, and a string seems to pull you to him, and you put your arms around him, and nothing in the world seems as real as the mortal in your arms."

"Oui," Louis blushed. "I've taken Yvette in my arms. I know what I want to do, but I stop myself."

"I know these things as already as you are learning them," Lestat said gently, "You must give into these desires. You have been unfair to me as I have been unfair to you."

"How do you mean?" Louis asked indifferently, refusing to soften his heart to this arrogant man.

"You and your questions. Where did we come from? What are we? What is our origin? Tell me when you were a mortal man did you honestly for certain know abut these things concerning human beings? Did you have all the answers about the origin of men any more than I have about the origin of vampires?"

"Non," Louis said grudgingly.

"You have asked me the name of my maker, his name is "Dead Man". He has been dead for years. I only knew him for two nights. I prefer not to talk about the past. He taught me less then the little I taught you. If you are searching for me to give you a philosophy or a science explaining our existence, please do not. I exist, you exist simply because we do and that's enough for me. My understanding seeks to delve no further, for I feel I would only end up grasping on to foolish misconceptions about God, the devil, or unproven, false science and theories which so many of our kind and human kind have cherished to their determent, and to the sufferings of those around them."

"Oui I can see that," Louis said hesitatingly, thinking how religion and scene was used as an excuse to enslave men many felt were made inferior by the nature of evolution or by God. Less and less he believed this to be true.

"And why do you feel so violated?" Lestat asked his gray eyes glittering, "When I touch," his hand went forward to Louis' thigh, he passed over it, and reached for the pistol, 'Why do you feel so violated when I touch your things?"

"They are not only my things. They are, all of this, belongs to my," he lowered his eyes, "my family, and you treat my family with disrespect."

"Why you liar, I have been nothing but courtesy itself to your fetching sister, and your lovely mother. You really mean it belongs to you father," Lestat said, patiently.

"You came here like a thief, you looked though my accounting book as if you were a landlord repossessing my father's resting place. He rests here Lestat. His body may be in the family crypt, but he, himself, what ever passes for a soul rests here, I swear, his memory does. It wasn't your sweat, your genius which created Pointe du Lac. You treat my father's plantation and his slaves as if they were ripe plums which fell into your hand."

"And fell they did, and I'm draining everything and everyone of their sweet juices," Lestat laughed, "Omphale is a very pretty ripe plum. Strange you have so much outrage over your father's plantation, and not as much outrage for the liberties I have taken with your father's
son."

"What do you mean?" Louis said suspiciously.

"Your father's son. You, you beautiful, desirous son. The liberties I take when I can't keep my lips and hands off of you. Who did you think I meant?" Lestat said uneasily. "Did you think I meant Paul?"

"Oui Paul, " Luis said threateningly "Your story is you saw me out in the street, poor pathetic me, a poor soul needing to be ravished, needing the comfort of immortality to make me happy, me, a complete stranger to you. You know my brother's name? How well did you know him?"

"What are you implying? Of course I know your brother's name. You are a sick pathetic fool to make such foolish accusations! Everyone in town talks abut the tragedy of Paul de Pointe du Lac. How his own brother killed him."

"You know I didn't kill Paul," he said hotly.

"How would I know that?" Lestat said coolly.

"Paul was lifted up in the air. I saw him. He was struggling, screaming for help. Something inhuman threw Paul down the stairs if not you than who?"

"You are accusing me of this! I have no idea what tricks your eyes were playing on you that night," Lestat said insulted. "After my father dies," Lestat rubbed at his temple, "Ah, I should leave you. You idiot, you fool. You listen to me, if I left you to your own devises other vampires would seek you out."

"Which of those other vampires killed my brother?" Louis demanded ,"and why?"

"Did you see a vampire kill Paul?" Lestat ridiculed him, "Did you? Non, you saw him fall down the stairs. Damn you. I'm going out. Stay here and dwell on your morbid memories of Paul to your empty heart's content."

"Who are you seeing?"

"No one. There are no vampires here aside from you and I," Lestay exploded nervously, putting his fist in Louis' face. "Stay here, or I will beat you within an inch of your miserable life. I will not have you ever leaving Pointe du Lac without my protection."

"Protect me! From whom are you protecting me from?" Louis cried.

"From your own foolish inexperience!" Lestat roared, "Knowing you, you will be staring at some candle or at some bitch's pretty buttons, allowing yourself to be burned by the sun before you even realize you are being burned alive."

"I no longer stare at buttons! I've become accustomed to how my vampire eyes causes common things which once I over looked to now become objects of peerless beauty. Monsieur, you insist on implying I chose to live rather than die so I could enter into an alliance with you," Louis said coolly," Understand this will never happen between us. I mistrust your motives, your actions in all of this! And if I had an inking of the truth about Paul's death, and I felt for sure you are involved I would find the strength to drag you out of your coffin, and let you be burned along with me by the sun's rays! As it is I know nothing. Confess to me, and I swear I will be merciful. I will only give you the beating you so richly deserve before I throw you out of my life which you insist on intruding upon!"

"Why did you agree to become a vampire?" Lestat said coldly, "Out of pure cowardliness? Pure self preservation?"

Getting up out of his chair, Louis deliberately swayed his hips giving Lestat the gift of seeing his most seductive walk. Lestat followed him to the oratory.

Louis stood before Paul's crucifix. He lit a candle. The soft light kissed the cobwebs and dust in the corners and made the wooden man's flesh on the cross take on a human like hue. Hs coffin was off to the side. He refused Lestat's order to sleep in the bedroom along with him. He stretched his arms out. "I do this at times," he said in a low voice, "I do this because I want to understand what Paul was thinking of. Why he was doing this to himself. I want to hear the voices he talked to. I thought if I became one such as you I would have the power to be able to hear those voices.. I even had a vision of Paul the night you created me. But, it couldn't have been a true vision. The type saints talk about when they receive visitations from Christ or Mary. It had to be a trick of my mind. Because my brother's so called ghost could not say a word to me! I thought I would be able to understand the supernatural. I would be able to believe in my brother being one of those few touched by God to be a saint. If only I could hear the voices he heard I might be able to understand the true circumstances of Paul's life and his death."

"There were no such voices. Paul only heard what his ill head made up for him to hear."

Louis shook his head, his arms falling to his sides. "How are you so sure of that! Why will you not allow me to leave? What kind of danger am I in? What is it you're afraid of my finding something out?"

"I'm going into town to get good and drunk on as many bitches' and drunkard's blood as I can find! You infuriate me with your cheap, cruel accusations," Lestat raged "Where are you going?"

"To dine," Louis said flippantly.

"Where are you going to dine at!" Lestat said, following him to the stable.

(9)

Lestat hurried after Louis following him into the stable.

A young groom with a friendly, black, handsome face was combing down Louis' favorite steed

"Why are you out here so late? Rolland, I must ask you to leave if you please," Louis said politely, putting enough force in his voice so Rolland would know he meant his request to be quickly obeyed.

Rolland's head turned towards Louis and his expensive looking friend He scratched his woolly head, squinting his eyes, trying to make out Louis better in the darkness Louis was standing in. Something about his master wasn't right. His appearance it didn't make sense somehow. It was too pale, out of focus. Almost like the shining jack-o'-lantern lights Rolland would see hovering above the swamp when he went hunting with his friends for alligators to provide more meat on the table for his mother, brothers, and sisters.

He took up his candle, approaching Louis.

Before he could come any closer Louis blew his candle out. Rolland backed away to the light of the lantern hanging by the horse's stall.

"I believe you were told to leave," Louis said gently. Lestat stood closely behind Louis.

Taking a path around the two, Rolland hurriedly left. He didn't understand why, but Rolland felt as if his life wasn't going to be a second longer if he didn't leave fast enough.

"What are you going to do? Go out riding then?" Lestat rapidly questioned him, "I ordered you to stay on the plantation."

"Why?"

"I told you why there are dangers which you are not yet ready to face, nor are you aware of yourself significantly enough to hide your preternatural appearance from mortals."

"I'm not going riding," Louis said softly, putting his hand to his race horse's back. The horse shied away, shaking it's head in it's halter, trying to pull away. What was before him, the being stoking his neck and back didn't smell right to him.

Louis laid his head on the horse's back, his arm flung up over the animal's back. "The two of you haven't met. Lestat, this is Satan's Gold. Satan this is Lestat."

"He's a fine animal," Lestat said sincerely, "You know your way around horse flesh, Louis."

"Merci, he has won many a race for me. I love riding him. There is nothing as wonderful as Satan when he breaks out into a run. I know what it means to fly when I ride him."

"So ride him Louis," Lestat said kindly, "We'll go for a ride together. I would like that very much. I'll put off my errand to town. It's a clear night. I would enjoy your company if you could manage to be civil for once."

Louis reared his head up from the animal's back. He ignored Lestat. He stroked the animal's silky smooth black hide. The muscles beneath the horse's flesh were true and strong. He was a horse of much breeding and elegance. The huge heart of the beast was beating fast.

"I'm going to kill it."

Lestat took two steps forward. He pulled at Louis' arm.

Louis shook Lestat's grip off.

"What do you mean, you fool? You're going to kill it? You love this horse! Damn it to hell. Is this meant to be a affront to me?"

"To you?"

"To show your contempt for what I created you to be? If it is Louis the hell with you. I will not be insulted. Back away from that horse before I lose my temper entirely."

"You'll lose your temper? Now who is the fool? I want to experience death in degrees. I started with the smallest of animals first; cats, dogs, rats. And I found their blood not to be entirely lacking. It was the spark of their brute life their bodies contained which stood out the most. I want to kill something which means something to me."

"Why? Why? Why hurt yourself? Why punish this animal?"

'I will someday graduate to the nightly taking of human life. Till then I want to learn how to appreciate another being's life to the fullest. I appreciated the life I found to be in small animals. And now I will discover what it is like to kill a large one." Louis eyes glittered dangerously.

"Then kill another horse, an old nag, damn you," Lestat swore distressed at the very idea of such a handsome healthy animal being destroyed.

"Nightly, I will kill someone who means something to a mother, father or a child. Listen to me Lestat I want to know what it feels like to love something only to have it killed by a vampire." Louis said softly, watching Lestat closely for a betrayal of the truth about Paul's death to appear on Lestat's face or in his words.

"Kill your sister, or mother than," Lestat said spitefully, "I will be pleased to kill them for you."

"You will not!" Louis said angrily, raising his fist, grabbing the lantern ready to throw it into Lestat's face.

"Damn you, I was only making a joke in bad taste. Put the lantern down."

Louis hung it back on its nail.

Gently, Louis nestled his nose on the animal's neck. His strong hands holding on the reins. He kept the animal in place.

Lestat watched fascinated. The horse first pushed with its hoof at the straw and dirt in its stall. It whined softly. It's great black eyes stared to dim over as if milk had been injected into them.

It's forelegs collapsed out from under him. The horses body fell to the ground. Louis swung his leg over it. He pressed his leg around the animal's neck. Lestat could heat a low cracking sound of the spinal cord breaking. The horse shivered convulsing in its throes than it died.

"Why?" Lestat asked stunned, going to the animal, putting his hand on its still shoulder.

"Because I loved it," Louis said reflectively.

"You're such a depraved monster you must not allow yourself to love anything?" Lestat cursed.

"Shh, Lestat," Louis said running his hands down the animal's flank, "I feel, I feel detached, my feelings are for the most part superficial. As if my feelings I had for this poor beast have always been shallow. Do we feel this way in order to protect ourselves from guilt when we kill?"

"Non. How can you say you feel nothing at all?"

"I feel an empty sort of admiration for what used to be. A desire for it to be alive again. And an acceptance of its death. A peaceful resigned acceptance."

"Louis many of our kind kill only the evil doer," Lesat said hesitatingly.

"Then why didn't you kill me? Wasn't it my evil anger which drove Paul to his death? You say you did not kill Paul."

"Why would I kill you, or Paul?"

"Why wouldn't you? You feared Paul's interference."

"Then why not kill all of your family? It would have been easy enough to arrange. All I would of had to do was wait for them to be together in their carriage. I could have easily killed their coachman, and drove their carriage over a cliff, perhaps into the swamp. "

Then who or what was it who killed Paul? Did I drive Paul to kill himself?" Louis questioned. "Paul was insane. I overheard the slaves talking about how he heard voices. Paul was seeing things when he cried out for you for help," Lestat said desperately. "His madness drove him to kill himself."

"My brother was not a suicide," Louis said.

"Oui, so you say. Paul inflected marks on himself."

"How do you know so much about Paul?"

"Slave talk, gossip, tell me the truth did Paul inflect injuries on himself?"

"Oui," Louis said softly.

"There is your proof than," Lestat said boldly. He heard a sound behind him, before the person making the sound could run away, he caught her. In his arms was a struggling Omphale.

"Ah, here is the reason your groom stays in the stable so late," Lestat said, lifting her off her feet, holding her high in the air. "Non, my poor pretty, there is no Rolland here. Can we be of assistance to you?"

"Please, monsieur," gasped Omphale, her skirts bellowing out around her as he swung her around "Please, let me down. I swear to you I am a good girl."

"But, my pretty. We have so much, you and I, to say to one another," Lestat winked savagely at Louis. "Surely you would gossip about us if I let you go."

"Gossip about what?" she said fearfully.

"Monsieur put her down," Louis demanded.

Lestat's mouth flew open, before Louis could even see Lestat's fangs he bit into the young slave's neck. His straying hands were caressing her strong flesh hiding under her simple dress. Her eyes fluttered, first she tried to claw him, she tried to yell for her gods to come to save her. Her rounded breasts rose and fell as she tried to breathe. The more she kicked and struggled the tighter he held her till she could swear her bones were breaking. He took her with a matter-of- fact violence.

Flinging himself on his back, Louis tried to pull Lestat off. Back handing him easily, Lestat sent Louis crashing into Satan's Thunder's stall. Lestat's bloody mouth touched her neck with his kiss. Her body was as limp as a rag doll she stole from her mistress, Therese, when she was a little girl. Therese had so many dolls Omphale had been right when she guessed Therese would not even notice the old neglected doll gone.

He resumed his feeding from her. Omphale felt a coldness seep in on her, all she could remember were long muggy days of work, and a few nights she thought she was special to a man. Lestat soon held nothing but a close to dying woman in his arms.

"This is the proper fare for men of our tastes." Lestat said carelessly, "Bury her for me would if you please." He flung her body at Louis' feet. "I left for you enough in her for a good drink."

Lestat turned from him not wishing to see the magnificent horse's broken body for a second more.

Tenderly, Louis put a horse blanket over Satan's Thunder's body. With equal gentleness and a fury which he repressed inside of himself he gathered Omphale in his arms. Damning Lestat to hell for killing yet again another one of his slaves. Her black face was turning grayish under her colorful scarf. He saw she was still breathing. Through it was tempting to him to finish killing her, he held her instead, comforting her, moved to sing her a lullaby, she seemed so small. He wondered at himself for not being afraid of her dying. He knew only days ago he would have been frantic, running around, making every effort to save her, simply because she was human and he was afraid of death. Very slowly her heart gave out on her. The shock was too much for her to stay alive. Her death seemed a beautiful frail thing to him like a flower wilting and dying before his eyes. It saddened him that Lestat used Omphale to make a point. The point didn't make any difference to Louis. He took her outside to his mother's garden and buried her amongst the roses and iris. He chewed his lower lip.

Perhaps Lestat is right, perhaps I am punishing myself.

His body nervously convulsed I'm afraid to kill another human being. Afraid how I'll feel afterwards. I had to see what kind of feelings I'm capable of having before I kill someone's brother, sister, son, or daughter. Why does Lestat have to be so capricious. so cruel? He makes a mockery of everything and everyone.

The kill of the horse had been a thrill, having such power and dominion over a magnificent animal like Satan's Thunder was awe inspiring. It was like he rode the horse to his death.

He left the stable going inside the house to his den.

He was surprised at how icy cold the den felt. An invisible Paul was sitting on the leather couch his hands pressed together. Worry was on Paul's face.

Louis rubbed his arms. He took himself to his chair , opening up his ledger. He sighed, really not up to work. The look on Omphale's dead face haunted him. It haunted him to want to kill someone just like her. He felt a little tense and fearful, concerned his emotion over killing Satan's Thunder, and over her death would rise up in his mind in one explosive blast. He wondered if he would be capable of dealing with a deep rush of grief and guilt.

He pulled his desk drawer out.

On top of a slim novel, "Justine" by Marquise De Sade was a daisy. Louis picked it up by its stem, wondering how in the world it got into his desk drawer. He supposed one of the slaves, perhaps Yvette dropped it in there.

The daisey's yellow center with its white petals raying out touched him. He decided then and there to order Yvette to put cut flowers through out the house. He thought of Jamie for some reason. Twirling the daisy in his long fingers, Louis tied to dismiss Jamie from his mind. Finally he laid the flower down. Louis looked at his appearance in the mirror. He frowned at his being half naked. He went upstairs for a new shirt and summer great coat, He left the den to go to Old Sally's.

Paul went over to the flower picked it up and smelled it. He then disappeared,

Lestat stormed into Armand's town house.

"You didn't knock," Armand said, looking up from his piano he was playing Mozart on, "Never feel you have to."

"He's driving me insane. Insane I tell you."

"Lovely, now two insane vampires to deal with. And whose fault is that?" Armand said dryly.

"Mine I suppose," Lestat laughed, flopping in a chair. Out of all the vampires he had ever met, he had to admit to himself Louis' appearance was the most appealing through his personality left a lot to be desired of. Henri's appearance though it had much merit to it was a trifle effemitive. Henri made himself deliberately so, worse he often acted more vampire than most vampires did, contorting his limbs grotesquely or too gracefully, rather than aping human being's physical limitations. Armand's face was too much a vampire's face, beautiful with all its cruelty ready to raise to the surface and flare up in a rage like a hot white flame. Nicky, Lestat's first love, he
had a sneer for face. Non, Louis' face was most human like, gorgeous in its outrages, pleasant in its calm.

Lestat started to laugh a little harder.

Are you laughing at me again?" Armand asked not unpleasantly.

"Non, non. Louis he both amazed me and amused me tonight."

"How so?"

He killed his horse."

"How repulsive," Armand said, hiding his bitter smile under his hand, "Well, I suppose your little fledging has adequately proven his unbalanced state of mind."

"He isn't unbalanced, he's terribly analytical through. He shies away from feelings. He reacts to situations rather than starting ones. He sits and reads, waiting passively for something to happen rather than making it happen, When he does react he can be quite explosive and surprising."

"Can he be?" Armand said with a pinch of contempt his voice, "And so how was he amusing to you?"

"He dressed for me. He tried to seduce me tonight," Lestat said, slapping his riding gloves on his thigh.

Are you not already seduced?"

"Oui, Louis has no idea how much I'm seduced. Armand, enough of Louis, he tried to seduce me to pump me for information about Paul."

"Tell him. I'll tell him."

"You will do nothing of the sort you will stay away from him."

"You think you can tell me what to do, and I will abide by you every wish, your every command?"

"Lets just say" Lestat said, baring his fangs, "I asked you for a favor, leave my fledgling alone."

"Or what you will kill me?" Armand said, starting up a merry tune he heard in a tavern on the piano.

"Killing you is an unpleasant thought one of which I do not like to entertain myself with. Armand the deed of creating Louis has been done. There is no need for it to damage the regard I hope is mutual between us."

"Why are you here?"

"I can only take Louis for so long. His nastiness his moodiness finally his many silences, drive me away, not to mention his accusations," Lestat said ruefully, "Armand. there is a German wedding tonight. Let's attend I have a bag of coins here for the bride. We can make merry with the girls. Do their peasant dancing. Your are a dancer who has no rival in excellence. I'm in the mood to laugh in someone's company tonight."

"And you want to laugh in my company tonight?" Armand cried, now making no attempt to hide his hurt feelings "Here, Lestat a joke I played on you. You handed Nicki over to me, now I hand him back to you."

Armand opened the drawer of his secretary desk, throwing two fleshy appendages at Lestat.

The dismembered hands flew at Lestat smacking him on the chest. Lestat picked up one, making a face of disgust. They were fresh; bleeding and flexible. The fingers curled.

"Human hands," Armand laughed, "I cut them off a factory worker. Notice the calluses. They are rather large hands, he was a big man."

"I don't understand," Lestat said bewildered, "What has this to do with Nicky?"

"I would give you Nicki's hands. Ah Lestat, such elegance they were, long, strong fingers, slender palms, the wrists thin. Consumed, I'm afraid, like the rest of him, I killed him Lestat I killed Nicky. He was quite brave about it, he bit into his burning arm to keep himself from screaming till at last he became too overwhelmed with the pain and his screams would not stop."

"Why?" Lestat said softly, dropping the hand,

"Why? Why not? Here Estelle wrote you a letter about it."

Lestat read it, a cold tear of anger falling hard on his face.

Springing at Armand, his sword at the laughing boy's throat, he cut into Armand's face, throwing him on the divan

Raising the sword to hack off his head, Lestat hesitated. The blow fell into the cushion instead next to Armand's head.

Armand stretched himself on the ruined divan. He hid his face. Blood spilled from his face, out from between his hands and fingers. His chest fell up and down in aggravation. "Do it," he cried bitterly, "Why not?"

Lestat kneeled beside him, taking his handkerchief pressing it to Armand's face.

"How can I blame you? The blame falls on us both," Lestat said wearily. Then with a blow to Armand's injured face, Lestat cursed. "Why did you have to drag Nicki into our coven in the first place. The tortures you inflected upon him Letting our members take turns biting him. Why? He would still be alive today."

"How do you know that? Any accident could have befallen him," Armand said defensively, "Any illness. Why did you make him a vampire? You no longer wanted him. You gave him to me. He was telling mortals what we all. I had to kill everyone he showed his fangs to. Enough, it was enough to put him in his final resting place, now despise me as much as I despise you."

"Non, don't," Armand pleaded weakly putting his hand to Lestat's shoulders, trying to push him away. Armand's arms finally held Lestat, drawing him closer. Lestat kissed Armand's salty mouth, kissed him with a sad bitter passion, pulling Armand's shirt up caressing his chest.

Lestat's kissed Armand's forehead. Armand's face was a mess. His wounds were starting to heal. His lashes were damp with tears.

Leaving Armand, going to the door, Lestat opened it, and stepped outside Fall was in the air, a cold crispness was staring to edge into the summer's heat this evening,. Music; violin, accordion trumpet music was in the air. The rollicking frantic pulse of the sounds of a wedding took sway over Lestat's mind. He wanted to twirl and dance. The moon up above was huge as a pumpkin and was all coldness. Lestat wiped his face with the back of his hand. He hugged himself. The
night seemed exotic with waltzes, smelly with cooking, and noisy with drunken shouts.

The night was a Nicki type of night. Nicki coaxing beauty from the strings of his violin. A night of glitter and glamorous madness. He could see Nicki's slender figure, his long curly brown hair swaying. Nicki dancing on the cobble stones of the street, his violin under his chin. His hands holding the bow, hands shining radiant with the luster of frost in the moonlight. Was it but a dream? Lestat dreamed of he and Nicki still mortal, dancing and leaping around a Febuary bon fire, trying to keep warm, falling into each other's arms, thinking they were teaching each other about true and lasting love? Nicki dancing away.

Going inside he found Armand changing from out of his bloody shirt.

"Let's go to the wedding. Are you ready to dance with me?" Lestat said gently, taking his hand. He missed Nicki, but in too many ways Nicki died for him a long time ago.

"I'm ready, always been ready to dance with you," Armand breathed, his auburn head on Lestat's shoulder.

(10)

"Hold her down Jamie me boy. God and the virgin, I didn't get her drunk enough."

Jamie breathed in deeply, "Shall I give her another drink of whisky?"

"Aye, and don't be sparing," she said quickly. She leaned back on her haunches. She took a handkerchief, wiping at her sweaty brow, and patting at her huge half exposed breasts popping out of her chemise.

The room was dark except for a lantern. The windows boarded up. A young girl of fifteen was lying down on a mattress which was filthy and crusty from previously done operations. Through Old Sally always put on a clean sleep on the mattress after the deed was done, nothing disguised the smell of dry piss and blood underneath the damp sheet.

"I don't want to do this," the pale, German girl pleaded "Please Old Sally. Please."

"Tis an occupational hazard my dear," Old Sally said sensibly, "Now would you rather be having the baby?"

"No," the girl said softly. her tiny fists balling up uselessly.

Jamie took a rag, wiping the sweat off the young girl's face.

"Then you best take another swig, and cease with your wiggling about. It will only make it harder on you," Old Sally advised.

The girl, Katherine, took another chug from the brown bottle of home brewed rye. She coughed miserably, taking another. She didn't offer a drink to Jamie. Not wanting his lips to be where hers had been. Jamie didn't care. He didn't fancy the taste of liquor. Hated what liquor did to people His stomach tightened, remembering the look of angry debauchery on Louis' drunken face when Louis almost sold him at the slave auction.

"Hold her by the wrists now, Jamie, dare not let her go. I will not be having her slapping at me, or pulling at me hair," Old Sally said quietly, "You, Katherine, take this cloth in your mouth, bite on it hard. Least ways, it will make the hurt less."

Katherine bit down on the wad of cloth for all she was worth.

Old Sally took a long knitting needle . The end of which had been blunted. She raised the cotton shift Katherine was wearing up, resting it on top of her waist, leaving the girl half naked. Jamie modestly looked at Katherine's face, avoiding looking down any further.

"Wait," Jamie said weakly almost ready to puke. He couldn't believe they were about to "catch" Katherine's unborn baby.

"What Jamie?" Old Sally cried impatiently.

"Shouldn't you wash it?"

"Wash it!" Old Sally blurted out, "Ah, think lad where it be going into! It's none too clean down there. Why bother with washing?"

"My old mistress, Madam de Pointe du Lac, she always made me wash my hands before serving up a meal. Told me she didn't want dirt on her food. Dirt makes you sick. Shouldn't you wash it? You might have more of your young lades surviving if you did."

"Don't you be putting on airs about what you learned at Pointe du Lac! God, now God be the one who decides who survives and who does not! Ah, the hell with it. Well, are you not the knowledgeable sort? I'll humor you then if you must be humored," Old Sally grumbled. Taking up the jug, she poured whisky on the knitting needle, then poured whisky on Katherine's crotch and thighs. Separating the girl's legs, Old Sally penetrated the needle into her.

Jamie hung on to Katherine's wrist. Katherine moaned, almost choking on the cloth in her mouth, pain suffocating her. Her back arched and fell back on the bed. She felt disemboweled all at once. Then she descend into one hell of a pain which racked and sparked throughout her body. She tried to break away. Jamie pressed harder on her wrists wishing he wasn't hurting her. Finally, she dropped into a fitful oblivion. Blood gushed out onto the moist sheets. She smelled nothing like a human being. Katherine smelled more like a butchered calf then a person.

Jamie couldn't help but look now out of morbid curiosity. He was afraid he would see a baby cut up in pieces between Katherine's thighs. The blood was so thin and unhealthy it readily leaked out of her. If there were a child, the corpse it left was too small to see.

Old Sally prodded Katherine's tummy, pushing down upon it's slackness. She placed towels between Katherine's legs saying happily, "You did right by me Jamie my boy. And for it you shall have the pay you be deserving"

"Is there anything else I can do for Katherine?"

"So there is. You can be leaving her be so she can sleep. Best thing for her," Old Sally said, covering up the unconscious girl. "I'll change her towel in a bit. Oh, it's hard on a girl in this business. But, she's young with spunk. I wager she be back to work at the end of the week. I tell the girls to insert a sponge inside themselves before they do their work. The young girls be so timid of their bodies sometimes. Imagine that! Whores being timid. They think a baby can't be happening to them."

Jamie was a prize, a pure prize, Old Sally thought.

Jamie not only played the piano, but he also helped when the girls suffered bruises, or broken fingers from patrons who got too rough in their amorous play. He had a natural gift it seemed. The gift of patience, soothing the most high strung girl to let him do his doctoring. Still the girls did not warm up to him. Often ordering him about, treating him like a nigger maid, expecting Jamie to clean out their chamber pots.

He understood them. The old weary bitches, and the young low quality whores who belonged to Old Sally. They needed the comfort of feeling superior over at least someone in their bleak lives. He never failed to deal but gently with them.

"You could say a prayer for her recovery," Old Sally teased, taking a drink from the bottle smacking her lips with appreciation. "Through mind you, pray to the proper God, none of that voodoo I know you harken to."

"My master he taught me," Jamie said softly, unwilling to say Paul's name. ":He taught me to pray to Saint Katherine."

"So he did," Old Sally said drolly, wishing Jamie wasn't such the prissy, pious sort. There were those who came to her establishment, gentlemen, who arranged to meet other gentlemen privately. The pay from these gents for the use of her rooms were many times higher than the pathetically small amounts the laborers paid her girls. A few of these fancy sorts inquired if they could have the use of Jamie's company for a right nice price. One in particular loved to follow Jaime around, making with his drunken, lewd suggestions in Jamie's ear. Stroking Jamie's inner thigh, going higher, but not too high. Jamie ignored him, playing the piano. Jamie, the prude, would have nothing to do with the notion of being a whore. She at first almost wanted to sometimes slap Jamie's face for his insolence. Who did he think he be with all his airs? She softened towards Jamie though. He was a good lad, even going to the Church of Saint Bartholomew, a humble church other free colored folks attended. Not that his attendance in church stopped him from muttering prayers to voodum gods she wanted no part of. Some of her girls went to to church too. Poor things. They were not too proud, or too nice. They knew what was what and worked taking men right properly into their beds. What did Jamie have which gave him the excuse to be so proud of himself? She liked the idea of having a piano player, and she wasn't the sort to force neither female nor male to work the sheets for her, so aside from making occasional threats and suggestions when the cash box was getting low, of how easily she could throw Jamie out into the streets if he didn't lean to curb that virtuous side of him, she left Jamie alone.

Jamie went outside, and leaned against the wall of the whorehouse.

He wondered if he had sinned. Paul's church said the baby was a baby once it started quickening in the mother's womb, making its presence known by moving about. And he knew Katherine's suspicions of her pregnancy was confirmed when she felt movement in her belly along with a complete dry up of her monthlies.

Katherine had a taste for hard liqueur and a weak stomach. Her puking mornings was no clue to her that she might be pregnant. And her ill diet caused her monthly's to be sporadic, but not so sporadic that month after month passed with no blood in sight. She finally knew she was damned to be a mother if she didn't do something about it.

The streets were an open sewer. In the day time everything was thick with flies and fleas. In the night time there were mosquitoes to contend with. Even as hot as it was for a mortal, Jamie wore a rough linen long sleeved shirt and woolen stockings to keep the biting insects away from himself. He filled a pipe with tobacco from his pouch, lighting it

Even though I might have sinned, he thought to himself, I do not care.

He watched the pinched faces of street children roaming down the alleys, rummaging through the garbage for a bit of food. Some keeping themselves alive in factories, others did errands for whores and highway men, some simply went up to the more upscale whore houses to beg from the gentry. He knew sin or not, he would help Old Sally " catch" as many babies as needed to be caught.

The air was smelly with cabbage, fish, and horse, human, and dog droppings. The night was loud with the low roar of drunks, and music from the surrounding taverns, babies crying, women speaking in low sometimes shrill voices, men shouting--Jamie yearned for the peace and quiet of home Through Pointe du Lac was never really his home, Jamie yearend for its familiarity. Home was in the oratory. He yearned for Paul.

He thought about how Paul looked in his coffin. Before the real funeral took place for the white folks, Maire allowed the house slaves to say their final good-byes to Paul. Jamie had been in a state of shock. Paul looked so lonely in his box. Not even the undertaker's power could hide the cuts and black and blue marks on Paul's face. He noticed Paul's longish hair had been cut short. Jamie slipped in a daisy he had found growing wild and free. He then went about his chores like a zombie too stunned for grief yet, looking up from his polishing of the silver, half expecting Paul, really expecting him to come into the room, telling him it was all faked. A trick so they could run away together. Instead it had been Louis who came into the kitchen, having Rolland clasped him in wrist irons, the irons used for malcontent slaves. Jamie felt a little faint. The memories of that ride into town. Being stripped naked of his clothes, the leering man toying with him in front of all those empty hearted people. And Louis the most empty hearted of them all.

Paul's ghostly figure leaned up against the wall. with Jamie. Both of them stared up at the stars together. Paul aware of Jamie. The only awareness Jamie had of ghostly, invisible Paul was the chill he suddenly took. There was nothing for Jamie to see but the material world outside of himself. Jamie wrapped his long arms around himself. He felt a blossoming of hope inside of him. Paul wrapped his arms around Jamie, trying to whisper in Jamie's ear, but nothing came out between his lips but love, and this kind of love the living often times cannot hear, but they can feel it. For a moment Jamie felt utterly loved. The source of which was a mystery to Jamie. He never felt this kind of love being offered up so freely. Certainly not even with Paul when Paul was alive. Paul was restrained with him-- always a taker not a giver. Jamie attributed how he was feeling right now to perhaps a wishful memory of how he wanted things to have been between himself and Paul. Paul--the true source of the mystery, rubbed his spirit's face on Jamie's, wishing they could talk. Paul knew this wasn't the time for there to be speech between them. Not yet.

Paul looked behind Jamie's shoulder. Paul felt something pulling him away back to where he belonged till he was gone far away from Jamie.

A hand reached out to take Jamie's.

"Leave me alone," Jamie at cursed the creature. The deadly glamour of its sharp eyes could not be human. He believed anyone looking like that could not be a man.

"You came climbing out of a grave didn't you Louis? I wish it had been Paul, and not you, who did the climbing. Leave me alone Louis."

"Let's go inside Jamie. I have been ill of late. I'm recovering. No talk of graves," Louis said softly, leading Jamie into the whorehouse.

(11)

Louis and Jamie entered into the whorehouse.

"Monsieur De Pointe du Lac," Big Sally said cheerfully, hurrying to him. Her apparel clean from the grisly operation she performed moments ago.

She stopped before any more words of greeting fell out of her mouth.

Monsieur De Pointe du Lac looks as if he has the malaria, she thought with a stiff smile on her face, or he may have consumption.

She recovered her aplomb, waving her arm about, "Monsieur, no one is occupying your room as of yet. Are you expecting someone? Did you forgot to tell me about your rendezvous?"

The young man and myself shall use it tonight," Louis said calmly, ignoring the sullen look on Jamie's face.

"Well who would have thought it?" Big Sally said with pleased astonishment, "Take yourselves upstairs then."

She couldn't help but give Jamie a hearty slap on his butt, whispering in his ear, "Lookie here my boy, my cut is sixty percent, and none of your whining. Don't I put a roof over your head, not to mention all the grubs you can eat? Don't be cheating on your old friend, I shall frisk you myself inside and out after he's done with you for my part if I think you be cheating on me."

"There is no need to frisk him," Louis said coldly, having overheard her, "I'll pay you now for the use of the room."

He slipped the excited madam a more than generous payment. She was beside herself, thinking about the others who would be soon seeking Jamie out once word got around he was in the trade.

"Madam," Louis sighed, having read her every thought, "I will pay you extra on the condition. Jamie is my," Louis blushed, displeased at the vulgarity of the words he was forced to say, "As long as Jamie is for my use only."

"Oui, Monsieur, oui," she cried in her thickly accented Irish. Every word out of her mouth was a butchery of the musical quality of both her own Irish tongue and her French adopted language.

Scooping up the coins, she burrowed them deeply in her pocket.

Louis led Jamie up to the room, shutting the door behind them. Louis placed his hands behind his back. "Would you like to take a seat, please?"

"Where there is no chair?" Jamie said resentfully, " I will not get on that bed."

"I don't blame you," Louis said, his lips smiling blandly, not betraying the aggravation he felt for his past behavior.

Louis cleared his throat, pondering over the significance of each word contained in the little speech he mentally prepared before hand, "Jamie, my father had, he perhaps, my father was not unbiased in his decision for you to be treated as if you had no claim to de Pointe du Lac blood in your veins. I would like to make amends for my father's mistaken assumption of your lack of blood line."

Why not make amends for your putting me up for sale?" Jamie cried, his face feeling hot and red, "Please leave Louis. Whoever you now are, or whatever you are, please leave me alone. I want nothing to do with you."

"What do you mean whatever, whoever I am?" Louis said suspiciously.

I can tell you're not alive in the same sense as I am alive, because I believe what my eyes and instincts tell me about you. I have faith in you being a ghost of some sorts."

"Ah, you are confused as Paul was once, I suppose, confused. Paul's grasp of reality too was none too tight either. Non, Jamie I am not a ghost of some sorts, and if I were, you would be wise to fear me."

Louis smiled gently to take the sting out of his words, "Now enough of this voodoo nonsense. Tell me. Do other's like yourself at Pointe du Lac say the same thing about me?"

"How would I know? They might talk. But they will convince themselves as much as they can not to believe it. What else can they do.? You have them all trapped. They would go to pieces with fear if they admitted to themselves what their master is. We're not as simple as you suppose us to be, Monsieur De Pointe du Lac. We coloreds are well aware of the magical side of life.. We have a belief in the monsters that we see everyday."

"They are mistaken about me, as you are too" Louis said sternly, blushing. "This belief in the supernatural is the very thing which caused Paul's mental condition to deteriorate I am here out of respect for my uncle, my father's brother, your supposed father, Alexandre. Out of love and sympathy for Alexandre's memory I am determined to rectify the possible mistake my father more than likely made against you."

Louis walked over to the bed, sitting upon it. "I do not wish to criticize my father, nor will I. What has been done is done. For myself, Jamie, I wish to apologize for how I mistreated you. I was intoxicated, which is no excuse for my taking out my temper and grief out on you. I tried to avenge you for how you and Paul was dishonored by inviting anyone to kill me after I set you free."

"What dishonor did you do to me? Animals like myself are sold everyday. You didn't think any thing at all about what you did to me. You're doing this, not for me, not for my father, but for Paul," Jamie said shivering with anger and emotional pain.

Non, this is for your father, to honor the wish he had that we treat you as his son should have been treated. I will have a deed written up for you Jamie for land. Enough land for a small farm. I will buy you the slaves, the equipment, and seed you will need to start with. If you bring in a successful crop I will use my influence to insure you a fair profit. I will also loan you the money for you to buy more land, but only if you are successful."

"I have no wish to be a planter," Jamie said, "I wish to be a priest."

Louis stifled a sigh, "Jamie, you," Louis tried to find the least hurtful words to say, "Jamie, please be sensible and remember your situation in life. You will be scorned by every seminary you apply for admittance to. You will only be put in your place. The path you want to take will only cause you despair, rejection, and heartache. Instead think of what I am offering to you. Nothing is more valuable or more lasting to a man than land."

"You think it's too late for me to be a priest because I'm a seventeen year old boy who neither knows how to read, nor how to write," Jamie said, fearing to say the words, You think I can't be a priest because I'm colored. He didn't want to hear the cruelty of Louis' true unspoken argument, what Louis was implying about his situation in life, knowing Louis could well be right.

"Jamie," Louis said helplessly.

"I want to learn, please I will pay you back at least a portion of what it will cost for you to provide a tutor for me."

"I shall provide you with a tutor but not to become a priest! This is unhealthy! Jamie for you to desire this is destructive You only want it because it's what Paul wanted."

"I could be put in a parish of freed coloreds, or I could be sent to a mission up West. I would have sympathy for the red man's native beliefs. I have my own native customs and beliefs I've learned about since I have came to New Orleans. I have reconciled my beliefs to Paul's faith, " Jamie said, trying not too sound too excited, fearing a flat refusal, "I want to become a surgeon first before I become priest. In this way I can help the poor in my parish both spiritually and physically. I can help those who want nothing to do with my spiritual comfort. With practical kindness I could bring people to understand that compassion is a reality in the world. If I can not turn souls to the faith of Paul's Jesus Christ, at least I could turn souls to experience what God and men are truly supposed to be all about. Service, duty, and love. Even more than the forgiveness of sinners; I believe in having compassion and understanding for why people commit the sins they do. I would make a fine priest."

Louis felt astonished that words like this were coming out from Jamie's mouth. Servile Jamie who barely had a word to say for himself, who never risked publicly giving his opinion. It amazed Louis and shook his preconceptions of Jamie a little bit.

"You're a childish dreamer," Louis declared, "And did you not know that it was dreams and fantasies which finally killed Paul? Non! Not a priest!" Louis said sternly, "No more on this subject.. I will arrange for a tutor to see you."

"You don't want to imagine, you can't imagine, that I loved and still love your brother can you?' Jamie said slowly.

"I think out of loneliness the both of you imagined yourselves to be in love with one another," Louis said deciding to be cruel to protect Jamie from the misplaced, ruinous devotion he had of Paul, "Jamie my brother was but a child, a boy. You too are nothing but a boy. The both of you would have eventually gone your separate ways as young boys do. You both had superficial, intense, brief, physical feelings for each other. The kind of feelings which arise between two inexperienced, terribly, young people. Neither of you were destined to belonged to each other. It was impossible! Listen to me, for your own sake forget about Paul except for his being a sweet, sad memory of your past."

"You think I'm the sort who does not take things as hard as your kind does. I am taking Paul's death hard," Jamie whispered.

"Time will soften the hardness you feel right now, and make it into a more mature ache which you will often find yourself forgetting about while your busy being a someone with someone else. Someone who is more appropriate and who can give you the happiness you deserve."

"Your words are so far from the truth. What different reality from mine do you dwell in?"

"I dwell in the very same reality you dwell in. Find yourself a boy to be with. Perhaps you were only experimenting with my brother. Try a woman. You may soon, I trust, find yourself a nice, young, free colored girl. Think of what I am offering you Jamie. Land which belongs to no one but you. A place to bring a wife to, a place to raise your children on. Think Jaime you can pass your land to your children, and they to their children, I am offering you a chance for prosperity not only for you, but to those who come after you."

"How can you imagine I can forget Paul?' Jamie said crushed, "You can't bribe me. You were the last person to talk Paul before he died. The slaves all think evil spirits killed Paul. What do you think?"

"I think the slaves are right. It was evil spirits Paul conjured up in his mind. He died seeing things which wasn't there," Louis said, hating to talk to Jamie about Paul's death.

"Why can't you believe it was evil spirits? Paul was a very special person to his God. The enemies of his God killed him."

"Don't speak of such things," Louis said, rasing from the bed, shivering, thinking of Lestat.

Jamie bowed his head, slowly he said, "If it were spirits. There is no help for it. What can a man do against spirits? Did he say anything abut me? Was he angry at me for going to Rodin de Bones for a love charm? Did, did he blame me like you blamed me?'

"Paul was delirious the night of his death," Louis said smoothly, looking down at his hands, "Whatever Paul said can not be taken seriously. You have to go on with your life. I think of my brother as a child who I thought was merging into manhood. I was wrong. Paul was immature for his age, his mind and his sensibilities undeveloped. I should have never bought you two together to, to, to appease the earthly urges you both had. Maturity, for your sake, will perhaps cure you of the urges you had for Paul."

"You think I was incapable of being in love with him? That there was nothing but sex between us? Stop dancing around with fancy words, be crude, be an honest man. You think that I would have out grown Paul because a person like me doesn't have the depth do love a person like Paul. How would you know? Have you ever been in love? Did you out grow these urges you had for someone?"

"I pray I do someday out grow my urges to care for anyone. Emotions and urges are more trouble than they are worth to a man," Louis said, "Feelings taken too seriously can only unbalance you. Jamie. I swear to you, that you will have someone else in your life. I promise you. Be practical in the face of your loss. I will deed the land in your name in case you change your mind. I will also arrange for a tutor. You will leave here as soon as I have found a small house for you. I will send a house servant Yvette to take care of your needs. You'll be put on an allowance of course."

"I told you I would pay you. And I do not want a house, nor do I want Yvette. Yvette has family on the plantation it would cause her sadness to be separated from her two small boys. Why do you always dismiss what people like myself feel as if we were nothing! Arrange for a tutor, tell me of the address, and I will go during the day." Jamie sat on the bed, pulling off his boot. Tied to his calf was an envelope. Untying the string, Jamie took from the envelope several bills. "This is for you. For my lessons. I will give you more later."

"Merci," Louis said surprised, knowing for the sake of Jaime's pride he must not argue with him.

Louis shook Jamie's hand. He felt a shamed resentment for the young boy standing across from him who was shaking his hand. He still could not help but blame Jamie for his involvement in what happened to Paul.

"Open up, open up I say you dusky moor! I know you are in there," yelled a voice. A fist violently pounded on the door.

(12)

"Ah that drunken voice can only belong to one man," Louis said tensely.

"You be leaving Jamie alone now Monsieur, he is entertaining his man in there! Off with you now, "

Jamie and Louis heard Old Sally scream shrilly on the other side of the door. "Now lookie here," Old Sally wheedled, "I have a more likely lad for your tastes. Pretty as a saint! A young white boy. He' be pretty enough for you to make a jackanapes out of yourself with. He's fresh from the country. He needs a bit of guidance from an older boy like yourself."

"Don't want a country lad, he probably practiced his charms on the back sides of his papa's sheep. I want you, Jamie," he yelled at the door. " And if you knew the nobility to be found in the heart you are breaking here tonight you would weep like the kind angel you are!" Frenere shouted.

"Frenere," Jamie moaned.

The door flew open from one hard kick of Freniere's boot.

"You'll pay for that door, damn you straight to hell. You're straight from off of your Mother Satan's tit you are" Old Sally raged, running into the room, relieved Louis and Jamie had their clothes on.

"So you met my mother," Freniere said charmingly taking a bow to her.

"Oh Monsieur," she cried mortified to Louis, "Please forgive me!" She turned on Frenere, "I run a proper establishment here. Why can't you be a gentleman like your friend here, Monsieur de Pointe du Lac!"

"I'm a gentleman, well a man at least. Check between my legs if you doubt it Sally. As for your establishment being proper, so I do readily agree with you. It's properly dreadful," Freniere laughed, taking a leap on top of the bed, picking up a pillow, he tossed it high, running his rapier right through it, sending feathers blizarding about the room.

"Take that, and and that," he laughed at Louis while he murdered yet another pillow, "How dare you Louis take my beautiful Jamie away from me with your saucy lures and big green eyes!"

He grabbed up another pillow, "Ah this reeks. This reeks of horse piss, not surprising considering Old Sally your girls are the ugliest rides in all of New Orleans."

"You, you villain!" Old Sally screeched, ready to claw Freniere's eyes out.

Ah, but Madam, I forgive you for your wretched taste in wretched girls," he cried jumping off the bed, rushing to kiss her hand, "For you have working for you the most beautiful dusky angel which ever graced the earth. Jamie!" he yelled, jumping on top of a hapless Jamie, pinning him down. "now let me have my wicked ways with you, ' he laughed, struggling to pull up Jamie's shirt.

"I am never your angel!" Jamie yelled, struggling equally hard to keep his shirt on, slapping at Freniere's hands when they tried to tug his breeches down.

"Then be my little wanton devil." Freniere panted. "Stay still you lovely Adonis."

"I am only the piano player," Jamie pleaded, fighting off the larger Freniere's assault.

"That's what they all say. Than pray tell me my little piece of piano playing chocolate what are you doing here, locked in a room, with the biggest despoiler of boys who ever lived! God Louis, do get out more in the sun. You looks as pale a a brat's behind. Speaking of a brats behind," Freniere said merrily, throwing his arms around an angry Jamie who wasn't quick enough to escape him.

Jamie held himself stuff, tuning his head away from Freniere's determined kisses, "Monsieur, I have told you before, I do not prefer the company of men."

"Oh, do tell him Louis to not be afraid of me. For Jamie I am quite helplessly in your power. I'm yours to do with as you command. My cock dreams of your pretty nice ass, bursting it open, your splendid mouth. Poor cock it dreams so hard it cries white, milky tears. Here take it out of my breeches and pet it, kiss it, suck it down, make it cry for you. I swear the poor thing is intent to have only you. Tell him Louis, tell him I am enamored of him. Tell him I'm not the type who would have a colored boy whipped on a trumped up charge of disrespect."

Frenere saw the look on Jamie's face turn to one of fear, "Oh now I have gone and done it. Tell him Louis I'm a good sort," Freniere cried.

"Frenere would not hurt you," Louis assured Jamie. Louis felt strangely as if he were watching a play. None of what he was seeing quite registered with him. It was as if he had nothing really to do with the activity happening between the two mortal boys.

"If you're so benevolent. Then let me go!" Jamie yelled, pushing Freniere away. He raced from the room, Freniere's hooting laughter savaging Jamie's ears.

Damn, must they all fall in love with you, Louis?" Freniere teased.

Frenere put back his hat back on at a dashing angle. He had merry tar black eyes, and a beautiful white complexion. Surprisingly huge bursts of laughter and profanity were know to come out from his dainty small mouth. His hair was a rich black combed back from his elegant, noble forehead. His physiognomy was one of a kingly mien. He had eagle's eyes which defied the rays of the sun. He could well be called kingly looking, if only he didn't assault his haughty good looks with whisky and malt.

"Jamie is not my lover," Louis assured Freniere, disapproving of Freniere's actions, "This is not common knowledge. Jamie is my uncle's son."

"This is amazing news. Quite a trick of nature. A dead man, dead for ages, sires a grown boy. Your family must have celestial potency! My hat is off to your uncle's potency, monsieur."

"I'm serious Frenere!"

"So am I! Pity Jamie isn't your lover. He could use with one. Oh well, come on unless you have sporting to do with one of your handsome planters' sons tonight. Too bad abut Jean marrying himself off. The two of you made a good couple. Now, if you do not have a pretty boy
waiting for you in the wings, let's you and I join a card game. There's one downstairs going on now, hasten then. I feel lucky tonight."

"What? When your luck has been already been proven to be wretched?" Louis teased.

"Unlucky in love; lucky in cards," Frenere swore, taking large strides down the hall, "Are you coming then?'

Louis hesitated, he had never gambled with cards before, never. His father made his opinion quite clear on this subject Just as it was a given one used their best manners at the dinner table; it was also a given one did not buckle to peer pressure concerning card playing, Money was too precious to be fretted away. Many of Valmount's acquaintances found his bias against the gentlemanly sport of cards to be mean spirited. Valmount did encourage Louis to race his horses, as horse racing was the sport of kings. And racing horses was what Valmount considered to be a masculine sport. Nothing could convince Louis' father through of the value of foppish card playing.

Louis felt ashamed of himself for his childish desire to sit at a whist table. It was entirely unbecoming to the memory of his stern father. The very idea of himself, a person who was no longer human, holding cards in his hands, made Louis blush even harder.

"Perhaps," Louis said in a small voice, "For only a little bit."

"Then off with us," Freniere cheered trotting down the stairs, singing a naughty limerick about nuns in the habit of taking off their habits.

Freniere paid his fee to be included in Old Sally's whist game. Louis paid too. The other three occupants at the table were practiced hardened sharks. Once Louis sat down and played a few hands he could tell one, a roughened scoundrel with hands smooth as ice. and a face filthy with a condescending smile, was making signals to his partner, a burly barrel of a man with porcine hands.

Louis smiled gulling the two, reading their signals easily, foiling their stradegies in Freniere's favor. Louis himself purposely lost to Freinere. A pile of cheap ivory chips were soon growing under Freniere's hands. To Louis' surprise Freniere started deliberately playing sloppier, pretending to be drunker than he already was, deliberately throwing away good cards.

Jamie busied himself playing the piano. Paul invisible to them all sat cross legged on a stool, watching the five play cards.

"Ah sirs, you finally have cleaned me out," Freniere said, "And as I am such a clean fellow, I must bid you all a goodnight."

"Frenier let me ride home with you," Louis said in a voice which left no room for no argument. He helped Freniere out of his chair.

"First, before I leave a kiss from my beloved moor," Frenier laughed, stumbling to Jamie.

Paul would have watched but he was being drawn away once again. A current of air enclosed around his spirit sending him drifting up through the ceiling, over the roof, and out into the night.

Jamie unaware of Paul being taken away from him once again, grimaced at the kiss Freniere planted on to him. He brushed away the hand which this time was being bold enough to actually rub him between the legs. Freniere insultingly snorted in Jamie's face, stumbling away.

Louis helped Freniere to his horse.

As they rode towards Freniere's plantation, Louis said gently, but firmly, "I must ask you not to bother Jamie any longer, he and my brother were close."

"How close?" Freniere breathed, "Non. do not answer that. I am being disrespectful to the dead. I see the anger in Jamie's face when I play my pranks on him. I hope my teasing will cause him to put me in my place. I want him to lose control of himself and give me the thrashing, or worse I deserve. Jamie may kill me for all I care!"

"What can Jamie do to protect himself?' Louis said with feeling, "Would you have him hung for your death? You're being selfish."

"What can any of us do to protect ourselves? You're right Louis, I should leave Jamie alone I should leave them all alone," Freneire said moodily.

Freniere's mood abruptly changed, he reared up on his fine gray stallion "You like to race. Come on race me home. Damn it all Louis, put some color in your cheeks you look like a dead man."

"Non, go on ahead," Louis laughed.

He watched Freniere leave till he was but a small dot.

Silently, he watched, he could see far into the night, into a window of Freniere's home. With a stab of sadness Louis realized just how lonely he was for his family.

Now that he was transformed he sent the his mother and sister away to take up lodgings in a town house in the most fashionable district in New Orleans. His mother .Marie, in particular was enjoying the whirl of new friends she was making. Therese was enjoying the attention of the society women's sons in a fashion proper to a lady well born-- gentle, respectful flirtations. Louis supposed Therese would marry soon. The shopping the balls were keeping the two women in his life healthily occupied. Louis knew his father would have taken exception concerning Therese and Marie making themselves so freely exposed to the salons of New Orleans. Louis saw an independence which had never seen displayed before in his mother's and sister's personalities. And he felt all the more lonelier for this feminine desertion he himself had initiated.

He watched the Freniere women lovingly take control of the only man in their lives.

He missed that feminine regard. He he had a dreadful longing for Paul. He couldn't help but feel if he had confided more in Paul about how much he loved him, and his mother and sister, perhaps none of this would've happened. The emotional distance between himself and mortals seemed to widen by the minute and it frightened Louis. He couldn't describe the way he often felt he was only barely pretending to care about mortals and their lives. He regretted every belittling word he ever said to Paul. Fisting his gloved hands in frustration, Louis felt an urge to curse God, if there was a God.

Instead he cursed at Lestat.

"Damn your soul, what are you doing here?' Louis said shortly.

Taken aback, still in mourning over Nicky's death, Lestat jeeringly laughed at him, only making Louis more furious at having his privacy invaded.

Collecting himself, Louis said, in a more measured tone. "Excuse me for my unpleasant outburst. You took me by surprise. Now tell me, what are you doing here? I trust you are not spying on me are you?"

(13)

"I have more interesting things to look at then you. I happened to come this way and I saw you, here all alone," Lestat said, flustered. He stared up at the moon as if he just newly discovered it, pretending to be distracted by his thoughts, then out of the blue he blurted out, "So, what are you doing here? Are you searching for away to get into a chicken coop for a meal?"

"Non," Louis said annoyed, "I'm simply watching them."

"Ah, women, they are beautiful in their own way," Lestat said carelessly, longingly looking at Louis, "Are you in love with one, or are you in love with all of them?"

"Non, I am not in love," Louis paused. "at least not in love with all of them. I'm in love with Babette, the petite brunette with the fine brown eyes," Louis said carelessly, taunting Lestat for asking such a rude question.

"Are you really?" Lestat said his eyes opening wider, "Louis, you no longer need to flinch when I come close to you. I realize you are not attracted to me. And for this I am sorry."

"Are you attracted to me? Or were your advances towards me your way of mocking me?"

"Non, I am not attracted to you," Lestat said quickly, "It would be better for me not to be. Louis I would like for us to become companions," Lestat said sincerely, "perhaps I was mistaken in taking the liberty of pushing you on to the devil's road. This cannot be changed. I would if I could."

"Lestat, I am not unhappy with my state of being completely," Louis said warmly, almost ready to take Lestat's hand, thinking better of it, "Lestat, there is the question of the slave you killed."

"Ah, we are speaking of Omphale, are we not?"

"Among the many more I have noticed to be missing. You must not kill my slaves. I have asked you in polite terms to be respectful of my property," Louis said sternly.

"And what pay tell makes them your property?"

"The law," Louis said primly, immediately embarrassed by the laughter in Lestat's eyes.

"The law! You are going to call the law out on me. You, master chicken thief, you!" Lestat laughed, almost falling out of his saddle. "The law!"

Louis couldn't help but stifle a smile at how ridiculous he knew he sounded. The whole situation was horrifyingly ridiculous. "Oui, the law says I own them," Louis cried out in exasperation.

"Oh my, and we vampires must be respectful of the law. Ah, my dear monsieur would you not bring charges up against me if I promise to keep myself to only killing your neighbors and your neighbor's property? Or if I simply murdered free coloreds, and poor whites? And left your property alone. Would that be agreeable to your finely tuned sense of proprieties and the law?"

"I deserve your jeers," Louis said, trying not to smile.

"I should be furious with you for leaving Pointe du Lac. I told you for your own safety to stay there," Lestat said seriously.

"Can you be furious with me on a night like this?" Louis teasingly interrupted the lecture he knew was brewing.

"I can be furious despite how lovely the evening is, or despite how desirable the company is." Lestat said mockingly. He shut his eyes, starting to sway a little.

"Something has happened," Louis said cautiously, "You're hiding some unhappiness from me."

"Non, " Lestat said with a small smile, not wanting to share with Louis what happened to Nicky. "I am unhappy about your putting yourself in danger. For not obeying me."

"I do not remember the word "obey" being used in our, our," Louis blushed "coupling."

"Non," Lestat said lightly, "But I swear the next time I take on someone for a partner I will demand of them that they not only obey me, but they also love and honor me!"

"Monsieur," Louis said exasperated.

"Ah, do not be angry with me, please do not. Honestly Louis with you I do not know if I will be crying or laughing next. More than likely both. Where did you go tonight? Surely you haven't been up here on the knoll staring down at this plantation all this time."

"I played cards with Freniere. A friend of mine."

"Louis its best not to risk being in the close company of people who once knew you."

"I know you're right; I prefer to pretend you are wrong."

"Then if you must play cards again, might I join you?' Lestat said impulsively.

"Oui," Louis said surprised.

The lateness of the hour suggests to me I should dine," Lestat said gently, "I know you have already partaken of a meal."

"Lestat," Louis said defensively.

"Non, non, I will not insult you over your choice of cuisine. Through I should. I'm sorry for whatever compelled you to kill your racer, Satan's Thunder. "

Louis blushed. "How stupid you must think me to be to kill something I loved, something which gave me pleasure and was useful to me," Louis said in a low voice, "It was a experiment I was determined to do."

"Non, do not be sorry, you're right to experiment Louis, to learn about your inner make up. I never felt it was necessary myself to make any attempts to explore my emotional perspectives of killing. Which is not to say you are wrong. I'm only saying you are different."

"I did not love Omphale, I barely knew her," Louis said, looking at his hands holding the reins to his horse, "Yet, it seems to me to be just as stupid for you to have killed her. She was mine and she also was useful. I see it some how as a horrible waste."

"You must get over this strange obsession of yours to remain attached to human sentimentality. Louis hunt with me. Watch me hunt if you cannot share a human with me. Study how I kill with impersonal eyes. You took the death of Omphale way too personally. If you are going to learn about your present nature, you must watch me, join me in kills."

Louis recoiled from Lestat. The very thought, his very words to share in a human's death confused him. It was all so grotesque.

"Non, I'm an not hungry," he said, through he was, and he could not but think of his hunger as a perversion. He glanced back to the beautiful, warm, femininity held in Freniere's home. The tragic folly of Freniere's suicidal tendencies. Jamie's all too human, romantic infatuation with his dead brother Paul. Louis realized with a start he could not kill a human being, their death, their colorful lives, their ability to love and despair, he simply was too deeply drawn into human being's lives to have any desire to break his fast from human blood.

"Who are you going to kill?" Louis blurted out.

"How do I know? Someone, anyone," Lestat said curiously.

"Have you ever considered living your life as I am living mine?" Louis asked with an under tone of pleading in his voice.

"Non, Louis," Lestat said thinly, "Live off of animals other than human beings? That would be unnatural. I have been at this plantation before. I find it's best to kill slaves here. You see Louis they work long tedious hours in the sugar cane fields. It is punishing physical work. And the Frenere's are not good managers. Their slaves go hungry and they are beaten frequently. Even in the grips of illness they are forced to work. Their injuries go unhealed. They die quite easily with or without my help. Death is not out of place here, it is expected. I will hunt out one of them now. Louis what is the matter?"

I almost sold Jamie to a sugar planter more brutal than the poor fool Freniere is, Louis thought to himself. The idea of killing a human being even became less appealing.

"Ah Louis, I will try to kill only the wicked ones," Lestat said in a softer voice, "My way is quicker Louis than the one Freniere's negligence employs."

"Non, non, not at all. Do not feel you have to give me an explanation. I regret my trying to persuade you to my way of thinking. It is unfair of me. You are what you are. But yet. Haven't you already killed enough tonight!"

""Oui, but I prefer to kill twice a night."

"But one would do!"

"Oui, one would do. But it would not keep me strong enough to avoid being too weak, mon ami I'm feeding for two," Lestat teased, "beings you will not strengthen your health up with human blood, I need to make my strength more than just adequate to keep us both safe."

"From whom?"

"From whom ever would like to hurt us. Even a mortal during the day could hurt us. Which is why I wish you would sleep in what once was your bedroom with me."

"Non," Louis said, not quite believing Lestat's explanation why he killed so many a night, "I prefer to sleep in the oratory to stay close to Paul's memory. Understand, I feel distanced from his death, but I'm hoping somehow I can find a clue to how and why he died."

"Tell me what your theory is?"

I at first thought Paul was mad, seeing things that were after him. I thought it was my fault because if Paul could have trusted me he would have come to me early enough when he first started hearing voices for me to have taken him to a doctor. Not knowing how ill he was, I arrogantly tried pushing him into my life style and values. I was ignorant of how sick he really was. I couldn't protect Paul. I failed him. What I had to offer him failed. Perhaps I was right the first time. It wasn't a vampire who killed Paul. Paul's mind killed Paul."

"Oui," Lestat said tremendously relieved, "Hurry home Louis, dawn will be here soon enough."

"Non, I would like to stand here a little longer, I'm enjoying watching Freniere and his sisters. I can't help but be curious about what I once was."

"Now you are acting like a fool, a coward, damn you Pointe du Lac," Lestat impatiently cursed, "burn to ashes then. See if I care. You think being burned alive is a frolic? They are only humans. Look for revelations in your future not in your past!"

"Lestat would you leave me alone," Louis said calmly, "I may be the quaint term "fledging" you call me, but I am not your child."

"Louis you are not my child, you are my idiot, my own personal idiot. A child acts less childish, less impetuous then you do."

"I am impetuous?" Louis cried.

"Oui!"

"I am impetuous!"

"Oui, oui, oui, how many times must I say this--impetuious!"

"I do believe you're right," Louis said laughing, "Now monsieur, I also do believe you mentioned you must dine."

I won't have you putting me off my dinner," Lestat stormed, thinking Louis was was the epitome of stubbornness.

"Must you use such a distasteful term such as "dinner" in reference to women, men," Louis swallowed, "and children. Where is your tact, monsieur?"

Laughing Lestat said "I will use any term I want to use! Have your sojourn of nasty voyeurism. I wager you watch your dear Babette undress herself!"

"Lestat!" Louis cried deeply shocked.

"Or, instead come with me to Pointe du Lac," Lestat urged.

Lestat tuned his horse, slowly cantering off, looking over his shoulder. Louis did not make a move to follow him. Uttering curses, Lestat sped away, thinking, I hate looking at humans, hate watching them from afar. It only makes me fell more isolated. More lonely.

Lestat suddenly realized what a haven it was to go to Armand. The realization struck him as being rather desperate considering he often felt Armand would have no compunction about killing him if it suited even a vague purpose.

Every time he looked at Armand, he could see Nicky's smile. Lestat danced but two dances with Armand before he had left him with an excuse. Armand seemed to understand.

The only way I feel comfortable with humans is if I am pretending to be one, Lestat thought to himself.

Afterwards when he laid in his coffin Lestat hated to admit it that the memoires of himself laughing, pretending to eat and drink in the company of humans left a bitter aftertaste, a lonely ache. He wished he could be friends with a human not as a pretend man, but as himself. He knew knew the impossibility of that. He jealously thought of Louis making friends with Babette, worse Lestat worried about Louis reveling himself to Babette and Freniere. Similar to how Nicky, insane Nicky reveled himself to strangers. Sane, thoughtful, so far reasonable Louis patiently explaining to mortals what he now was. Living off of animals for the rest of his existence. Would Louis choose to turn himself in to humans? Rejoin the human's world on humans' terms? Would Louis become in his mind at least a human being who happened to live off of animal blood, seeing his vampirism as a clinical illness, inviting doctors to examine him?

Lestat thought horrified, Every vampire from the weakest to the strongest would rightfully be braying for Louis' blood. The whole concept of separation between vampirism and humanity would be put into question. Could I exist on a diet of animals? The weakness and hunger I would have to endure! To give up the very idea of what makes me myself, to be instead a type of handicapped freak of a human being. I would be a target for my own kind. Armand, oh! It would take only seconds for Armand to kill me in my weakened state. Humans would expect me to hunt other vampires down. I may want to befriend a benevolent, understanding mortal, but I by no means want to lower myself into craven, human respectability. Lestat broke into a blood sweat not surprised at the depth of fear he felt for the path his wayward fledgling Louis seemed to be taking.

(14)

Louis entered into Old Sally's establishment, surprising the girls and Old Sally with gifts of roses, and chocolates as fine as the ones to be had in Germany. It just seemed to him they deserved a treat. He really didn't take much notice of them before when he was mortal. Now he looked at them with new eyes. And even the most drab among them seemed like an extraordinary flower in bud ready to open.

"Ah monsieur Louis, in all the world could anyone be as refined or as generous as you?" Old Sally cooed, popping a bonbon into her vividly painted lips. "Jamie, my lad, your gentleman caller is here." She pocketed the handsome fee which Louis handed to her, wishing she had a million Jamies to pimp and a million De Pointe de Lacs to pay for them all.

Jamie reluctantly closed the piano flexing his long fingers.

"Jamie come along now," Louis said in a measured voice which betrayed no impatience with Jamie's dawdling.

Getting up from the bench Jamie entered the bedroom with him.

"Show me what your tutor has taught you today," Louis said worriedly, noticing the circles under Jamie's eyes.

Jamie reluctantly opened his primer, more than slightly ashamed knowing children little older than babies used the very same primer to learn how to read with.

"Read to me please," Louis again requested.

Reading haltingly a simple nursery rhyme about virtue, Jamie looked up from the words to see what Louis' reaction was. He fully expected ridicule. Instead he was surprised to see earnest interest on Louis' face.

"You had trouble with this word, "thimble" Louis said sitting beside him, "it's the consonant blending which has thrown you. Here sound it out with me."

Jamie did as he was requested. The he reread the rhyme with more fluency.

Jamie wished he could speak to Louis about Paul, about how much he missed him, whenever he tried to bring up the subject, Louis' face would become frighteningly impassive and emotionless. Instead Jamie said softly, "I wish I could borrow Paul's prayer book to practice
reading with. I talked to the priest at Saint Bartholomew's about learning more about the mass. Did you know Paul used to write poems in his prayer book?"

"My brother is dead. He should be dead to you. Jamie please read on. I have discussed this issue with you. It is better you have no faith at all. "

"Why do you continue to visit with me?" Jamie cried out with utter loneliness, "Why? All you need to do is forget I exist."

"Jamie," Louis said taking up the primer he had dropped.

"Sometimes I sit here at night when the candles start to flicker, and my room, it seems to be freezing, and everything takes the glowing colors of gold and all sort of blues, indigo blues, and I hear footsteps going down the hall, and then who ever is walking comes back again and stops outside of my door," Jamie said solemnly.

"You and Paul have too mystical of souls to belong here in this would. Jamie, you both made a mystical world to hide in. Now it is time to wake up from your dreams."

"But you, yourself, you are mystical. Stop denying it," Jamie pleaded, "Why can't you believe Paul's spirit exists?"

Nothing about myself is a mystery" Louis insisted, "Ah Jamie. You will fall into manifestations of assumptions based on superstitions if you continue in this fashion. Won't you read to me more? I did bring you presents, " he pulled out from a valise several books, "They have been in our family for quite a long time. When Therese and I were small these books entertained us. I would like you to have them."

"And Paul used to read from these also," Jamie said with a tremor in his voice.

"Oui,' Louis grudgingly said with a small smile.

"Mais, they belong to Therese and to the children she shall have," Jamie said reluctantly.

"Non, I will purchase new books for any children she has. I wanted you to have these "

"You have no idea how I feel. I wanted something of Paul's to have. Merci." Jamie said happily, holding one of the books in his hand as if he were holding gold.

"Have you made your acquaintance with anyone yet?"

"Non," Jamie said, picking up the Primer, reading out loud some more.

Time always seemed to take a leisurely stroll when he was with Jamie. Louis carefully asked him questions which barely sounded like questions. To his displeasure he learned Jamie was apprenticing himself out to a local witch, a free woman of color, Madam de Saint-Ange.

"Ah will you ever stop seeking out magic?" Louis said much offended, "What do you mean to be? A voodoo type of priest along with being a Catholic priest? Jamie, if you are doing anything dishonorable, if I discover you have broken into Paul's crypt for his hair, or a finger, using it for cheap conjuring."

"I am not doing anything which dishonors Paul," Jamie said hotly, "Madam de Saint-Ange is teaching me about the old ways. About herbs and potions. There is a bit of magic words witches say which gives a boost to the nature in medicine's inherent healing powers. These words help the patient believe the potion is going to work. Often times faith is what a person needs to have to survive an illness. I'm also leaning how to set bones, and midwifery from her. Old Sally teaches me how to do abortions."

"Abortions," Louis said startled, "And you want to become a priest?"

" I learned from my older religion everything is but an aspect of God. I believe the unborn have the power to reappear in another life time, and if not I believe the unborn simply merge with God. They are still very much alive in a sense which is a mystery to us. I can't sentence a child to a life of neglect."

"You, yourself, was neglected."

"I wasn't starving, not like too many children out in the streets are starving. I can remember moments where my father, Alexandre, actually did seem to love me."

"You're still trying to wed yourself to the dead. Jamie here," Louis tapped the book, "here is life, growth, and reason. Here in literature and science is all the religion a man needs. That of which is humanistic. We have no need for supermen, those we call gods and saints. I have to go now and meet Frenere for cards. You're reading is coming along as it should be" Louis said in a quiet voice, giving Jamie's back a pat to reassure him his praise was sincere.

Louis loped down the stairs, taking his seat at the card table. Jamie followed, taking his place at the piano. The tunes he managed to pull out of the ancient decaying beast of ivory and wood was was a true marvel

"Louis," laughed Freniere, leaning towards him, "All ready then are you? And you there, Jamie, when are you going to stop teething on my poor heart. It's yours to consume, take it all in one heavy swallow," Frenere tittered.

"Freniere, my friend, you are already drunk, leave my cousin be. We have a card game to play."

"Deal me in," Lestat said coming up alongside of them, "I feel like fleecing a pair of Creoles tonight."

"Are we not afraid?" Frenere laughed, "Come master card player. Let me see how much wizardry you you have to brag off."

They took their seats, Louis looked over his cards through the uneven light from the kerosene lamps and candles at Freniere and Lestat. The room was pleasantly smoky and filled with hard living men and women. Men who could turn violently murderous at the slightest insult. Lestat gave him a bawdy wink. Louis quickly looked down at his cards. Hiding his smile behind aces, clubs, and diamonds. I wish he wasn't so damnably attractive," Louis thought, It's so hard to resist him when he's being good. I can almost forget how wicked he can be. Poor Omphale.

Freniere was playing to defeat himself as always. His cheerful mouth worked its way into a sullen frown of exasperation. Somehow the cards were working against his desire to lose--he was actually winning a few hands.

Lestat stretched his fine porcelain body out; splendid as a cat. He looked even fairer in the light of the many candles burning from the wooden chandelier overhead. It rather amused him to watch the comings and goings of the whores and their rough tricks. They were all pretty, even the hairy, muscular men. All of them were gorgeous in their own singular tragic fashion. Like little flames on candles, so very perishable with but one blow.

The way Louis arranged his evening was working splendidly, Early in the night he would pay old Sally handsomely so he could take Jamie upstairs. His attitude was changing somewhat towards Jamie. Often times the resemblance between Jamie and his father Valmount in his face and in his mannerisms took him off guard. Jamie could not possibly replace Paul, his mother, or Therese. Yet, he was a comfort to be with. And with each visit Louis' interest in his cousin's well being came more and more alive in his numb soul. He felt as if he still had a small part of the family he was now starting to shun more and more with each passing evening.

Playing cards with Freniere offered Louis a wonderful excuse to come to Old Sally's and watch over Jamie's doings. No boy was ever better protected. If anyone dared to try to start trouble with Jaime, a mere murderous smile from Louis' deadly lips was enough to speed the malefactor away.

Freniere took shot after shot of whisky. His voice becoming a slow, liquid drawl, "I'm going to fight a duel tomorrow night," he announced, "Shall I bid you all my fine friends adieu?" Would any of you like to shed a small tear for me? What of you sweet Jamie? My pretty boy pie? Would you weep for me? For what might of been? Hurricanes rest in your eyes and toss me to and fro," he sang out, throwing his playing cards down, stumbling to where Jamie sat, running his hand down his spine. "I want to take that dusty body of yours and fuck you," he whispered lustfully in his ear.

Stiffening unable to stand his harassment any longer, Jamie pulled old a small paring knife from his pocket. Without thinking he pushed it against Freniere's throat.

Freniere's lids to his eyes dropped half way down, a leer of pure triumph touched his lips, "Do what you will with me lad if you have the balls for it," He whispered, "Or take my challenge up and sleep with me, you ape."

Jamie's hand trembled, the knife felt like it weighted a ton, his eyes widened in fear. He dropped the knife, bowing his head humbly, mumbling ,"Please leave me alone."

Jamie could feel the hate all around him crackling. White, sullen men stared at him, hate and fury on their faces for what Jamie had done to one of them. One huge sailor grabbed the arm of his friend, gesturing with his head towards Jamie. The sailor yelled, slamming down his drink on the table, "Nigger, who the fuck are you to threaten your betters."

Freniere backed away from Jamie, "Wait monsieurs, no harm was done. This was between us."

His reassurances were ignored, no nigger could get away with behaving as Jamie did. Another man got up from his seat--murder in his eye. The drunken men in the tavern were becoming united to becoming a lynch mob.

Flying out of his chair, Louis unsheathed his rapier, "One at a time I will kill you all. Perhaps I will kill you by threes if any one of you dares come any closer." He drew his sword in an arch, the drunks could hear the audible hiss of his sword. The thin, dark elegant man looked lethal.

One stupidly blind drunk stormed over to to Jamie, Freniere and Louis. Louis skillfully used the rapier, slicing scars which would last forever on the drunk's face and throat.

"So, you would threaten me monsieur," Louis said coolly grabbing the man by his collar, putting the rapier to his neck. "Shall I teach you a lesson? They say I know well how to kiss. My kiss can be as hard as steel, as sharp as the edge of my rapier, pure and as lasting as death. Would you like?" He pulled the bleeding man's face to his. He placed his lips against the man's thick neck, the smell of him, the glorious man-scent of him, mixed with blood, tormented his blood lust. He could barely stop himself self from lapping at the man's neck. "Would you like a kiss from me? I promise you after but one kiss you will never kiss another again.'

"Non, monsieur, non, I would not," the man whined his eyes as huge as a bull's being led to the slaughter house. "Non, have mercy on me. I meant no harm!"

Shuddering, Luis reluctantly threw him across the room. A table stopped the man's flight. He fell to the floor. His head cracked open.

Lestat shook his head. It was all a good show. Mais, for heaven sakes a vampire had to be a bit more subtle abut these things. Still, Lestat couldn't help but bring his hands together in applause whispering, "Bravo."

Freniere shivered in his boots, amazed at his friend.

"A word with you, mon ami," Louis said coolly, taking Freniere by the arm.

"Mais, Louis," Freniere growled, struggling, "Let me apologize to Jamie."

"You will not be allowed to speak to Jamie ever again!" Louis sad with deadly quiet, dragging him outside.

"What is the meaning of your treatment towards my cousin? What is this foolishness about This duel you are taking on. Ah, I see my past self in you. And I will not allow you to make the mistakes I almost did. Save for Lestat, Who is going to look after your plantation after you die? Who is going to be the support of your sisters. Do you know do you even care?" Louis demanded.

(15)

"What is the motivation behind your bullying of Jamie and this duel of yours! What right do you have to endanger not only yourself but your sisters' well being and my cousin's life? You claim to love your sisters. What about Jamie? What are your intentions towards my cousin?" Louis demanded. "What is my cousin to you?'

"Nothing. His very personality provokes my ill treatment of him," Freniere said coldly, "What right have you to be so pious! Haven't you guessed by now I'm tying to kill myself?" Freniere snarled, "Hear me out, and tell me my old friend if I do not deserve to die. I seduced a young boy of twelve. He was a pretty child. I touched him in his secret places, and he kissed me for the manipulations I employed upon his body and mind. I raped his dear ears with my declarations of love and passion. I lied to his parents when I told them I had their son's best interests only at heart. When all I wanted to do was to lick and piece his dainty hole. I made him to be quiet of our affair by threats of never seeing him again, for the consequences of our being discovered would be worse than death to me. His father is a deacon in the parish. The sort who would not hesitate to denounce my reputation to not only polite society, but to the law. Daily, I become more and more fearful of our being discovered and alas more and more sated with him till all at once he both bored and terrorized me, and I could take his company no longer."

"The child," Louis said terror dawning on him.

"Oui, the very same child you are thinking of right now. Andre Breton, oui, the boy who drowned while swimming at midnight at his father's pond. He haunts me in my dreams of him. I can see him frail, and tearful standing at the water's edge. He's made all of silver in my mind. I watch. His toes first touch the the cold inky waters, and then he wades deeper in. He's so terribly cold, very afraid, and wants to go no further. He has no choice."

"You murdered him!" Louis cried. "How was the deed done?"

"The deed was done not with any actions taken on my part, but by my hurtful words. The boy died alone. I was not there when he drowned, except for later after I heard about it. I replay the scene over and over again about how I imagine it must have been for him. I told the poor lad the day he died, I found another more lively boy than he. And I never loved him. Louis know this from what his sister said, the very sister I seduced to gain easy access to the boy, the child had stones in his pockets to weigh himself down."

"Suicide?" Louis said.

"Assuredly, not accident as it was told to all," Freniere said, "I am left with but one honorable avenue to take and that avenue leads to my crypt and shroud. For I deserve little less. I would love to blame my poor sisters for the spoiled child of nineteen years that I be. But I know where the true blame lies. Andre wasn't old enough, or ready for such an abandonment from a lover."

"Freniere confess your sins to a priest through you may not believe in priests at least you'll know one person more forgives you other than myself. I forgive you Freneiere. You did not push the boy."

"Did you, did you push Paul?" Freniere said in a hushed voice.

"Non," Louis said, "At first I felt as if I had. But I did not push Paul. And if I had killed him it was by my neglect of him, and my not knowing him for who he was, and not by action or deed."

"Ah, I wish you had killed Paul,' Freniere said bitterly, "I would have loved your companionship in this land of regret and guilt I presently occupy."

"This land of guilt you occupy is created by self indulgence. You will get Jamie killed in your persistence of trying to goad him into killing you. Let me take you home dear friend. I was once a resident of your land of regret. I'm free now. Let me take you back to your sisters, your home, direct your mind upon what you owe the living; refuse to pay back the dead. Do not show up for this duel."

"What are the two of you conspiring about?" Lestat said, joining them.

"Deviltry," Freniere laughed at Lestat, "We're telling each other tales of what a bastard the devil can be."

"I'm escorting Freniere home would you like to join us?" Louis asked in a formal tone.

"Oui, don't I always," Lestat said, the boredom in his voice was proved to be a lie by his jaunty smile.

The three of them rode off together through the darkened streets, Freniere complaining over why the two of them insisted on babying him.

They watched Freniere go inside of his home.

Louis got off his horse, and stood quietly, not protesting when Lestat slipped a protective arm around his waistcoat.

"Shall we leave?" Lestat asked.

"Non, I want to stay, I like watching them, Freniere, and his sisters. There is such a camaraderie about them all."

"In truth their relationship is strained. His sisters are tired of his drinking and gambling. They love him desperately because they depend on him to live the life style they are accustomed to. He's a source of pain to them, more than not," Lestat said studying Louis' face. "You are romanizing over them, being overly sentimental."

"The sense I get is one of family when I watch them," Louis sighed.

"Oui, falling in a trap of sentimentality," Lestat scoffed.

"Oui," Louis kind of laughed sadly, "The tender snares. The sweet enticements of having a family." He walked away from Lestat, not daring to tell him Frenier's story. Afraid how he would react.

"Slippers, sitting at the fire while it toasts you, wearing your loose gown of patterned silk, sipping a brandy, n'est-ce-pas?" Lestat teased, following him, putting both arms around his waist to embrace him.

"Your faithful hound at your feet. A good book to read out loud to your loved ones. A roaring fire. An apple near by to bite, and a good glass of wine." Louis said wistfully, leaning the back his head against Lestat's head.

"How utterly boring!" Lesat laughed.

How utterly right you are," Louis said reflectively, "Through, I often times enough tried to talk myself into believing that was what I not only was supposed to want, but what I truly wanted. I could of had that domestic scene in my life. I had a placee, a female concubine, bought for me by my father when I was fifteen. She would sing to me, play the harpsichord for me, stand on her poor head for me, if she felt that would please me. Poor girl; beautiful girl. She couldn't please me if her life depended on it. I noticed in my family, what with Paul and myself, we have a tendency to desire our own sex rather than the opposite sex. I wonder perhaps if this inclination runs in families."

"I have been known to enjoy the delights of a woman. I still do every night as a matter of fact. Tonight you should too, for the sake of your health, you should enjoy a woman along with me. Louis you are much too thin."

"You think so? I used to go rowing for exercise out on the lake," Louis countered to get the subject changed.

"Your arms show your labor, so does the elegance of your form. Alas! Your diet is making your beauty frail. There is no reason why you shouldn't be as active as you once were. More active," Lestat insisted.

""Ah, but I feel too homesick at times," Louis said cocking his head, "for, for sunshine hot and honest on my face and my hands. Vaporous beauty of the sun rays making the petals of flowers translusant You can not say in all good conscience you do miss not miss the sun."

"I miss it not. There, and my conscience is good. For I need not the sun anymore."

"Sometimes, admit this to me, would you have rather?"

"Still be mortal?" Lestat whispered, a flare of pain seemed to encircle his surrounds making everything topple out of kilter. He remembered how it felt to be mortal. It felt and smelled like stage paint, it felt like life was but a play to put on . The world ended at the edges of the stage which was lit up by candles which shone like stars. Beyond this world was his own universe--the theatre. The angels were the audience, all cheering and laughing for him, Lelio, the actor. And amongst the angels was a fallen one, a monster with white skin which glared at him like an ominous comet flying through the heavens. "Non," Lestat whispered, "I do not wish to discuss my past. What good will it do me? Heaven has ended for me long ago, my dear Louis. Now I live in a different paradise, a dangerous Eden if you will. There is no magic, or play in our Eden. There is but the glory of the kill."

"I wish sometimes I could be Freniere. and he could be me. He's making such a shambles of his plantation, himself, and his family. I wish I could be him and set things right for everyone. Perhaps, if he were I, a vampire, he would understand life can be so easily snatched and thrown away. I hold life to be all the more sacred from my nightly taking of it from the kills I do of animals," Louis said.

"I'm going to kill Freniere." Lestat said, smiling, letting Louis unceremoniously go.

"Ah, Lestat," Louis grumbled, "Now you have ruined our conversation with your crudeness and the ugliness of your wretched sense of humor. You would think an orphanage burning to the ground would be an occasion for hilarity."

"Only if you were in it," Lestat said, climbing up on top of his steed. He trotted away.

"What has put you into this mood"! Louis demanded, getting on his horse, following him.

"Do not think I am jesting. I am going to kill him," Lestat said calmly, riding a little faster.

"You can not be serious, " Louis said, trying to catch up with him.

"You just don't see it do you?" Lestat rounded on him.

"See what?"

"You are in love with Freniere."

"Ah, now I see! Now you try my patience, I am not in love with anyone!"

"Only with yourself."

"You find me to be so vain!" Louis said astonished, "Kindly explain your accusations to me. For I understand not your bases for your hurl of insults and innuendoes at me."

"In a word, I can explain your vanity in a single word-- Freniere. For all your reading of poetry philosophy, and history, I marvel, sometimes marvel how when it comes to life and yourself how you can overlook the obvious."

"There is no obvious," Louis cried, "I am not in love with Freniere."

"If you were him you would fix his life so everyone would be happy. Listen to how ludicrous you sound! The man is mine I have decided upon it."

"You would be so heartless to kill a man whose soul is in a state of peril? Lestat, the man is looking for death in all the corners of his tortured mind. I forbid you to kill him."

"Kill him, I will. Kill him I must. You have no control over yourself much less over me! You wish you could be the mortal Freniere so you could solve his problems for him. You are ridiculous! What did you mean by coming to that colored boy's defense? What does he mean to you?"

"Ah, now you accuse me of being promiscuous with anyone I exchange a word with!"

"How strange of you of all people to use such a word as promiscuous! You have no passion. How can I accuse you, a passionless thing, of promiscuity? Of recklessness, oui, I can justly accuse you of."

"Jamie used to be a slave of mine. You know how possessive I am of my things."

"Then retrieve your thing. Bring him into your power. Kill him."

"Never let such a foul concept part your lips. I agree with you on this mostly. I do not believe in our involving ourselves in mortal affairs. As I said, I once owned him, and out of pride, I did not want to see what I once owned to be murdered by louts and villains."

"Be a bit more subtle when you play at being a merciful savior, fool. How could mortals not wonder about you after your displaying your strength as you did!"

"Look who is calling fool. Who indiscreetly treats my slaves as if they rest on your own private buffet table?"

"What of it? What ever your slaves say will be dismissed as being nothing but slander. Who will believe their superstitions? Who will care? They are helpless. They know if they lay a hand on us to defend themselves, or if they try to escape, they know the slave catchers will be hunt them down, and they could will be lawfully tortured and murdered. Their hands are tied."

"Lestat, a man without hope can be driven to commit a desperate crime to protect himself finally. You said humans could harm us, I beg of you. Leave my slaves alone, or go. Leave! You and your father both can go."

You have no idea how fatal your words are to you, my slave. Hiss and shake with anger all you want for that is what you are my pretty one, my slave, and non, I will not release you from your bondage. Not until my father dies."

"Then not until. As long it's understood you will go someday! For the regard you hint at having for me you will grant me a favor and you will not kill Freniere! I make this a request of you, Lestat. My all too beautiful master," Louis said sarcastically.

"For you, because of you, I will kill him most assuredly without a doubt," Lestat said coldly, galloping away, Louis chasing after him.

The next night, Freniere was dressed as if he was at a ball. He was wearing his best, long, tight fitting French coat decorated with buttons, brocade, braiding, and with large cuffs. The boy, a beautiful Creole Spaniard--the boy he was to duel with, was one who he insulted with the forwardness of his attentions. He treated many such young boys like Jamie and the Spanish Creole to his insults. Finally, the Creole couldn't take it any longer, and being the privileged son of a gentleman, he challenged Freniere to a duel. Freniere welcomed the idea of the boy's rapier's point spearing him.

The two crossed rapiers. Louis and Lestat watched from a small clearing hidden behind sassafras, and mulberry trees. Feinting, going forward with the skill of a master, the boy sliced a good, long slash right under Freniere's right eye down to his chin. Twisting his wrist, the boy slashed at Freniere's throat. Freniere leaped backwards taking the blow to his shoulder. Freniere was unheedful of the blood dripping from his wounds, uheedful of the need to protect himself.

Deftly, the child, for he was but sixteen, picked the place on Freniere's body where his steel would pierce. The spot in the upper left side of Freniere's chest. The boy was no sadist. He felt he punished the man enough for the cruel taunts he made to his masculinity. The boy was determined he would take a quick stab, not a very deep stab, to Freniere. Wounding him. His honor would be restored without killing the pitiful fellow who was too much of a coward to fight back. Freniere pulled back, reflexively he flexed his right arm forward to ward off the blow heading for his chest. Some sudden spark of anger and desire to live made Freniere thrust the sword forwards and downwards. To his horror, the thrust caught the boy right into his abdomen, The force of the boy taking a lunge forward for Freniere proved fatal. The point was driven home.

Pulling his rapier out of the dying boy, Freniere could find no words to say to him. Bewilderment, shame, and surprise was all Freniere could feel. Bright red blood dribbled out of the boy's mouth. Pride was a joke, he had no reason to be proud of his kill. Lifting the rapier, he prepared himself to fall on it.

Lestat swooped through the trees. Louis following. Lestat picked Freiere up by the scuff of his neck dragging him to the dark recesses of the swamp.

"Mon ami, Lestat," Freniere gasped.

"I am not your ami, poor soul," Lestat whispered in his ear, "You had not the courage to fall upon your own point. I saw your hand was shaking."

"You mean to kill me?" Freniere cried in disbelief, "Louis, mon ami, our Lestat, he has taken leave of his senses, Louis, Louis rescue me," Freniere cried, now much afraid. Lesatat's lips parted for him, displaying his elegant dangerous fangs. A song of death seemed to sing in Freniere's ears. He wondered what would happen next.

It was the next part, the next part which is so frightening, Freniere thought frantically. Like being in a fatal illness, or staring a viper the eyes. The dread of what is going to happen next. It makes you want to scream, struggle and fight.

Freniere felt indignant, more indignant than he felt scared. He was indignant anyone would dare take such liberties with his life.

Driving his nails in Lestat's face, he pushed and strained at Lestat, clawing and kicking at him.

Throwing a punch right into Lestat's mouth, Louis smacked him against his face, pulling at his hair, hitting him right under his chin. Lestat staggered backwards almost losing his grip on Freniere.

Lestat pulled Freniere to him, latching onto his neck, draining him with such a viciousness Freniere's body went instantly into a state of shock. Freniere's mind raced. His mind out raced his slowing down heart till Freniere found himself floating out of his body staring down at what he used to think of as being himself. He watched himself being killed by a blond fiend. Freniere tried to go back into his body, but all entries were closed. He felt the light surround him even before he saw it. A warm, beautiful, fearsome sight was this light. The light absorbed him till he was gone and placed else where.

Freniere's now empty body; empty of blood, empty of soul, slipped under the knee deep swamp waters.

"Why! You monster. You are sin. Oui sin, you are nothing but sin. Why did you kill him for the sport of it?"

"For sport?" Lestat whispered, springing at Louis, he grabbed him by the wrist, ready to dunk Louis' head first into the waters.

"Ah, you bastard. you fraud. Everything I do which is exceptional is for your sorry self. Louis, did I ever hate Freniere? Did I ever give you the impression I hated the man?"

"Then why kill him? You could have killed anyone else. Any one out of the ones I still care about. Who is next! My mother, or is it, Therese? You mean to isolate me from everyone I care about by killing them?"

Dragging Louis by the wrist, Lestat pulled up Freniere's corpse up out of the water by it's hair. The skin was already turning blue and bloated under its sodden mass of black hair. "Contemplate well upon what once was a nman. Then think of yourself. You upbraid me all too well that I take not the time to teach you lessons about what you are. Can you not understand what I taught you through example? Didn't you learn anything from what you observed? Look at me imbecile, and tell me what you leaned!"

"Is this your ideal of a lesson, or of a warming to me?" Louis hissed.

"A lesson. I don't believe in warnings. I didn't give him a warning, now did I?" Lestat said coolly, trailing his finger up Louis' heaving chest to the hollow of his throat. Louis gasped, desire raping his resolve not have anything to do with this brutal man, who was caressing him under his jaw and chin. Angrily, he recovered his will, he put his hands to Lestat's chest pushing him away.

Letting Freniere slide back into the mud, Lestat whispered, "Can you not see this as an act of regard meant for you?"

Lestat abandoned Louis. Louis regaled in his fury and reflections over Lestat's words to him.

(16)

Lestat shook his head afraid to go inside of Pointe du Lac. Fumbling with his ascot, tying it, untying it, he finally threw it to the ground in frustration.

How do I approach him, Lestat thought to himself, Should I be angry? I'm sure he'll make me angry within moments of his opening hismouth.

He started to pace. Should I be apologetic? I'm not sorry for killing Freniere. Why should I be apologetic? I was perfectly correct in killing him. Why does Louis have to make everything so difficult between us? I'll ignore him. That's what I'll do. I won't say a word to him till he talks to me first, and when he tries to argue with me, I'll leave the room.

Steeling himself, knowing he faced a barrage of reproaches, he opened the door. Going into the sitting room, the place where he heard Louis' voice coming from, he sauntered in. His face set in an indifferent sneer. He threw his frock coat on the floor for a servant to hang up later. Flopping in a chair, he deliberately slammed his boots on a small table inlaid with tile. Pulling off his riding gloves, he tossed then down as a gantlet, simply daring Louis to scold him.

Louis ignored Lestat's display of temper. He kept himself busy by reading to Lestat's father.

Damn it all to hell, Lestat thought, quite melting at the sight of a candle's flaming light casting shadows on Louis' calm, thin face. Louis' shining emerald eyes out did the glow and the warmth of the fire in the fireplace.

Why do I have to love you? Lestat thought, Armand has so much more to offer me. Nightly, he gives me the pleasures I desire; nightly you are cold to giving me the pleasures I want. What a pair Armand and I would make. Our powers combined. What do I possibly see in such a addle-brained, weak specimen as yourself? Why do I have to do injury to myself being in love with a vampire like you? A vampire who couldn't possibly love me back.

Lestat listened quietly to the gentle stresses Louis put into his reading of "La Nouvelle Heloise" by Rousseau, a love story filled with tears and sighs about a young heiress who falls in love with, and is seduced by her tutor. They are made to part ways, and Heloise is obliged to marry a man old enough to be her father. Her nobleman husband turns out to be noble not only in name but also in deed. Knowing of his dear wife's longing for the lover of her youth; he hires the tutor to teach their two children. The tutor tries once again to seduce Heloise, but this time older and wiser, she rebukes him, finally understanding her responsibility to family, and to society. She saves her son from drowning, and in the end she dies being beloved by all. A proper, sentimental ending.

Putting his finger to his lip, Lestat could not help but smile. He didn't take Louis as the type to read a nouvelle full of such going on's about trysts, and the near ravishing of a courageous woman, yet here he was, entertaining his enthralled father with Heloise's romantic woes.

Louis closed the book, saying, "And there sir: the tale is told."

"Ah, poor Heloise. I did not like her at first," Lestat's father said, "For succumbing to that brute of a tutor, mais later she proved herself to be a worth while woman of character. We all make mistakes in our youth. Mistakes we should be forgiven for, n'est-ce-pas?"

"Oui, so we do," Louis said pressing the old man's hand.

"Father, we must put you to bed. It isn't good for you to be up at this late of an hour," Lestat said, not unkindly.

"Nor is it good for you son," Lestat's father cried in a gruff voice, which whined on, "I know what you've been up to at night. Why you must sleep during the day? You've been killing yourself with sin! You've been drinking and carousing with the type of women no man your age should show a preference for. Son, it is all very well indeed when you are young to whore about like a great big pig. Mais, you are getting to be of an age where a man is in his prime! You should be back in France, petitioning the new emperor, Napoleon, to redress at least part of your estate, which is rightfully your inheritance. At least some of the land should be given back to the Lion Court family. I hear Napoleon is not only filling his cabinet with common rabble, mais with men of noble lineage too! Where is your mettle son! You have quite a tongue on you. Surely you can find favor in the emperor's court."

"I be in a cabinet? Me, a man who neither knows how to read or write?" Lestat said, softly, picking up the nouvelle, starting to read it to himself, turning the pages in front of the old blind man. Louis shook his head in dismay, wishing Lestat wouldn't mock the poor man.

"Ah, that is my fault son, all my fault, but surely you can learn how to read now," Lestat's father pleaded.

Lestat shut the book in the old man's face. The old man flinched at the sound of the pages slamming together. He couldn't see, but he could feel the closeness of the book to his face.

"I don't need to learn how to read," Lestat said coolly.

"Lestat already," Louis tried to say, exasperated.

Lestat put his hand to Louis' lips, shushing him before he could tell his father the truth.

"I already know I have no need for books," Lestat said in a pleasant voice.

"Convince him he needs to learn how to read, Louis. Convince him he can better himself, " Lestat's father said, fumbling for Louis' hand to squeeze it, "Your a good lad, he listens to you, oui?"

"Oui, father, I always listen to Louis," Lestat said in a cheerful voice, enjoying the angry blush on Louis' face.

"Marry son, marry a woman of means as your poor late brother did. Ah that the guillotine killed them all. It was a frightening time for me, son. I'm glad you escaped the terror. How many birthdays have you had? Thirty, thirty-one? Come now son. Agree with me, you are too old not to be married."

Lestat's smile was cold on his youthful face. His face which was frozen to be that of a young man barely out of his teens for all eternity,

"Father you are boring Louis with your talk of my taking a bride. He and I have taken vows to be bachelors."

"Foolish, the two of you both," the old man said, shaking his bald head. Everything right down to his milky blind eyes were shriveled. Nothing worked on him anymore, not even his insides. He frequently had to be changed and moved about in his bed. He had no control of his bodily functions. His skinny bottom was red with rash, and however times his breeches were changed, and his skin washed down, he still had the faint smell of shit about his poor hide. His flesh hung on him like Spanish moss on a drying tree.

Louis called for Yvette and Rolland to wheel, and carry Lestat's father to his bedroom.

"A kiss son, before I go to bed," he asked humbly.

Lestat went to the yellow fleshy face of his father. He kissed his liver spotted cheek, and patted his dry claw of a hand.

I cannot help but feel aversion for how ancient you are old man, Lestat thought to himself

He knew his disdain was rooted in pure guilt. Lestat saved his mother yet here was his father dying, mercilessly dying from old age, and he couldn't bring himself to save him And he could, he knew could. It made him feel a toxic bitterness toward himself and the old man. He felt like his father was an outcast from him. Didn't belong to him. He promised his mother Gabrielle to let the old man die. He had no reason to break the promise. He honestly did not think his father had anything to offer if he were to be given eternal life. No wisdom, no beauty, his father was but an unworthy man whose time was up. He kissed his father's bald head again, feeling like nothing less than a Judas.

Yvette wheeled the old man to the stairs. Rolland lifted him up in his arms and carried him to his bedroom.

"Lestat this can not be easy on you, " Louis said quietly, squeezing his arm gently, "I understand. It is better you do not put your father on to the devil's road. He is so close to dying, let him conclude his life as it was meant to be."

"Ah, what would happen to a blind man given the dark gift? Would he soon be able to see?" Lestat said in a facade of haughtiness.

"I have no idea," Louis said, "Mais, I do know your father is tired. He yearns to be united with your brother Augestine and the rest of your family. And, and with your mother also. He feels once in heaven, he will be able to speak to them in a way he was never able to speak to them--from his heart. He knows some day, when," Louis swallowed, "you are in the grave. The two of you will be reunited in death and he will be able to have a true conversation with you. He's afraid of words. Afraid of what to say to you. It wasn't easy for him being both a man and blind. Once the both of you are in heaven, he feels the words he wants to say will spring forth freely."

"Ah, but I will not die. As for my mother, he is mistaken about her death, she will not die either," Lestat said lightly, "For my father and myself, I'm afraid an opportunity for a reconciliation is lost, cher. It was never meant to be."

"Perhaps if you spend time with him, he'll find the words he wants to say to you," Louis said kindly, "When he does be charitable. You can afford to be my friend."

"Louis you are kind hearted and well meaning, mais my father, he is too close to me. His dying repulses me. I cannot help it. It's such a reproach. I know he is in pain. Yet, I am such a coward I will do nothing abut it. And there is an element of irritating guilt between he and I."

"You are doing the best you can. I understand how hard it is to live up to one's family obligations. How sometimes it seems impossible to love the ones you are supposed to love. Would you care to play a game of chess with me?'

"What? Play a game of chess with you Is that all you have to say to me?"

Louis got up from his chair, and set up the chess bord with its ivory and gold pieces.

"I would enjoy a game with you," Louis gestured to Lestat.

"Tell me have I been pardoned then for Freniere's death?"

Louis' eyes went darkly serious, "You teach me lessons using dead men for words."

"Someone has to teach you something,"

"I am not angry at you through I was. I confess you made me furious and my only thought was for you to leave. I understand though your motivation for Freniere's death. I was becoming too morbidly fixtated on watching Frenire and his family. He was living the self destructive life I once lived, it fascinated me to watch the scenes he played out. His life was in a way at the place where ended my own life as a mortal."

"I could not help but feel wounded. You seemed to prefer, non, you seemed attracted to Freniere's mortality rather than exploring the dark gift I had given you. You were obsessed with mortality through your involvement with him I warrant you may have been a little in love with him."

"I wanted to see what kind of success or failure he was going to make of himself. If he would have finally succeeded in making one of his foes kill him. I wanted to see if he would change his mind about his pursuit of death. Would he have married? Would he have turned his business around and made his plantation successful? Watching him seek the death I once pursued made me wonder what might have become of me, if I had never met you."

:"Perhaps you would have been happier without meeting me. Louis, I killed Freniere to instruct you about the advantages you, the vampire Louis now has over your old self, the mortal Louis."

"I know," Louis said sadly, "Mais please, kill no more for me. Even if you feel it promotes my deeper understanding of myself. Vampires should not waste their time looking backwards. I was in the wrong. You have corrected me. The matter is over and done with. For Freniere I will do my best to look after his sisters."

Louis moved a chess piece. Their hands touched. A tingling electricity passed between them. Sympathy was starting to grow between them.

"Louis, please go to the ball with me, Dress yourself in your best," Lestat said running his finger through his hair, "I want to be out with you."

"Merci monsieur," Louis said, he put his finger to Lestat's lips, startled at the kiss Lestat planted on it. Louis felt a feeling of camaraderie wedded to passion; a combination which had always been foreign in his past love affairs.

Lestat put his hand on back of Louis' head, pulling him forward for a kiss.

Louis pulled away. Through he was assuredly attracted to the man, he also at times felt Lestat to be beyond infuriating There was an element of greed and control in Lestat's kill of Freniere, and the last thing Louis wanted to be was dominated by a lover. He was not yet completely determined to allow himself to think he might even be falling in love with Lestat. And if he was, he wanted the progression of their love affair to move slowly and carefully. All the other lovers in his life he had hurried through, knowing for sure he wasn't in love with them. This was different and had to be handled differently.

"Monsieur I will be gratified to go to the ball with you," Louis said teasing him. Sincerely, he said, "I feel you and I, we should within reason go out more together as companions. There is no reason to pit our wills against each other."

"Then tonight, you will hunt with me?" Lestat asked anxiously.

Hesitating, mulling the thought of killing someone over in his mind, Louis said bleakly, "Mon ami, I know you must think me to be a hypocrite for I have already killed my oversee, mais I killed him while I was still a mortal. I still want to prepare myself for the ultimate intimacy involved for a vampire in the taking of a human life. And I may yet choose never to kill a human at all. For you see I have found a niche in the world," Louis said, thinking of Jamie, "I find I can have which is edifying in both worlds. My visions I see before my vampire eyes, my new perceptions of my surroundings, I know all this to be all real. And I am enchanted with my life."

(17)

"You have no understanding of what you are," Lestat said bitterly amused, "By your refusal to kill mortals, you must feel yourself to be superior to me." A loneliness settled down into Lestat to the point where he, a man who prided himself on letting action be his guide, found himself with little idea of what kind of approach to take with his willful fledgling.

You are the most pig headed person I have ever met. You skate above your life, living only on the surface of it, you never risk going any deeper than what your concepts of proprieties and safety call for, Lestat thought of Louis.

"I do not feel superior to you, Lestat," Louis said, shaking his head, "I feel you have more courage than I have. You leap impulsively. Leap into situations before you even consider what trouble can arise."

Louis went up the stairs. Lestat leaned back watching him.

Once, Louis wasn't within sight, he went over to the chess pieces and toyed with them. He listened to the sounds Louis was making in his bedroom. Clothing being tossed about, choices being made, a simple act of changing. Somehow, knowing he was upstairs lent more to the vulnerability Lestat felt. Armand was too much of a monster, while Louis who lived by the dictates of his delicate conscience, was not monster enough. Neither one of them made Lestat feel much good about himself.

He laughed a little, wondering if his feelings of malaise wasn't simply a hangover from killing Freniere.

In a sense Louis was wrong about my motivations for killing Freniere, Lestat thought to himself, It was not only all about lessons for him to learn about the true nature of a vampire, and to make him understand how truly isolated he has to now keep himself from mortals. Non, by killing Freniere, I was reliving the night I almost killed Louis, giving it a different twist, so I could analyze what it might have felt like to have actually killed my dear, suicidal, mortal darling.

"Lestat," Louis said gently, coming down the stairs.

"Ah, turn around so I might have a look at you," Lestat said beaming.

Louis arched an eyebrow, ready to break into a protest over such nonsense. Instead, he turned himself around, allowing Lestat to admire him and his ornate gray French coat, decorated with brocade, gold buttons, and lace. He was also wearing a pair of tight, gray, silk breeches, and a silk waistcoat.

Lestat smiled, thinking, How much I would adore to undress you piece by piece. Thank you, cher, for wearing such finery. I can imagine taking you from your coat, stripping you of your breeches, pulling up your formal shirt, removing your silk stockings, and touching you there between your legs. Then when you are moaning in stressful pleasure, I would take everything else off of you. Take off everything which makes you sparkle for me tonight! I can imagine tasting the cool glass of your vampire skin, breaking inside you while I'm holding you tightly. My erection hard inside of you.

"You'll do my pretty, beautiful one," Lestat said smiling, taking Louis' hands, bringing one to his lips to kiss.

"You'll do yourself," Louis said, "Allow me to." He put his hand in his pocket, pulling out a gold ascot. Putting it around Lestat's neck, he carefully tied and arranged it.

"There, now you look completed. The gold brings out the tawny highlights in your hair." Louis marveled at how well he put his feelings in little compartments. One part of him felt remorse and pity for Freniere. Another, the part which he now was most aware of, felt a kind of peace for the end of living things. For things, such as Freniere, must end. Somehow, he felt like he was being given permission by Freniere's death to move a little bit forward, to perhaps try to be a little more aware of the possibility of Lestat becoming a lover and a partner to him.

"So like a knight in King Author's court I wear the favor of my beloved," Lestat teased, putting his hand to the ascot.

"Ah, what an amazing interpretation you are making of my consideration towards you," Louis said, smiling back. "Keep it please. It suits you far more than it suits me. I have a million more like it in my chiffonier."

Louis left Lestat in the sitting room and went into the kitchen where Yvette was talking to several other house slaves. The slaves appropriately fell silent at his approach of them.

"Francis," Louis said, "would you be so kind as to advise Rolland that my friend and I will be using the carriage tonight."

To his surprise none of the slaves relaxed a muscle. They tensely sat in their chairs. They scarcely breathed. He realized their fall into silence was not the result of the respect due to a master. They were deathly afraid of him.

A little harsher than he intended, Louis said, "Look sharp now, Francis. See if Rolland returned back to the stables, or if he is out back. Tell him to get the carriage ready for us."

Francis, a very dark child of twelve, faltered at doing the errand. The boy was terrified to go out into the dark night. Yvette put a protective arm around his shoulder.

"Do as your master bids you," she whispered, giving him a little push, "I will go with you."

She took the boy's hand, quietly taking him out the door.

Louis thought to himself, It astounds me that these slaves, who I have known for years, are now avoiding my eyes, trying to make themselves look small to avoid being noticed. As if I were a beast, and they but prey.

To his horror he knew they were right in their assessment of the life they now lived under his rule. If he gave into the darkness of his being, the very truth of what he was, none of his slaves were safe from his desire for blood.

Louis knew Lestat was a hunter who spared no prey from his thirst. He thought of the way Freniere screamed and fought for his life. The deadly ease Lestat used when killing him.

Unbeknownst to him, the slaves were telling stories about how his dear friend Lestat would go into the woods, and strip himself of all his clothing . Lestat would do an obscene act of hatred against nature, torturing a child he choice out of a group of children he kept imprisoned in a dank, smelly shed in the forest. Through this act of evil, he absorbed the powers of wolves into his soul till he dropped to all fours, his face becoming long and hairy with sharp teeth, and huge ears, his hands turning into magnificent paws, and his body becoming encased in gray, shaggy hair. He would become a loup garou. Leaping upon the throat of any slave he found alone in the woods. Tearing the flesh into pieces, gulping down the liver, the kidneys, and the heart. What he did not devour the animals of the forest scavenged. The remains of the poor slave then was buried or burned. All this was done under the powers of the sick, twisted magic side of the moon. And their master, Louis, was but Lestat's slave. Lestat murdered their real master, Louis and left in his place an animated dead man who did his bidding. A mindless, unemotional, empty, dead man, more object than man.

Louis flexed his knuckles. He wanted to give these humans trapped in their black skins, assurances of his protection from Lestat. Aghast, he knew he could not. He was little more than an element of nature like a storm. A storm which could only be indifferent to the hurt other storms caused, if he was to go beyond the stage where he was presently at in his vampirism of only killing animals.

Through he did not want to, he knew eventually he might well have to succumb to which he so far was resisting--murdering those he felt a kinship for. Anyone of these slaves would be a pleasure to kill.

He gave the house slaves a stiff nod, and left the kitchen.

"What is the matter with you?" Lestat said upon seeing him, "You look ill."

"Non, there is nothing the matter with me," Louis said, "Shall we go?"

He and Lestat went outside and entered the carriage. The night was straight out of a fairy tale. Full of soft ebony hues. Everything outside the carriage had a magical aspect of being part of a mysterious miracle.

"Would it be remiss of me if I laid my head on your shoulder?" Louis asked.

Non, I would appreciate it, if you would," Lestat said his gray eyes shining with surprise.

Louis slid over to Lestat. The both of them gratified over how well they seemed to physically fit together.

The carriage stopped at a well lit Spanish motif, white, brick house. The octoroon, Blue Ribbon Ball was happening inside.

White gentlemen escorted their proud tan mistresses in reels, cotillions and minuets. The ladies' open face gowns and elaborate petticoats swished on the wooden floor as they danced. The glitter of jewels danced alluringly on the beauty of dainty throats, arms, and ears. Ladies held elaborate fans which they used to flirtatiously signal to gentlemen across the room. It was a man's world made, at least for the moment, lovely by a woman's touch. Gentility was the way of life for every man and woman in the room. Vulgarity had its place, but not here. Lestat picked a pretty young girl who was dainty as sunshine in her yellow frock. Her teeth were perfect and white in her pouting lips. Her complexion was a lovely light brown, and her eyes flashing and dark. Her head was held as high as an African princess. She wore the tignon, a head scarf on her head, which all women of even a drop of Negro blood had to wear, so that they would not be mistaken for a white woman.

"Who is that dashing young gentleman, dancing with my daughter, Juliette?" Madam de Noves inquired of her neighbors. Madam de Nores received negative responses from everyone about who he was. Madam sucked in her breath, putting her fan to her tan face, rather put out over her talented daughter dancing with an over dressed, nobody. Money was fine, and he appeared to have money, but more to it, did he have a place in society? Or was he an empty braggart who could only afford the one good frock coat he had on! Nothing was worse for a young girl of color than a poor, seductive white man who came to New Orleans seeking his fortune.

(18)

Louis chose to sit out the cotillion. He watched Lestat as he danced with the pretty octoroon, Mademoiselle Juilette.

Ah, he smiled, thinking, My father would have gently put down my dear friend Lestat as a fop. A flashy ne'er-do-well. I still can't help but think, if I were not well off, and I had not my plantation Pointe du Lac, my Lestat would not bother with me."

Louis reflected quietly to himself, Lestat is uncultivated, unsophisticated, rude, his manners too free and bold. He's boastfully wicked. And childish. I'm not sure I can completely trust him. Murderous, disdainful, haughty. Mais yet, he can be charming, and entertaining when he is in a pleasant mood. He is intelligent enough to carry on a conversation with. And of course who can deny he is dashingly handsome with those arrogant gray eyes, his gorgeous blond hair, and his slender physique? Handsome enough to be on a stage, definitely he has a dramatic enough personality to be a player.

Juliette's mother was rapidly fanning herself with ill concealed indignation over the crude attentions Lestat was paying her daughter.

Look at him! The knave! Libertine! He is trying to kiss Juliette's cheek! How dare he! she fumed, ready to take her fan and strike it firmly on Lestat's head for his crime of imprudenance. His laugh! she thought to herself, putting her white knitted gloves to her ears. Why it is so offensive! Grating to the ear! Common, arrogant man. Without any sense of tact or manners!

After the dance, the young lady, Juliette, curtsied saying, "Excuse me Monsieur de Loin Court, mais I see an acquaintance of mine I must out of courtesy greet."

"Ah mademoiselle, mais we must continue with our dancing," Lestat said, his sharp teeth grinning at his lovely little lamb. He threw his arm around her waist, taking up her pretty gloved hand.

Juliette blushed, a shiver ran up her spine. His hold on her was too suspiciously like an embrace, and everyone ought to know the kind of speculation which would arise if they indulged in yet another dance.

"Non, monsieur," she piped up in her very young voice. "I must decline."

She found Lestat to be a fascinating man, but like her mama wanted, she wanted to place a history to Lestat about his people, his finances, and his property, She was not a silly damsel in a novel waiting to be seduced. She was a practical woman-child, who knew what the value of having a refined, virginal, reputation was to her future. An excellent reputation meant far more to a woman's prospects, sometimes than just simple beauty when trying to catch a man to be a sponsor. She was not a whore, nor a woman who would ever be married, her destiny was to have her mother sign a contract for her to become the concubine of a planter who would someday choose her. Until she was sure this blond animal had the means to support her, she preferred to wait for another dance partner to come along. She was well aware of her duty she had to find a well off man who could care not only for her mother, but who would also interest himself in the well being of her brothers and sisters.

Gifting Lestat with yet another charming curtsey, she left him be.

Lestat laughed good naturedly at how neatly she put him in his place.

Louis heard his laughter, and had to smile.

Lestat waved to Louis, then he disappeared.

Louis tried to search for him with his eyes in the crowd of dancers.

Arms encircled Louis, lifting him up in the air.

Louis started to tremble. He felt a queasy sense of danger penetrate into his body. What was happening was all too familiar. He started to struggle in the vice like arms lifting him up high. His sense of proprieties would not allow him yet to draw attention to himself with a scream for help.

"Louis," Lestat cried mystified by his terror, "It's only I." Lestat put him back on the wooden floor.

"You disappeared" Louis stuttered.

"Non, not really Louis," Lestat laughed, "I did not disappear. I moved too fast for you to see. My dear Louis you could move as equally as well if you were not on a diet which causes your powers to be sluggish."

"Outside, a word with you," Louis said coldly his hand on the hilt of his rapier.

"Outside?" Lestat cried hurt and astonished, "You monsieur can go outside. Away with you. I am having a good time here, and your unreasonable surliness is starting to ruin my evening. I apologize if my playful behavior has given rise to offense."

"Outside you pathetic coward. It is time you, you murderer, you ended this farce!" Louis hissed.

"Farce! How dare you! If it is a fight you want you villain a fight you will get. Simply first make me an acquaintance of the crime I have committed against you."

Louis slapped his face with all his strength.

Lestat put his hand up to his face. Turning on his heel, Louis marched out of the ballroom to his carriage, Lestat bewildered followed him out.

Rolland opened the carriage door for Louis.

Before Lestat could enter Louis slammed the door in his face. He opened the door part way, saying, "find your own way to Pointe du lac. The criminal always in his guilt and stupidly gives himself away."

"Criminal! Guilt!" Lestat cried.

"You are more than aware of what you are guilty of. The gesture you made of lifting me up in the air made me too well aware of what you have done."

"Done?" I have done nothing but tease you!"

"Oui, arrogantly teasing me, unknowingly appraising me of your misdeed. Disappearing, then lifting me up in the air as Paul was lifted up too! A brag, monsieur. Your action was of a braggart, of a murdering, duplicitous braggart."

"Oh Louis there are times I would love to pound some proper sense into that suspicious mind of yours!"

"My brother's honor will be satisfied by your blood or by my blood, How could I have been so blind to trust you? Meet me at the clearing in Pointe du Lac where the mulberry grove is? There is where once and for all you will finish your deed of killing me, or you will be the one to die."

"What of your mother and your sister?"

"If they knew what I knew, they would demand I kill you for what you did to Paul. You reenacted the crime scene perfectly! I have made provisions for their care if something should happen to me. Rolland to Pointe du Lac!"

The carriage sped away. Lestat stomped his boots in utter frustration.

"Isn't this a duel I should fight, and not you?" Armand said with a dangerous grin, stepping out from where he was hiding to confront Lestat.

"Ah, you monster. I should wring your neck. The murder you committed against that whelp Paul is forever coming between Louis and I."

"Then leave the poor fool alone, and give him over to my devises. He wants to fight a duel to honor his brother Paul, let me be the one to help him with his cause."

"You caused enough trouble," Lestat swore.

"Should he know that you and I share a bed together nightly?"

"A bed, that's all we share, not love," Lestat said slowly, "Non, not love Armand. All I can do is murder your heart. Lead you to slaughter. I appreciated the bodily comfort you've given me. I am sure you are grateful for the comfort I have given you. Meddling, we must stop meddling with each other, and with each other's lives."

"Do you love him then?"

"Infuriating, stubborn, cold enough he is to freeze the depths of hell! What is there to love about him?" Lestat laughed weakly, "Oui, I love him."

Smacking Lestat in the face, Armand sent him falling to the ground. "He will not love a devil like you," Armand said coldly "he will never have the courage needed to love a devil like you. The integrity to love you."

"Armand," Lestat pleaded, scrambling up onto his feet. "You do not love me either, tell me the truth. Do not dissemble it. Do you love me above simple passion?"

Armand willed the tears in his eyes to stand still, he would prefer to leap onto the point of his sword, onto the embrace of a bonfire than to humiliate himself by telling the truth to Lestat..

"Non, I do not love you. I only want to punish you for the mocker, the disbeliever you are. And in my act of killing Paul, I have succeeded. Hurt for a hurt Lestat. Louis will never have faith in
you any more than you can have faith in another. You meddled in my life, and my bed long enough. It's over between us. Our friendship, our acquaintance, everything done between us is over!"

"Armand leave not in such bitter unfairness," Lestat cried.

"Unfair, you monsieur, have never been anything but unfair to me?" Armand screamed running away. He stopped to lean against an elm tree The leaves shook as if they suffered from ague. He listened in vain for Lestat's footsteps. After a while he knew he wasn't being followed. His body slid down to the grassy ground. Burying his head in his arms he sobbed out the heart he was reputed not to have. Oui, I love you, he thought, his misery felt like it was tearing him to
shreds, I love you from the first day we met I wanted you.

Wiping his face with his sleeve, Armand felt a coldness surround him. Paul's spirit surrounded him with the iciness of his embrace. He tied to talk to Armand, to offer him, his murderer, some comfort.

Paul stepped away from Armand, his ghostly, invisible arms hiding his young face. He could smell the rot of murder and revenge on Armand's person.

Paul flew up into the sky, even if he could communicate to the horrid red haired devil, nothing he could say would deter the plots hatching in Armand's fevered brain against Louis and Lestat.

(19)

Paul flew through the winds and currents of air to where his brother was waiting for Lestat . His brother was pacing in the moon light, slashing with his rapier, determined to cut Lestat down, or to be destroyed himself. Then his resolve weakened, Louis put his hand to his eye and wiped away a tear, thinking, How could I have let him deceive me? There was no real attraction on his part. He has been using me so he could have a place to harbour his father in. He is avaricious for finery, using my money to spend on himself at every opportunity. He's made Pointe du Lac a warehouse for his dubious taste in furnishings. Little more that a fortune hunter. All of which I was willing to put up with. Mais, did he kill Paul? Lestat wouldn't have any reservations about killing him if it suited his purposes. Yet, there were moments when I thought his desire for me to be real. Desire, that is all it amounts to. He is not in love with me, nor should I be in love with him. What of Therese and mama? I have made provisions for them if anything should happen to me. Mais alas, Therese needs a male protector. Obviously this Lestat poses a danger to her. To everyone I know. I will not stand for it!

Louis made an angry jab at the air, thinking, I saw Paul with my own eyes being thrown down the stairs. I heard him screaming for help. Lestat fooled me in the same fashion we consistently fool mortals. Making them disbelieve what they see, forcing them to come up with a logical explanation for our inexplicable actions they witness. Paul's death will not go without vengeance.

Paul dashed around his angry brother. He wished desperately his brother could see him. His ghostly mouth stretched out and then fell. He tried his best to scream at Louis the truth about himself. Paul heard the branches parting behind him; Lestat stepped out from the grove.

Louis assumed first position, one hand behind his back, his legs properly spaced, his hand firmly holding the hilt of his rapiere, more than ready to let the steel indulge itself in a drink of blood. "Monsieur he said calmly.

"Louis," Lestat said, raising his own rapier so that the point was a little above Louis' forehead. Louis jabbed at Lestat, making a tight arch, slashing the rapier to cut into Lestat's neck.

Contemptuously, Lestat stepped easily out of reach.

Paul's ghost danced between them, knowing Louis would be easy prey to Armand's blood lust if he did not somehow come to terms with Lestat. For the good of his brother somehow Louis had to be influenced to accept Lestat's protection and love. Paul knew his honor wasn't worth the price of Louis' death.

Reaching out, Lestat tightly grabbed a hold of Louis' blade. Clinching his teeth, Lestat's eyes widened with pain as the steel bit savagely into his palm and fingers. Louis gasped in amazement at the sheer strength of his enemy.

Lestat yanked the rapier out of Louis's hand, throwing it to fly in the air, and land in the branches of a mulberry tree. Dashing forward, he slashed the blade across Louis' face.

"There now your brother's honor is saved for a murder which did not take place, " Lestat lied hotly.

Louis fell to his knees. The searing pain from the cut was all most unbearable. He was yet too new of a vampire to endure manfully the pain he felt to his young fledgling's skin.

Dropping his rapier to the proximity of Louis' hand, Lestat said, "If you think in truth I had anything to do with the taking of your brother's life. Kill me then." Lestat dropped to to knees, "Take it up, beautiful one, and use it well against me. I will not fight you to defend myself."

"You did not kill my brother, swear it!" Louis cried desperately, trembling at the touch of Lestat's bloody fingers at his throat. Lestat unwound his ascot. The fine, gray silk of it floated to the ground.

"Non, I did not kill your brother. I swear on all that is holy, on all that is good in the world, I did not kill Paul," Lestat said, teasing Louis' naked neck with the firm caress of his fingers.

"You swear you knew nothing about how he died," Louis whispered, shivering as Lestat removed his French coat. Lestat threw the expensive garment roughly on the ground, tearing off the collar button from Louis' formal shirt.

"I swear," Lestat lied, slowly ripping off another pearl button from Louis shirt, running his hands against the smooth material covering his chest.

"Ah, this madness you are inflicting upon me. Stop it! Kill me," Louis pleaded.

"Non, never," Lestat whispered. His fingers roamed on Louis' clothing. Louis moaned wanting to break away from the torturous exploration of his limbs. He couldn't save himself from what he knew could well be the ruin of his independence. The torture became a seductive delight Lestat ran his hand up his thigh, then rubbed him between his legs. Lestat delighted in the hardening of flesh he felt under his hand.

"You're making a fool of me, but again," Louis gasped, widening his legs so Lestat could touch him more freely.

"You are no fool," Lestat whispered, taking off his own French coat, removing his dress shirt. Louis put his hands to Lestat's cool, naked chest. Then he used the power of his lips and soft bites to coax Lestat's nipples to tighten for him. Lestat opened Louis' shirt. He pressed the tender nipples between his lips, taking turns sucking, teasing, pinching, biting and molesting each one, making them as as hard as his own. He forced Louis to lay on the ground, then he licked at his abdomen then down to the waist band of his breeches, slipping his tongue to the cloth over Louis' crotch, opening his legs wider, holding in his hands his buttocks, raising his tight, ass up, then licking at the muscular place between his hole and his balls. Louis' hands clinched, he helped raise up his hips, his cock was pushing at the prison his breeches made. He groaned, pressing his crotch up against Lestat's face.

Louis' hips fell back to the ground, he grabbed at Lestat's breeches, starting to unbuttoning them. Warnings flooded into his mind, warnings and foreboding. He heard a rustling nearby of leaves being crushed under someone's boots.

Armand, Paul thought from where he was hiding. He watched the vampire carefully.

"Lestat, stop this," Louis whispered, pushing him away, "Stop it. Listen to me. This is all wrong. A huge mistake! I do not feel I am in truth the companion you wish for, or need to accompany you in your life."

"Louis are you mad?" Lestat said bewildered, cupping Louis' face in his hand.

"Listen, someone is watching us," Louis said.

"I hear no one. It is your imagination."

"Who ever, whatever it is I thank it for bringing me around to my senses. Your values, my values are like water to oil. We have nothing to weld us together in a long time match, and I fear the over exuberance of our emotions for each other will lead us to nothing but brief snatches of joy, and oceans of despair. I must be the wiser out of us two. Lestat, we must part."

"You have no feelings for me? What of my father? I can not take him from Pointe du Lac." Lestat gasped.

"Well you should be angry at me. I have too much feelings for you, and I feel it would be best to cause you no more pain. I believe you did not kill my brother, but later and still later I can not predict what I will believe in, or how I will feel about you . Rather than untangling you in my insecure desire for you I must for your sake implore you to go your way. Your father is welcome to stay as long as you want. As for you, stay if you feel you must watch over your father, mais I think it would be best for all of us, if you found lodgings elsewhere."

"Louis!"

"I have too much regard for you to sleep with you as if you were little more than a common harlot, treating you as if you were a man with little virtue. How can you even think of me for a lover after I insulted you? Laying the death of my brother at your feet when I had no real evidence, but hunches? I regard you to much Lestat for such vile treatment of you,"

Taking up his rapier from the tree, dusting off his French coat, Louis tenderly kissed Lestat's forehead, "Please understand my kindness towards you."

Louis walked away. Paul slapped his forehead in exasperation over his brother's stubbornness. Throwing his rapier unknowingly right through an invisible Paul, Lestat wildly cursed. The rapier
sliced through the tree's bark. Armand hurried away before Lestat could hear his laughter. Once in his townhouse Armand was rolling around with laughter on his rug.

Ah I know how to render that relationship to ribbons permanently before I go. I would not take Lestat back now if he crawled to me! Still, what better present to leave them with before I leave for Paris then, he smiled wickedly, a dead body.

(20)

Lestat stormed into Armand's luxurious townhouse. Cursing, he spin around in the main room, calling for Armand. He found the townhouse to be stripped of all its fine paintings and elegant furnishings. Even Armand's piano was missing from its setting on the intricate rug which had weaved into it the mythical scene of a victorious Perseus holding on to Medusa's decapitated head.

Armand was busying himself in what used to be his bedroom, packing his satins, laces, perfumes, and silks into a trunk.

Lestat entered. "Louis had made it quite clear to me he doesn't want my company," he said dryly, a slight twisting of his lips being the only betrayal of his bitterness.

"I do not want you either," Armand said coldly, carelessly folding up a cape he often wore to the opera.

"Devil take you. Where you you going?" Lestat blurted out.

"To Pairs. Where else would I go? Eleni wrote me Santiago, an actor, the two of you have yet to meet. he is trying to usurp the authority I gave to her. I must return and bring my unruly troupe to order."

"Do you want me to go to Paris with you?"

"I do not want you any more than your dear Louis wants you. Probably less so. Why should I want you?" Armand shrugged his boyish shoulders.

Armand leaned back away from the trunk, his arms folded at his chest. "Do you want to know why I stayed here in New Orleans as long as I did?"

"I suppose you enjoyed my company," Lestat said tersely.

"Oui, so I once did. I thought you would come to your senses about your Louis. Instead I have come to my senses abut you. Do you want to know why your object never returned your love? Why he refrains from killing mortals?"

"I know why he refuses to adore me, he found me to be what I truly am. A cad. A destroyer. A killer. The truth about myself he can not tolerate. Because of this, he keeps himself from killing mortals. He does not want to emulate my life style"

"How you make me laugh. Now for all the times you laughed at me it's my turn to laugh at you," Armand said, grinning wildly, "He has himself a kept boy. A mortal lover if you will. He can not bring himself to kill mortals because of the love he has for this boy. When you and I have been together he has been in the company of this young. colored, lowly mortal."

"You are lying!" Lestat cried.

"He had fallen in love with the very whore he pimped for his brother to use. You know him the one at Old Sally's."

"The boy, Jamie? The boy who plays the piano? The boy at the voodum ceremony, we witnessed. The very boy," Lestat's voice faltered "Louis protected from harm."

"Oui, that boy. He took to visting Jamie days after you put him on the Devil's Road. I would have told you, mais I didn't have the heart to. These things one should find out for themselves. Mais, I see you are too stupid to realize what your dear Louis has been up too. I have seen them together. Kissing, Lestat, they were kissing. Pleasuring each other. This Jamie he takes the passive role of wife with your Louis."

"You filth, you fiend, you say these lies to torture me!"

"Oui, I do. I want to hurt you. To cause you to weep by my telling you the ugly truth. Your Louis had been laughing at you the whole time."

"How can you say these things, mais out of love and desire for me? You jealous bitch, I let it be known to you from the start I cared for him more."

Do you doubt me so faithfully still? Think me to be a sure a liar?' Armand laughed, "Let's go then to the whorehouse where you and Louis used to play cards."

"The only reason Louis went to Old Sally's was because he was infatuated with Freniere's mortality. It was like he was looking a a distorted mirror of himself when he watched Freniere."

"Then with Freniere gone there should be no reason for him to go to Old Sally's," Armand said with cold logic, "May I take your arm and escort you there to prove Louis' guilt, or his innocence?"

"What do I care about what he chooses to do? He made it quite clear we will never be anything to each other," Lestat said, incapable of hiding the fear in his disdainful voice.

"Oh, you care," Armand laughed, flicking at imaginary piece of dust off his waistcoat. "Your arm monsieur, or shall we drop the subject?"

Lestat hesitated, agonizingly torn. Slowly, he raised his arm, allowing it to be tucked into Armand's.

"Let's us go then," Armand said merrily.

They strolled down the alley ways which were haunted with shadows and cats. Their boots splashing in the puddles. Finally they were in front of Old Sally's establishment.

Lestat took a step back, hiding behind a tree, dragging Armand along with him. Lestat's eyes opened wide in amazement. There in the doorway was Louis speaking to Jamie.

"Are you sure you are going to be all right here Jamie? No one has mentioned Freniere's death to you?" Louis said,

"No one," Jamie assured him, "All the rumors I have heard is that the Spanish boy's relatives were the ones who killed Freniere."

"You should leave here. I hate to abandon you. Let me take care of you. Enough of your foolish pride which puts you in danger. You will stay at a hotel tonight, and I will find you a more private place to live. I will not have you hurt or killed. What if someone thinks of the night you defended yourself from Freniere's advances?"

"No one had thought about that."

"Yet! The inspector would gladly put the rumors to rest about the Spanish boy's rich relatives being guilty by putting the blame on you. I insist you stay at a hotel tonight!"

Jamie hesitated,. The witch, Angelique, the one who he helped in birthing babies was depending on his help with a woman who was possibly due to have her children tonight. Angelique felt the new expectant mother was ripe with twins. "Non, Louis, I will be safe here. Do not worry about me."

"Then I shall see you tomorrow," Louis said. Louis out of worry put his hand to Jamie's face, stroking it, "You take care young man." he smiled, "You're reading is coming along admirably." Louis surprised himself and Jamie with the parental love which was in his voice, "I will see you soon."

"He, he," Lestat said stammering, watching Louis go down the alley. He tried to read Jamie's mind Armand quickly put shields upon it, just as he did with all his mortal lovers over the years to protect them and his secrets from other vampires.

"You saw how he touched the boy's face. He fell in love with a lowly slave he set free over you. You, the great lover Lestat!" Armand said mockingly.

"I still do not believe it there has to be an explanation."

"None, there is no other explanation except the obvious one. Why else would he seek the company of a colored boy? Now, let's wreak out our revenge on this upstart of a mortal moor who has usurped your rightful place in your fledgling's bed. Let's kill him for Louis to find. You and I. Then let the two of us go to Paris where we can find happiness."

"You go to Paris. Go to Pairs immediately. I must talk to the boy."

"Why? He has been warned about you more than likely. Every word out of his mouth will be a lie."

"I will know if he is lying. Leave then Armand, Leave if you will. I want to be no more in your company."

"Then perish of loneliness. Without me, I swear you will crumble," Armand said sweetly. Turning from Lestat, going at mortal speed, he strolled back to the townhouse, determined to make his departure time to Paris, confident Lestat would kill the child. Once his mortal spy,
Manon Lescaut, wrote to him the deed was done he would make sure with a letter Louis would find out. And if the deed was not done he could always return to New Orleans and kill the boy himself for the sheer pleasure of it.

Steeling himself, Lestat wandered past the rusted gate, and went up the path to Old Sally's.

Fearfully, he tapped half heartedly on the door.

A young, muscular, very dark Negro in a faded French coat opened the door to him.

"I, I came here to see a certain young man," Lestat said, handing the slave his frock coat and hat.

"Do we have another visitor at last? Monday nights are much too slow," Old Sally croaked, "Monsieur Lestat with you a pleasure always. Do you like my newest acquisition. His name is Manon Lescaut. Freshly bought he is. I needed a bouncer. I think he adds a bit of class to the place what with his frighteningly dark looks," Old Sally crooned, patting Manon's backside. "He is very talented Monsieur in way I think you would appreciate."

Manon, Armand's spy, looked down at the floor, his manner neither was inviting or repelling.

"Non, through he is very handsome. I have came here for a certain young man. He plays the piano." Lestat said his vision in a blur, he took up her rough hand to kiss, "I would like to see Jamie."

"Presently, he's out in the kitchen washing potatoes for me. What do you want him for?' she ached an eyebrow at him, her large red mouth smirking, "Monsieur Louis pays me quite well to keep Jamie private to himself."

"He does?" Lestat said faintly, his chest feeling tight.

Oui, every night the two of them steal away to the bedroom upstairs. They look so sweet together the two of them. Like a brother with a much younger brother. Through I am sure they do not act like brothers once they close the door! If Jamie be willing, I will not be telling Monsieur Louis if you want to pay for him for the night. It will be our little secret." She held out her large paw expectantly.

"Here," Lestat said in a hollow voice dropping the coins on her palm. She happily pocketed the silver, her face was smug.

"Manon, go fetch Jamie," she said.

"Oui madam," the young man said. He took himself to the kitchen, bringing Jamie along with him.

Lestat stood stunned, paralyzed. He never really looked at Jamie. Jamie was just a piece of the background.

"Monsieur, you wished to speak with me?'" Jamie said, standing before him, his eyes humbly downcast as was befitting.

Here before him was a beautiful young man with looks which echoed Louis features. The pointed chin, the high cheekbones, almost Oriental, hooded eyelids which rather than holding a wealth of green eyes under them held instead golden eyes. The only thing which made his face different was his wider nose, and his thicker lips, and the pungent cinnamon brown of his complexion. In gestures he was very alike Louis. Lestat couldn't help but feel aroused by such a delectable victim.

"I need to speak with you, young man," Lestat said almost ready to turn around and run. He found himself to be not only aroused by this young man but very afraid of him too. Afraid of what Jamie was going to tell him about Louis.

Jamie hesitated, then he said in a small voice. "Oui Monsieur. I want to go with you."

He followed Lestat up into the bedroom.

I have heard rumors about you," Lestat sad, trying to make his voice gentle, "About you and Louis."

"What do they say about us?" Jamie said faintly. The man standing before him had a mane of brilliant shoulder length hair, his gray eyes were chilly and crisp. His face as beautiful as an angel's carved out of ice. Jamie knew this person was the same type of ghoul as Louis. He knew he was a killer of men. A creature who could take him to his death. Take him to be where Paul was. "What do you want of me, monsieur?" Jamie said, gathering up his courage.

Jamie blinked his eyes and gasped. Behind Lestat he could see Paul,

Paul raised his transparent finger to his lips, hushing Jamie before he almost cried out.

"What is the matter? You look frightened?" Lestat said, shivering, feeling a cold draft fill the room.

"I am no longer frightened Monsieur," Jamie said sincerely, looking away from Paul, resigning himself to Lestat, determined to goad the him into killing him.

"Are you Louis' lover?"

"Oui, I'm his lover," Jamie said gently, looking straight at Paul who was invisable to Lestat. Now he knew exactly how to insure Lestat would kill him. By his appealing to Lestat's jealousy. nature.

"His lover," Lestat repealed.

"Oui, he takes me in his arms. And he kisses me, with such passionate beautiful kisses so filled with love," Jamie said quietly.

A ghostly tear fell down Paul's cheek. He never kissed Jamie's fearsome, thick, African lips. He only allowed Jamie to kiss him, and never would he kiss him back.

''And monsieur, he touches me here," Jamie pointed to his breast.

"Here," Lestat whispered, enchanted, jealous and spiteful. He unbuttoned Jamie's thin, cheap shirt, exposing his pink nipple, touching it, bringing the flesh to arousal.

"Ah monsieur, he touches me more deeply then how you are touching me," Jaime whispered, "Monsieur, he touches my heart."

Gasping as if he had been burned, embarrassed, Lestat dropped his hand from Jamie's chest.

Jamie unafraid, watched the sadness in Paul's face, both of them knowing Paul had never touched his body, keeping the sex between them one sided where only Jamie did the touching and holding.

"And monsieur, he takes me with his, his hands upon me, and he loves me. He lets me know he loves me."

"There, with his hands he touches you there,' Lestat asked putting his hand between Jamie's thighs.

"Oui," Jamie whispered, "Do not hate us monsieur. I beg of you, please do not hate us. Or think badly of us, we are in love."

"You know of my nature?" Lestat asked.

"Oui," Jamie said quietly.

"Then why are you so passive to death?"

"Has not judgment already been passed against me? I love him. Let me die, monsieur with dignity. The dignity that was never mine to have for much of my life while I was a slave to my own uncle. Execute your judgment against me monsieur for the crime of love."

Paul watched as Lestat embraced Jamie. Lestat's blood tainted breath and lips were tickling Jamie's neck. Twirling around with Jamie, Lestat held his young warm body close to his hard cold one.

"You love him. How much do you love him?" Lestat whispered as he led Jamie into a dance.

"More than I can say."

A blood stained tear fell from Lestat's eye onto Jamie's cheek. "I love him too, I made him for myself, so I have no choice but to condemn you. When it comes matters of love and death a vampire has to be ruthless," Lestat whispered unhappily. "Out of respect for Louis your death will be a gentle one. I cannot have you coming between myself and my fledging. I will hang your body on a tree. I will cut your throat after you are dead. He will think it was humans who
killed you. Revenging themselves for the death of Freniere. It perhaps will drive him into his nature and he will kill mortals out of revenge for your death. Who will he turn to for comfort but to none other than myself? For Louis' sake you must die. I can offer him more than you can. If you love him as you say you do. You will welcome your death."

Slowly Lestat's deadly lips parted. Jamie gave out a little gasp, holding on to Lestat's shoulder's tightly, starring over Lestat's shoulder into Paul's ghostly eyes.

(21)

Paul threw his invisible fist right into the side of Lestat's face. Lestat felt a cold gust of wind hit against him. An ice cold mist beat against his face and body. Lost in a swoon, Lestat ignored
Paul's assault on him, and bit harder into Jamie's neck, drinking the robust, heated taste of a living mortal's blood pooling inside his mouth, running down his throat.

"I love you Paul," Jamie murmured.

Deceived, Lestat thought. He removed his mouth from Jaime's neck, shoving him away. "You deceived me. You're not in love with Louis."

"Non, I'm in love with Paul," Jaime cried frightened, putting his hand to his neck. "Paul, Paul," he cried, "Come back here. I cannot do this without you."

His ghostly lover was vacant from the room.

"You lied to me. You tried to use me. For what purpose? I demand an explanation of your behavior!" Lestat growled, looking nervously around the room. "Paul is dead. There never has been a Paul in this room. You are imagining things," he sternly told Jamie.

Lestat's skin started to crawl, he heard footsteps running up the stairs, down the hall. "Damn," Lestat whispered, hiding himself behind the bed.

The door slowly opened, Louis came in, "Jamie," he said worriedly, "I came back to check on you. Madam Sally tried to lie to me when I asked where you were." Striding into the room, Louis looked down at the bed. Noticing a familiar pair of riding gloves, Louis growled, baring his fangs, yelling, "Lestat. I know you are in here."

"Louis!" Lestat cried, poking his head up.

Louis took in with a glance the meaning of the blood dribbling down Jamie's neck.

"You have proven you are my superior psychically," Louis said coldly, untying his ascot, handing it to Jamie for him to use to bind up his wounded neck. "Now what are you trying to prove?"

"Nothing, nothing to you," Lestat cried, standing up, dusting off his elegant suit, doing his best to look haughty. "I wanted to kill him because he is beautiful. He attracts me. You know how I am. How I kill mortals I find to be pleasing to my eyes. This has nothing to do with you," Lestat frantically lied.

"No one is going to kill Jamie but myself."

Louis and Lestat turned towards the window. There standing in the room was a strikingly, handsome looking, young, blond vampire wearing the most fashionable of clothing which was made of the finest Italian cloth. His face was veiled in black. All they could see aside from his hair was his turquoise eyes. His hair was done in an elegant coiffeur. He lightly tapped his walking stick on the dirty floor.

"Lestat, you are well aquatinted to how much this young man means to me because of his relationship with Paul. Allow me, a friend of Paul's, the honor of finishing what you have started."

"What is the meaning of this? Who are you?" Louis cried, pulling out his rapier.

Henri calmly ignored him. He took out a fine lace handkerchief from his pocket, handing it to Jamie to put on his still bleeding the neck. Jamie used it to replace the now soaked ascot.

"Young man," Henri said to Jamie, "Through we have never officially met I have your best interests at heart. I can take you to Paul," Henri said quietly, "Trust me. I will be kind."

"Non, you will not be kind," Louis screamed, putting the point of his rapier to Henri's covered up nose, "I've seen how they kill Jamie. It's terrible, I've seen the blood flee from mortal's faces. Jamie, I touched the coldness of the bodies they leave behind. They sometimes even break the bones of their victims," Louis said furiously, "I have cut the throat of a man, to, to be one of them. My own overseer's throat, I cut."

"You never have seen how I kill," Henri said sharply, "Enough of this nonsense. Lestat you know the boy will be hunted down by our kind till someone kills him. He's seen your fangs. You drank from him. He now knows without a doubt the type of creatures we are. Before it was speculation. You know the rules concerning mortals who have witnessed what makes us what we are."

"We will protect him," Louis said stoutly.

"How can you be so sure you can protect him?" Henri hissed, "What are you going to do make him one like us? You, Lestat, you know it is too soon since you created your last fledgling to make another one. The risk to Jamie becoming an insane creature is too great. You, Louis, would you give him a drop of your addictive blood to enslave him, to insure his loyalty to you? You could very well take him back to being your slave."

"Non, he is not my slave," Louis cried shamefaced, pressing the point of his rapier into Henri's throat, making a cut which drew blood to fall out from under the scarf which was hiding Henri's face. "Stay away from my cousin," Louis snarled, "Least I kill you. How do you come to know my name?"

"I snatched it out of your mind, of course," Henri said calmly, "My dear monsieur, I must ask you to desist in poking at my person. Cutting one of our kind is very well, I suppose, in defending oneself. Mais might I suggest to you fire is a better determent when a vampire attacks you. You might very well notice I am neither threatening nor attacking you."

"You are a threat to my cousin. And I ask that you leave, monsieur, immediately," Louis said coldly. "I, myself, will make him into a vampire."

"Non! You would take me away from your brother perhaps for forever? Make me wait out centuries till I can be with him again? " Jamie said quietly, "Put your weapon down Louis. I want to talk to Paul."

Jamie went to Henri, eye to eye with him. "Do you promise to take me to Paul?"

"Oui, I promise," Henri said gently, "I love Paul too. In a different way than you do."

"Damn it! Damn it! I will not allow this," Louis cursed, pushing himself between Henri and Jamie.

"Step a side, cousin," Jamie cried, "Am I not a free man? Isn't it my choice? I choose you," he said to Henri

"Step aside young man," Henri said sharply to Louis, "Do not touch Jamie. Or try to restrain him. You heard him He belongs to me."

"How did you know my brother?" Louis snarled.

"I knew him from afar," Henri said calmly.

What is going on here, Lestat projected his thoughts into Henri's mind, so only Henri could hear him. What is your stake in this boy's death!

You know I love Paul, and you know Armand tried to trick you into killing Jamie. What can I, a poor rogue, do to save Jamie's life? Let it be I who is the one to kill him. I am doing this for Paul. Or, Lestat, shall the four of us sit down for tea, and we can all discuss what happened the night of Paul's death, and your affair with you dear friend, Armand?

"Let Jamie be," Lestat blurted out angrily to Louis, afraid of Henri's threat, "Let him live his life as he pleases. You're not his keeper, or his father!"

Henri put his arms around Jamie.

Louis watched horrified as Henri's mouth locked into Jamie's bleeding neck.

"Can you imagine I loved your brother now?" Jamie said fearfully, his eyes enormous with tension and tears.

"I believe you loved him. Jamie, you loved him. I'm sorry I always belittled your love for him. I was cynical. I didn't believe you. I do now. Please forgive me." Louis cried.

"I forgive you," Jamie whispered, "I love you, cousin. I finally learned how to love you."

Louis watched horrified.

A look of pain and fear chased on Jamie's face.

"Non, " Louis cried out.

Lestat put his hand on Louis' shoulder, restraining him. "You are being disrespectful," Lestat said in a hushed, hurt voice "This is between the two of them. Killer and victim. I will not allow you to interfere."

Jamie hung on to Henri for a moment, His face was strained, small beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, his lips parted in a silent moan. He sighed, a look of utter emptiness was on Jamie's face, he collapsed in Henri's arms. Henri supported his limp body.

Finally Henri removed his hidden mouth from Jamie.

Thank God, I can not see Jamie's blood on your mouth hiding behind your veil, Louis thought stunned, The sight of it would surely drive me wild.

All Louis could see was a dull red where Henri's moist mouth was, drops of blood fell from under the scarf to Henri's ascot.

Gently, Henri laid the boy's body out on the bed. "The deed is done," he said.

"I'll take care of him now. I'll open up the crypt, and put him next to Paul. It's where he belongs," Louis said in a shocked voice.

"Mousier, honor demands I remove the body myself," Henri said sternly, "Lestat, haven't you taught him any manners? You are a vampire. Young man be the part!"

"He is Jamie de Pointe du Lac. He belongs with Paul. He belongs in his family crypt with the rest of his family. Jamie," Louis cried, going to the bed, falling to his knees. "Wake up. Enough, make him into one of us."

"It wasn't what he wanted. Besides, it is too late, he is dead," Henri said, not unkindly, "Goodnight to you both."

"Mais why, why you?" Louis demanded, backing away from the body, "What do you think you are going to do with him?"

"Bury him," Henri said shortly, "Burn him. Does it really matter?"

"Louis do as he says," Lestat said, "We cannot be discovered with his body. It's only a body now, devil take it."

"Lestat. I must ask you both never to mention my presence here. You know the dangers which can occur to me. Louis I will take the young man's body to Pointe du Lac. When I was killing him all the time he was dying he was thinking of an oratory. I can take his body there, if you like, then you can decide what to do with it. In the mean time Lestat you were the last person who was seen with Jamie. I suggest the both of you leave together while I deliver the body as you requested. Through I must confess, I do not see why you require it. It's of no use to anyone anymore. Lestat escort your lover out," Henri said firmly.

"How can the two of you be so calm? You just killed a boy who harmed neither of you," Louis cried his chest aching.

"Where is your vampire's sense of distance from death? " Henri said puzzled. He worriedly looked over the state of Louis' exhausted body, his emotional turmoil. "My dear monsieur we have a choice in the matter of the kill. We vampires provide a service to nature as any other beast does. I myself try to kill those in the last stages of cancer, or what ever illness my victims happen to be in. Through, I do freely admit, I do partake of a healthy mortal on occasion. Dying people tend to have a nasty taste to them. You are starting to hurt my feelings. Come here, Louis look at him," Henri said, taking him to Jamie, "Look at how peaceful he is." Henri quickly covered Jamie's face with a sheet, "Nothing can hurt him now. This was what he wanted. He's with Paul."

"How do you know?" Louis rasped.

"I know," Henri assured him. "You are wan, peaked. Lestat haven't you been teaching him well? What is the matter with him? He is not healthy. Young man have you been feeding as much as you should be?'

""If only you had such an impossible fledging, " Lestat retorted, "Then you would understand what I put up with him!"

"My dear young vampire, " Henri said smiling, at Louis, ignoring Lestat, "I have been Jamie's friend for just this short while. I assure his death was kindly done. You must feed better. Anyone can tell."

"I will see to it," Lestat said ominously.

"Merci for making his death a fine one. I was never the relative I should have been to him while he was alive. I did try. I learned how to love him too. I forgot to tell him I loved him before he died. I never told him. I did," Louis said weakly, "You will deliver him to the oratory for me?"

"I shall," Henri said gently, "do what I can for you. I'm sure he knows Louis that you love him."

"Will you not tell me your name at least?" Louis demanded, wiping the tears off his face.

"Non, it is best I do not," Henri said firmly.

"This is so unfair. He should not have died," Louis said furiously, "He should have lived. He had so much to live for."

Lestat half led, half pulled Louis from out of the room, muttering under his breath. "How can you have such little control over yourself?"

"My being upset embarrasses you?" Louis said hotly, trying to pull his arm away.

"Non, you not eating as you should upsets me! You make me to look to be the worst of masters."

"You only look the worst of masters because I refuse to be your slave," Louis said furiously, almost sobbing,

"We shall see about that. Tonight you will kill a mortal, or by God I will have to beat you," Lestat whispered as they went down the stairs.

Manon watched the two leaving, noting the pale sadness on Louis' face, and the restrained worry and fury on Lestat's face. Armand's slave and spy, bent his head down in sorrow. He had liked Jamie, and didn't understand his master's hate for him. Manon once had been the slave of a priest who taught him how to write and read. It had only been a day after his master, Father Lefebre, died when he had been sold to his monster of a master, the bewitching Armand. He bitterly supposed that when Armand would receive his news about Jamie's death, and about how angry Lestat and Louis were with each other, Armand would dance for joy.

(22)

Take a seat," Lestat said, leading Louis into the sitting room. Louis couldn't help himself. Lestat had to practically support him. He could barely walk. He felt spiritless from witnessing Jamie's death.

"Say it," Lestat ordered, "Say all the angry words you want. Say them to me. Let's resolve this now. I will not have his death be between us. Why!" Lestat cried angrily, raising his hand, "Why would you allow every mortal in the world to come between us? I am sorry for what happened. Mais, what did you expect! I'm tired of you scorning me for doing what is natural for me to do."

"To be so cruel, so heartless," Louis whispered.

"Non, liar. The child wanted to die. So, so, tell me in all honesty, what would you have me to do then to become something to you? Should I start killing off your neighbor's horses, and live
stock. What do you want of me?"

"Why would Jamie have been hunted down?"

"Non mortal who knows us for what we are can be allowed to live," Lestat said patiently as if he were saying the obvious to an ignorant fool. "Unless that mortal becomes a slave. We addict our slaves by allowing them a taste of our blood."

"Why him? Out of all people," Louis said quietly, "Why were you going to murder my cousin?"

"You're shivering, your cold," Lestat said quietly, going to the mud room where boots were kept and coats were hung. Taking a woolen great coat off of its peg, he hurried back into the sitting room.

"Wear this. I can not stand for you to be cold. Here, I'll make a fire for you." He busied himself with the stacking up of logs.

"Answer me! Why him?" Louis said, huddling in the coat. His thin hands and wrists jutting out.

Dropping the poker, Lestat lied, "Because as I said; Jamie was beautiful and I wanted him. I did not know there was anything between the two of you. If I had I would have left him alone."

"Chrysanthemums," Louis said sadly, "Yvette has put chrysanthemums and marigolds in vases. You know these flowers signify death. I must request to her that here after there be no more chrysanthemums allowed in the house."

"How you must hate me," Lestat whispered. Lestat made the fire roar. Heat soon filled the coldness of the room.

"Non," Louis said quietly, "I do not hate you. I learned about love tonight. Foolish, tragic, stupid love. I leaned a vampire can take a victim with authority, calm, and with tender compassion. It needn't be an angry, bitter affair. Henceforth, if I ever decide to kill a mortal I will do it with love and respect."

"I perhaps have forgotten how to kill a human being properly," Lestat said dryly, remembering the times he purposely terrified his victims before and during his kills just for the spiteful thrill of it all.

"Who was the vampire who killed Jamie?" Louis asked wistfully. The flicker of the flames in the fireplace caused dancing shadows to be on his face. "He was very handsome and kind. I would like to know him."

"You cannot know him. He is almost an outlaw amongst our kind. A rogue. No one is allowed to know such a mean quality of vampire. He asked us to leave him alone. Do you break your vows so easily? Are you so dishonorable?"

"Non, I am not!" Louis cried stung, "I am not so dishonorable! I will never mention him to anyone of his appearance in my life."

"Tonight has been a terror for you. I will try my hardest to make your evenings pleasurable ones. Mais, you have no idea what you are. About what is supposed to be pleasurable to a creature such as yourself. You repel your nature, clinging on to your stupid conscience, your morality."

"This isn't true. You misunderstand. Morality had nothing to do with my choice not to kill humans. It has everything to do with self restraint, with discipline. I will not be a fool to be played with to this, this life style which is little more than an addiction."

"Are you so sure of your resolve?" Lestat said quietly. Going to the bell, he rang for Yvette.

In entered Frances. His dark face grimacing.

"Where is Yvette?" Lestat said, smiling bitterly at the boy's weakness.

"She went to her man's cabin. One of her boys took ill."

Louis almost snapped out the question: Without my permission?

He put his hand to his mouth horrified over what he almost blurted out.

"Is her child being attended to by someone who is capable of helping him?" Louis asked, shutting his eyes.

"Don't know," Frances said, his bare toe impulsively pressed itself against the rose wood leg of a small table.

"Your master needs refreshment. Take yourself to the kitchen and prepare him a hot tea."

"Oui, monsieur," the child hurried away.

Louis listened to what seemed like hours to the great clock on the mantle. In minutes the child returned with a tray which held a steaming hot cup of tea.

"Put it down on the table," Lestat said sternly. Lestat went down one one knee before the twelve year old boy, pulling the child to himself. "Not a sound out of you," he whispered to the dark face. Slowly, he unbuttoned the child's thin cotton shirt, pulling back the collar, running his fingers along the collar bone.

"Look at him? Isn't he exquisite Louis? " Lestat said in the same type of voice Satan employs to tempt angels with. He ran his finger down down the lightly breathing chest of the boy, stopping at his moist belly button. He could see the boy was almost in a faint. Deftly, untying the boy's cord holding up his pants, he pulled them down just enough for Louis to see the thick dark patch of his curling pubic hair. The fire shimmered on the boy's pitch black skin.

"How can you resist such a fine offering?" Lestat said sweetly. He placed his lips on the child's face. Then he held out his outstretched hand to Louis to welcome him to feast.

"Frances, leave," Louis cried out in a horse voice, fighting his blood lust which surged like a fever in his body.

Lestat threw his arms out open wide. The child ran away sobbing with terror into the kitchen.

"How could you not have killed him?" Lestat said exasperated.

"How could you take me for a fool! You knew I would not kill him. This wasn't a test. It was a deliberate jibe at me. A mockery."

"So it was! You throw away happiness with open hands. You deserve to be made fun of. If you refuse to allow me to make you happy then allow me to make you miserable."

Dashing into the kitchen, Lestat found what he was looking for. Scooping up a fat, gray rat, he carried it in triumph to the sitting room, throwing it at Louis' chest. "Eat, by God! Eat of it then."

The rat landed with a smack against Louis' chest, then rolled down to his lap. Rat and vampire stared at each other. Both of them stunned.

"Eat it," Lestat said, getting down on his knees, picking up the rat, placing it inches before Louis' face. "Please," he said in a gruff voice of tenderness. "You are hungry. I cannot bear this. My temper when I am frustrated is none too kind. Be what you want to be then. Mais for your sake eat it."

Struggling the rat's small legs kicked and scratched at Lestat's hand. It's sharp little teeth gave his thumb a hard bite.

Gasping, Lestat dropped the rat. It fell once again onto Louis' lap. Quickly, the rat run down Louis' leg, hurrying away back into the kitchen.

"Merci, for your attempt to feed me," Louis said coolly, "I will in future take care of that task myself. Go Lestat. I hear your father, he is calling for you." Louis said wearily, Try not to direct your harsh words you are burning to use on me on to him. None of this is his fault."

Lestat got off his knees, shaken. "You flatter yourself that I would have anything kind or unkind to say to you any more, " Lestat said coldly, as yet uncried tears smothered in his throat.

Lestat went to the stair. Louis caught by the sleeve of his frock coat. "Lestat?"

"Oui, Louis?"

"Sleep well," Louis said pressing his arm.

"Sleep well, and sleep alone, " Lestat said, despising him and cherishing him both.

"It is not that I deplore your gift of my own slave, Frances," Louis said with gentle humor, then forcefully he continued, "Non, your gift of a human being was touching. Mais, after your father is no more, there will be need for Pointe du Lac. I will be freeing the people who work on my plantation. At least for myself, if not for my contemporaries, it's time for my father's way of life to rest in peace," Louis said gently.

"How I wish I could understand you. Do as you please," Lestat said coldly, heading up the stairs. Midway up the stairs, Lestat turned around, saying, "I am, as much as a creature like myself can be, unhappy for your cousin's death, mostly because it caused you to be unhappy."

"I know, Lestat," Louis said with a weak smile. A part of them both wanted to reach out and comfort each other. Fear and mistrust about the words which might be said between them--the potential of making the situation worse, kept them apart. Lestat went up the stairs.

Louis went out the French doors to the oratory. Laying his his head down in his arms on top of his coffin, he shuddered. He noticed the unknown vampire had not left Jamie's body in the oratory as he had promised unless. Louis slowly opened the coffin, to his relief it was empty.

Going inside of his coffin, he laid himself flat, closing the lid, thinking of his father who loved him so very much. He thought about how wrong Valmount was about the important things in life, and about how right Valmount was about the small things. What ever his father's faults, the brutality of the mistaken beliefs that his father lived by, he would forever always cherish Valmount for the charm and the gallantry he taught him. His father's courage, and his father's cruelties, neither one could be separated out of who the man truly was. Yet, Louis knew he could, and did love the man.

He tried to imagine Jamie and Paul in heaven together, if there was such a place.

Jamie would finally get his wish to ride free and wild, going faster, and faster.

Paul would be riding alongside of Jamie. Neither passing the other. As they rode on the souls of horses.

(23)

"Jamie, Jamie, wake up," Henri said urgently, patting his cheeks, waving smelling salts under his nose.

"Where am I? Where's Paul?"

"Sorry, I had to pinch a nerve in your neck to make you appear to die," Henri said dabbing Jamie's blood from off of his vampire's lips with a fresh handkerchief, "Please excuse the bite. I had to make it convincing. I swear I didn't drink one drop of your blood."

"You're truly a vampire," Jamie cried still dazed, putting his hand to his throat.

"Oui, I guess we have never been formally introduced. You may call me Henri. Henri will do. I long ago gave up all those messy titles. Those de what du whatever. So, I'm just Henri. And much as I enjoy a good chat. I must ask you to hurry. Louis may decide to come back looking for your, ahem, body, and that would not do at all," Henri said over his shoulder.

Going over to pile of Jamie's scant clothing, Henri made a face, not at all wanting to touch the stained sweaty garments. "Well, these will have to do for now. Never mind, it gives a splendid excuse for us to visit my tailor."

Bravely, he tossed Jamie's wretched clothing and his books too in a valise. "My dear come along. I must say, it was wonderful how your wanting to kill yourself to be with Paul worked to our favor, mais really my child, who do you think you are Romeo? And I can guess who your fair Juliette is. All nice and tragic I guess. Mais still killing oneself is never a good ideal. Ever, understand me young man, certainly not for love! It's a good thing Louis was too weak, and
Lestat was too distraught to tell your death was trumped up. Now isn't the time to scold you. You mustn't keep him waiting."

"Who? Paul?" Jamie said over his raging headache.

"Of course Paul," Henri said, worriedly scooting down on his haunches behind Jamie, "Or at least what is left of Paul. I'm afraid he is between life and death."

"Mais how? I saw him dead in his coffin."

"Non time for the chit chat. Oh dear, I know you are bursting with questions. Who can blame you? Now," Henri said, throwing the valise out the window, "Out you go. Your life is in extreme
danger."

"From who?"

"The very vampire who almost killed," Henri said, grabbing Jamie by the arm, leading him to the window, "your Paul. And almost killed your cousin, Louis. I mustn't even speak his name till we're safe with Bianca. Bianca's human spy, Katherine, informed us of everything going on."

"Katherine, the girl who had the abortion, she is addicted then to your blood?"

"Oh heavens non, we pay her. Works better actually," he picked Jamie up in his arms, leaping out the window. Gracefully landing on the ground, he put Jamie down on his feet, then he hurried to Jamie's valise. "At Bianca's request, Marius flew me here without his knowing why. I hurried here as fast as I could. Only to find you being menaced by Lestat of all vampires! I know you must be in shock Jamie, mais you must ride."

Mounting a young, strong, steed, Jamie raced alone with Henri though the vaporous heat and dense air to the dock.

Boarding onto the Saint Jean, Henri escorted Jamie to his private cabin.

"Non, I do not want to be inside, please," Jamie cried, "I want to see the ship take leave of the dock."

"Wear my cloak then, and my hat. There you look lovely," Henri said sincerely, "Let's go top side."

:The two hung on the rails. The sails flapped in the breeze. With a jerk the wooden ship creaked out into the ocean. Jamie tried to talk. Henri put his finger to Jamie's lips, shaking his head in warning.

The ship went further out into the dark sea. The motion under their feet rocked them back and fourth Lightening lit up the darkness lighting up their surroundings for Jamie to take a short glimpse of New Orleans's shoreline. Some rain fell pattering down upon the deck.

"What do you mean Paul is not alive or dead?"

He's both. He's in a poison induced coma. My dear Bianca, a first rate poisoner, poisoned Paul the night he went to talk to Louis about your affair with him. She went through the French doors, forced the liquid down Paul's throat while he was unconscious The plan was for Paul to collapse. Louis was supposed to believe Paul had a heart attack or a brain aneurysm."

"The fall didn't kill him?"

"I was afraid it had! Armand throwing Paul down the stairs was completely unexpected. Paul didn't even feel the fall. He had already passed into his coma when Armand held him up in the air just before Armand thew him down the stairs. The night after his funeral, after he was interred in his crypt, Bianca took him out. Neither one of us were sure if we were going to be successful. I was so upset I even went to Louis after he was attacked by Lestat. Louis was unconscious. I talked to him about Paul, asking for his forgiveness. I assured him Paul was gong to be in a better place. Hopefully alive and going to Venice! "

"Mais why, why did you choose to help us? I don't understand. I don't even know you."

"I know Paul. Paul is like a nephew to me. I refused to see that villain murder him! It doesn't happen everyday, but there are few precious times when a rogue tricks a powerful, master vampire. I know Paul's recovery rests with you. I would have come sooner, mais I dared not come to you while Armand was loose."

They traveled the sea for many nights. Henri's chattering did its best to make Jamie's spirits more buoyant.

Jamie thoughts were on the whores, Old Sally, Yvette, the slaves he grew up with, the emigrants, the free people of color, and the pure Africans. And he hurt for them. He wished he could make them all blind at least to the color of people's skin. He couldn't help, but feel he was deserting those who lived in his adopted country.

"Why didn't you try to save Louis?" Jamie asked, quietly, as he took a stroll with Henri on the deck.

"We ran out of poison," Henri said sadly, playing with his walking stick, catching Jamie by the arm when Jamie almost fell. A strong gust of wind caused to ship to lunge forward. "I really couldn't save Louis. I wish I could have. He doesn't belonging in New Orleans. At least I feel he doesn't. He belongs in Venice. With us. Mais, as it is, there is no help for him."

"We should go back, and take him with us," Jamie urged.

"Non," Henri said, "His lover Lestat would not allow it. His eyes, lips, hands, fangs, are greedy for Louis. Besides, I do not trust vampires dreadfully in love. They have been known to do foolish things. Look what Lestat almost did to you. I will not risk Paul's life, I'm afraid, not even for Louis. It's pains me to have to sacrifice one over the other, mais tough decisions have to be made in life. I must retire to my coffin. Please remember for the sake of your life stay away from it."

After months of traveling at sea, they arrived finally during a fine drizzle of rain to Venice's docks. Jamie gingerly walked down the gang plank, relieved to be standing on firm ground rather than the rough roll of the sea. The dock was filled with ships with all kinds of foreign, exotic flags. Musky spices, and the faint whiff of fish, and sewer filled the air. All sorts of commerce was busily being conducted by captains, merchants, money changers, and money lenders.

Jamie was greeted by a woman of splendid blond almost white hair. Her slender body was a dainty sight in her elaborate open gown. He could see half of her fair, small, pert breasts above the low cut neckline of her dress. She wore a huge soft-crowned hat with lace curtains around the brim of it, around the crown was tied an enormous red bow. "We shall not stand on ceremony, you and I!" Bainca said thrilled, throwing her arms around him.

"You're the conjurer who saved Paul's life?"

"Oh no," Bianca cried, pleasantly embarrassed, already loving the handsome brown lad with his hair burnished with tints of bronze. "I'm not a conjurer my dear. I am but practiced in herbs and the ways to bring a man's heart to a stop still."

"You most certainly stop heats, and rule over them with your magic," Henri gallantly said, putting his arm around her small waist.

"Ha! So you would persecute me with slander and lies about my effect on men? I have no magic, other than what nature gives me," she coyly said , hitting him with her fan.

""Never! Nor would I slander your effect you have on women. All hearts are in a state of suspension till but one kiss causes them to palpate then beat passionately alive," Henri said.

"Jamie," Bianca said, leading them to a hired gondola. "You must have the same allure Henri is teasing me about having. Merci to me, I have put your dear love's heart into suspension Blame me not for a cursed murderer. For what was I do under the circumstances knowing about Armand's intentions were towards Paul? I took Paul to Greece. To my Master Marius for safe keeping. I noticed Marius started to have a disturbing attraction towards the unconscious boy. So Henri and I moved him out here to Venice. Ah, I am glad we escaped Armand. My dear brother can be quite overly domineering. It has given me pleasure to no end that I, a so called weak woman, and Henri, a so called pathetic, effemitive creature, have defeated my all powerful brother. "

"Am I so effeminate?" Henri asked, rolling his eyes.

"Oui, mais from what I have heard you are not so in bed," Bianca said, cheerfully assuring him.

"It's somewhat of an exaggeration on my part," Henri said to Jamie, "I camp up my mannerisms a bit. Act like a silly sodomite to attract the rough boys. It makes for interesting opportunities for a meal. Also it keeps the ancients who might want to harm me away. They laugh at my act, discount me as being harmless, then leave me alone."

"You have to be rather deceptive when you're a rogue," Bianca said, getting into the gondola.

"Bianca and I didn't dare say Paul's name when we left New Orleans with him We referred to him as my "luggage," Henri said smiling.

"I suppose I gave him too much poison. When I tried to give him the antidote to wake him up from his deathly sleep, his heart would beat then die! Henri would beat on Paul's chest while I would drain more antidote into him. Sometimes it would take nights to chase him back from being dead back into being in a coma."

"But, his mind will it not be destroyed?" Jamie worried.

"Oh no! Have no concerns over that! Everything is turned off in him. Like a candle blown out, except for the faint beat of his heart. People are well suspicious of the poison I used on Paul. Many times practitioners like myself poison people for trade. These victims are buried alive. They wake up weeks, months in their graves. Only to be gradually smothered to death as they scratch at their coffin's lids to be let out! Why do you think Marquise De Sade asked in his last will and testament? That his body be kept forty-eight hours in the chamber that he died in, and that the coffin not be nailed shut. Well he knew the possibility of being poisoned and the terror which could occur from waking up in one's coffin! It's the most perfect of crimes!"

She delicately coughed noticing the wide eyed stare on Jamie's face. "Of course," she said smiling, patting his arm with her gloved hand, lying to him, "I never poisoned a victim in such a hideous manner to cause anyone such horrific harm."

"We're hoping if you read to him, talk to him, if he just hears your voice, his life will be spared," Henri said calmly, "Jamie, we could take him on the Devil's Road. Make a vampire out of him."

"Non, please don't. Let me try to revive him till you seriously consider such a deed. I, I do not think," Jamie said his eye lids falling almost down over his eyes, "I do not think it would be right to make Paul a vampire without his being able to consciously accept it. Please forgive me for saying so. You are both so kind. I mean no offense to either of you."

"We understand," Bianca winked at Henri. "Nor do I think we should give him the dark gift. Not until he regains consciousness and asks for it. I take no offense. I'm sure I speak for you too Henri."

"So you do. Mais, Jamie you may have to make the choice for Paul. Jamie if you can't revive him, then it is a choice of death or undeath. I cannot help mais feel his being in a vegetable state for all eternity is too tragic for Paul, " Henri said gently, "Life at any cost sometimes can be more tragic than death."

"I will try my best," Jamie said under the gondola's canopy.

The gondola docked at a fashionable town house. Jamie followed then into their home.

His eyes never were never gifted with such a luxury of visual feasting. Baroque art was every where mixed with Greek vases. Everywhere was Byzantine virgins with the solemn faces. A beautiful oil of a nude, red headed goddess who was lounging with a horned faun and a cupid by Varacci was hanging above a marble mantle over a roasting fireplace. A dazzling oil of Saint John the Baptist by an anonymous pupil of Raphael hung over the divan.

"That Saint John the Baptist with his husky shape and nicely portioned legs, his auburn hair, and his youthful face, ah, it is the spitting image of your brother Armand," Henri said.

"You like my nude of Armand? For your information," Bianca said cheerfully, "Armand posed for that nude."

"Really, I thought so," Henri said drolly.

"Does it make your heart all fluttery?" Bianca teased.

"Non, it makes my stomach all fluttery, and nauseated," Henri said with a sniff.

"My brother he has that effect on people," Bianca shrugged.

Jamie spun himself around and around, amazed and yet more amazed at the glamour in the room. His eyes became arrested to a Greek stature of two naked, rugged, wrestling males. One was seemingly preparing himself to mount the other one. He gasped in embarrassment, turning swiftly way from it "This is all so overwhelming."

"Oh my, I suppose it can be," Henri said blushing, siding up to Bianca, whispering into her ear. "I thought my cherie, I requested you put that particular piece into the closet before I brought Jamie here."

'"Don't be ridiculous. I love that piece," Bianca whispered back. She took Jamie's hands, saying out loud, "You'll get used to being pampered!" She clapped her pretty hands.

A very delectable maid came in carrying a tray of huge black grapes, cold meats, fresh baked bread, oil, olives, and cold liqueurs.

"Who says one such as we should give up glasses?" Bianca said happily, pouring herself a glass of red liquid from a bottle in a bucket filled with snow, "My dear papa, Mairus, he flies to the Alps and fetches me this delicacy of snow. He is not really my papa in a biological sense. It excites him to hear me call him Papa Marius."

She swirled the blood in her glass, then she slowly licked the hard rim, poking her tongue inside so the tip of it touched the blood.

There is a lot you'll have to get used to I'm afraid," Henri said consolingly.

"This is the vampire who tried to kill us?" Jamie said going to the oil of a tightly muscled youth wearing a halo around his breath taking angel's face. In the painting Armand was wearing nothing but an innocent face. He was pointing the way to heaven. "Why did someone this lovely want to kill us?"

"Oh, he was damnable jealous of you and Paul, and horribly jealous of Louis," Bianca said, taking a sip of blood.

"Did Mairus paint this?' Henri said cocking his head, studying it.

"Ah, do you think Mairus could have painted a masterpiece as this?" she laughed.

Upon reflection" Henri said, "Non."

"This Armand he's without his breeches, and he's supposed to be a saint. Didn't saints wear robes!" Jamie cried.

"The Renaissance was famous for homosexual erotic art depicting saints, " Henri said, to placate Jamie.

"I am allowing myself to forget Paul in all of this," Jamie said ashamed, "Please take me to him."

"Are you sure you wouldn't want to eat first? Have a glass of liqueur? It's made from the finest of pears," Bianca said nervously.

"Non, please gracious lady, I would put a veil between me and all this beauty for a glance of Paul, please."

"Jamie, prepare yourself," Henri warned.

Henri took him into a bedroom which came straight out of the tales of Arabian Nights. Henri parted the silk material hanging around Paul's bed.

There amongst the many pillows was a pathetic, skinny child of fifteen. His skin white, and veined with blue. His nostrils pinched, fallen in. His carefully kept clean hair was as dry as a
corpse's.

Trembling, Jamie fell to his knees taking the bony claw of Paul's hand.

"All I ever wanted to do was touch you again" he cried, tears falling freely down.

"We're going to leave the two of you alone," Bianca said, putting her hand on his shoulder, kissing his curly hair.

"Jamie, all is not lost. You know we can bring him back to you. All it would take is for Bianca and I to, well, Jamie. We would bring him back. He would just be well, he will be altered. Mais he'll still be Paul," Henri said.

"Let me try to talk with him first," Jamie said in a small voice

"Of course," Bianca said, pulling Henri along with her, "Tell me all about all the New Orleans' gossip. Is it true! Louis is trying to live on animal blood! Ah, do you think it may cause a trend amongst our kind? I think never! Mais, what do you think! Does such a diet make him more beautiful, Henri? Non? Then animal blood will never catch on. Do you think Louis is in love with Lestat?"

Once alone with Paul, Jamie said, "I can not yet read the kind of stories I think you would like to listen to Paul. I will someday. I promise you. I can tell you a story. There was a woman who was made to spin and weave all night long by a causchermare, a witch. Her poor husband was nightly turned into a horse. Every morning Mantel, her husband, would wake up worn and hag ridden. He bewitched the cauchermare with a loaf of bread soaked in beer. Mantel said a particular prayer, and the cauchermare, she disappeared in smoke and hell fire. Ah, Paul what can I say to you? I love you. Wake up. Shall I work a prayer? Should I feed to you some potion? Paul, mon amour, please wake up. Was it really you who visited me when Lestat was going to kill me, or was it a devil? An angel? Talk to me Paul."

Jamie felt as if ice was being pressed against his lips, "Paul," he whispered, putting his fingers to his mouth.

Running out of the bedroom, he grabbed Bianca by both shoulders. "You are using a potion, mais you are leaving out faith and magic."

"Jamie, there is no such thing as magic involved in my potions and poisons. What do you want me to do? Say a prayer for Paul?" Bianca said haltingly.

"Oui, and I want you to dance, and sing. Collect for me snakes."

"Snakes!" Henri cried.

"Oui snakes, who taught man about life and death, but the scaly one, your devil, and my snake spirit Dambala? We will use God's snakes to help open the passage way between this world and the spirit's world. And we will bring Paul back!"

"Jamie, this is nonsense," Henri said cautiously.

"Everything is nonsense up until it has been tried, and then proven to work!" Bianca said smiling, "Oui, Jamie if it is snakes you want, snakes in plentiful you will have."

"Big snakes? Non, we are not talking about big snakes, ca va? Little snakes right?" Henri said shivering.

"As big and as thick around as you can find Bianca and Henri," Jamie said earnestly.

(24)

Carefully, sprinkling flour in a pattern on the floor of Paul's bedroom, Jamie created a veve to attract the notice of loa and spirits. The veve was arranged in a pattern which was unique to Dambala, the sky serpent spirit, who had a fondness for white food and drink. He poured a libation of rum into a bowl. He then lit up incense, and tied a bundle of Paul's hair to a poteau-mitan, a pole God and spirits use to help them communicate with the living. A small altar elaborately decorated with pictures of Saint Michael, Saint Catherine of Alexandria, and Saint Anthony of Egypt, the special saints who talked to Paul, were lit up with candles. Snakes
long and thick bodied crawled around the floor, the altar, and on Paul's bed.

Henri beat on a pair of tam-tam drums. His walking stick near by least a snake came too close to him. Bianca sat besides him.

"Now you both remember the chants I want you to say?" Jamie worried, "It is imperative Henri you must not stop playing the drums."

"Jamie," Henri said nervously, looking at a king snake crawling up on Jamie's arm, "I don't know about this."

The king snake blinked its beady eyes at Henri, flickering its forked tongue at him. Henri almost bolted out of the room.

"You believe in your Catholic faith, oui?" Jamie pleaded.

"Oui, I am as good as a Catholic as I can possibly be," Henri said seriously.

"As with me it is the same with you. I believe in a supreme being. I call Him by a different name. I call him Olorun. Our loa they are the same as your angels. I believe in an afterlife. And my rituals involve a sacrifice and the consumption of flesh and blood. My ti bon agne, my little guardian angel, who is part of my soul, is going to leave my body, and my body will be possessed by Dambala. Do not worry about the serpent god, he is wise and old. A fatherly spirit. Like one of your, I mean, our saints."

"I can believe in miracles. Why not?" Henri said, inching his knee away from the thin tongue of a snake which if it came mais one inch closer he swore he was going to lose control, scoop it up, and bite the evil thing. With a sigh, Henri realized if he wanted to help there was no escape from his predicament. Holding his breath, he allowed the snake to brush against his knee. The reptile slithered away. Henri let go of his breath.

"Who are we to say there are limitations to the supernatural?" Bianca said bravely, picking up a huge snake, and placing it onto her lap, "Courage Henri. Play the drums and I will shake the rattle."

"Can I say a Catholic prayer for Paul during the ceremony?" Henri worried.

"Oui, please do, I will be saying such prayers too," Jamie said, kissing his cheek.

Jamie danced the yan valou, a dance of supplication, crouching with his hands on his knees, he swayed, and twirled exotically around. His body danced faster and faster with the rhythm of Henri's and Bianca's chanting.

Amazed, Henri leaned back, he almost forgot to pound on the drums. Jamie's face was stretching out, becoming angular, his eyes were yellow like a snake's, his face looked scaly. Jamie's mouth fell open, he babbled and hissed gibberish, falling to the floor his body twisted all about till he got to the bowl of rum. His tongue flickered in and out between his lips as he tasted the liquor in the bowl. His body was now a host to the essence of Dambala.

Leaping to her feet, Bianca hurried to where a rooster was caged. Henri flinched as she sliced a ceremonial knife through the bird's throat. The decapitated body flew upwards, then fell, running about in as circle. The smell of blood sang with the perfume of incense. She caught up the bird by its feet, holding it upside down, taking a drink from its stump. Blood steamed down her chin, and the front of her dress. Draining the blood into a bowl, she tossed the now dead bird to the floor. She brought the bowl to Henri's lips for him to drink.

Then she laid the bowl in front of Jamie's possessed body. Jamie's tongue sought out the blood. Dambala's essence inside of Jamie's body, used Jamie's tongue to lap the bowl clean.

Jamie's ti bon ange floated above his possessed body. His small soul was swimming in a vast sea of waves which crashed against him. He could see Paul's soul half consumed by a python which had compassionate, brown, human eyes.

Quickly, Jamie's soul grabbed Paul's ghostly hands. Jamie tied to pull Paul's soul out of the snake. Paul's face was as green and bloated as a day old corpse's.

"Jamie," Paul's soul cried. Paul's soul flexed his elbows pulling Jamie's soul to him, and to the python.

"Dambabla wants us to go with him to the other side," Paul's soul pleaded.

Jamie gasped, a brillent flash of gold light engulfed him, Paul, and Dambabla. He could hear the voices of angels/ loas lulling him with songs of peace. Loas with shimmering African and colored voices sang along with the bell like tones of the voices of white angels. All the voices were one and the same he soon realized. Saint's/Spirits's voices consoled him. Their songs of peace called for action.

"Non, it isn't our time to go to the other side. Paul help me fight for you."

"I don't want to fight! I want to surrender. The spirits, God, they are kind. Jamie do not fight. Come be with me on the other side where we'll be safe and loved. I did not want Lestat to kill you. It would have made it impossible for my brother to love him if he had. Mais, Jamie I am afraid to live. I was terrified when I faced by brother Louis about us. An angel tried to kill me. I thought his hand was raised against me because of the sins I committed with you. Then I learned it was no angel, it was Armband, but still Jamie, he must have tried to kill me for more of a reason than pure jealousy. We have no place in the world of mortals. No one will accept our being together. Aside from Henri and Bianca we will be friendless. I do not want to live a life where our love is scorned, a dirty joke to everyone. I do not want to live in a world where there are slaves and masters. Die with me so we can be together in peace."

"Non, I refuse to die, I refuse to let you die. We will make a place in the world for us. The world does not stop at New Orleans's borders. I don't care what others say or do. You haven't really ever tried yet to live Paul. You don't know what our life together will be like. You just think you know. I will not die, nor will you."

Jamie felt arms encircling his feet, he looked behind his shoulder there helping him pull was Erzulie, the spirit of love, a classically beautiful, deeply black woman. Her wide, jet black eyes looked nothing like Paul's saint, the Virgin Mary's blue eyes. Yet the Virgin Mary's eyes and Erzulie's eyes were the same. Both had radiant eyes filled with strength and a mother's tenderness. Erzulie's woolly head was bare, no tignon scarf, the symbol of black women's so-called inferiority to white women, was on her proud head. She had no master, or a protector of a white man. She pulled along with Jamie.

"Now Papa Dambabla," Erzulie said, " I know the white boy told you he wanted to go with you. Mais, I don't think Paul's dead yet. Besides, this here colored boy, he isn't done with Paul yet. Let go of your grasp on the boy, Papa Dambala."

"Erzulie," "Baron Samedi cried. The guardian of graves appeared. The Baron looked like a handsome, black man in the beauty of his prime. "The white boy told us he wanted to go to the other side. Let go of your grasp on both of them boys. Paul belongs with us!"

"Baron Samedi, does the white boy occupy a grave?" Erzulie asked, still pulling with Jamie to free Paul. Paul still pulling Jamie towards Dambala.

"Boy keeps slipping in and out of the grave," the Baron said indignantly, "Truth to say, I don't think the white boy's heart is completely ready for the grave yet." he conceded.

"I say till he's good and proper in the grave to stay, and he stops with his slipping in and out, let Jamie take him home where he belongs!" Erzulie cried, giving one all mighty tug along with Jamie. They yanked Paul out of Dambala's mouth.

All the spirits; the Baron, Dambala, and Erzulie disappeared. The angels/loas stopped singing. So did the saints/spirits.

Jamie's soul was holding on to Paul's soul. The two of them chest to chest.

"Why won't you let me die?" Paul weeped "I swear I was ready."

"If you were truly ready you would have died. I haven't the courage to be without you, Paul. There is too much for us to do, alive back on the earth," Jamie pleaded.

"What can we do? Nothing we can do will make a difference," Paul cried.

"Give us a chance Paul, go back inside your body. I promise you will make a difference in the world, I promise."

African flowers, canna lilies white as light, russet orchards grew around them, framing them. Paul's soul, a weak, genderless thing, stared to glow. Jamie could hear the pounding of drums, he could see the explosive blue colors of Bianca's and Henri's auras. Over the music and the chants he could hear the steady beat of a heartbeat, "Paul," his soul whispered.

"I love you," Paul's soul whispered back.

With a whoosh of wind Jamie descended back into his body.

Brushing the snakes away from his path, he crawled to the bed, trembling he took up Paul's cold hand. Paul slowly folded his fingers around Jamie's hand.

Jamie bent his head down, kissing Paul's dry cracked lips, The kiss was divine to Jamie.

(25)

Jamie and Paul walked hand in hand throughout the gilded interior of Saint Mark's cathedral.

Paul arched his back as far as he could to better see the majestic frescos of saints and angels on the rotunda, the splendid apses, and the huge high altar. He leaned back so far he almost fell backwards into Jamie's arms.

"The creativity, the inspiration, and piety which went into the making of this cathedral," Paul cried.

"The back breaking work!" Jamie said, putting his arms around Paul's waist.

"Fie, Paul," Bianca laughed, "I knew artists and the artist's apprentices! Neither were all that pious."

"None of them?" Paul asked disappointed.

"I'm sure a few were," Henri consoled him.

"Boys," Bianca said mischievously, her high heels tapping in the cathedral, "Do you have your masks ready for carnival?"

"Oui," Jamie said, putting his jeweled and feathered half mask on his face. Paul slipped on his plain white porcelain mask.

"Come then, children," Bianca thrilled, hurrying out of the church, her boys in toll.

They entered out of the church. A young man was selling fried meat. Paul and Jamie couldn't help looking at him from the corner of their eyes.

"I know exactly what you are thinking of," Bianca fussed, "Ah, boys they are nothing mais bottomless pits, I swear." She reached into her little purse hanging on a string from her waist. "Wait," she said to the vendor, "Before I purchase this tell me the source of this meat."

"Chicken, my dear lady," the vendor swore.

"Chicken," she said archly, raising a suspicious eye brow, quickly looking into the young man's mind, "Ha, it is a strange kind of whiskered chicken whose last words were meow! Off with you boys, you shall not dine here. We'll find a more honest man." Siding to Henri, she whispered, "remind me to pay a visit to yon man later. Chicken indeed."

They joined the carnival goers, dancing with a multitude of mortals in the streets. Ribbons and flowers fell every where. Later they watched the lit up barges racing down the Grand Canal from their rented gondola.

Henri rowed their gondola down the canal, smiling at Jamie's and Paul's hand being held so tightly together.

"You know boys you cannot go back to New Orleans," Henri said seriously.

"Mais, my brother Louis, I must go to him Let him know I'm alive," Paul said surprised.

"It's better off for both of you and for those in your past to think you both are dead. Armand is a predatory vampire of the first rank. Jamie and Paul, I have no doubt he would love to revenge himself by killing you both for the injury Lestat gave him by his falling fatally in love with Louis."

"Paul while you were convalescing. I received a letter from my spy. She wrote me there had been a crack down on slaves and free people of color who practiced voodun. Under torture voodun priests have been forced to say that human sacrifice is a part of their religious ritual," Bianca said seriously, "Your friend Doctor Rodin de Bones was almost taken into custody, mais for Louis. Louis chased the police away."

"The monsters, the hypocrites. Human sacrifice is no more a part of our religion than it is of their Catholic faith," Jamie said hotly, "In fact, the Catholic faith, isn't it based on a man's life being sacrificed? How dare they slander through the work of torture a perfectly legitimate faith."

"It's racist propaganda. The authorities see a growing tolerance amongst the white population for voodum. White women have been going to priestesses for charms. Powerful men in the community feel these priestesses are tempting white women to desert their faith, and to indulge in orgies. The masters are starting to fear the spread of voodun will result in a slave uprising, so they are bringing up false charges against priests. Jamie, your Angelique de Saint-Ange, she has been hung for talking about freedom for slaves. The police trumped up the charge of murder against her, claiming she murdered a child during a voodum ceremony."

"Isn't it ironic? The Romans used the same type of propaganda against the early Christians," Paul said sadly.

"This fear amongst the white population goes in spurts. Once they feel they have made enough examples of priests to the slave and colored population the violence will lull down. They do tell the most lurid tales. All about voodoo dolls, orgies, zombies, and the slaying of children."

"It' s exploitation! There are no orgies in our ceremonies anymore than there were orgies amongst the early Christians. Our religion employs voodoo dolls, mais what other avenue can a wronged helpless slave go to for justice other than to the supernatural? Voodoo dolls are not typical of real voodum. The use of voodoo dolls grew out of the frustration slaves felt for their inability to run and manage their own lives," Jamie said. "Our religion is no different from any other. We pray to God for good weather, just like any planter does. We are not immoral."

"You are right. Henri and Bianca, we can never go back to New Orleans'," Paul said.

"Why would you want to anyway? Look at all this glamour," Bianca said cheerfully, "Italy is the hot bed of sodomy, here men openly hold hands. No one bothers to care! The two of you openly can be lovers here And I think my boys," Bianca said her eyes twinkling like glitter, "I should give you a good show of what Venice is all about. We're notorious for our brothels. Tonight, I will take you to a place where you can exercise your pleasures."

"Ah Bianca. You speak foolishness," Henri reproved her.

"Non, I speak wisely and well. It will teach you boys how to make love to each other all the better."

"I think, I 'd rather not," Jamie said snuggling closer to an appalled Paul.

"Why not?" she said greatly annoyed.

"It seems too much like slavery to me. Most of those boys are enslaved to be whores due to their lack of education, good names, family, and resources," Jamie said honestly, "And please do not take offense Bianca, I myself feel much enslaved to my present life of idleness because of my lack of education."

"Here we are equal, for I neither know how to read nor how to write Italian," Paul said, "Living in Pairs is out of the question."

"Ah, not only because of Armand, mais because of the inherent danger left over from the revolution. I heard the Catholic Church which was outlawed by the Grand Assembly will be reinstated back to France soon."

"At last," Paul said piously, crossing himself.

"Do not be too jubilant. The country is as intolerant as ever under Napoleon as it was under royal rule. Oui, he is allowing the churches to reopen, mais on his terms. After the revolution there were too many beggars out in the street with no religious shelters to take them in. The priests must put France first, and become more interested in charity and social work, rather than pomp and show. The priests also have to preach the superiority of Napoleon and France over other courtiers to install feelings of nationalism in every French man's breast. Now every crime a man commits is a crime against the people, and the people is Napoleon. De Sade was sentenced to be hung and his valet beheaded for committing the act of sodomy."

'I heard of that trial. I don not believe that de Sade deserved death, yet I do deplore what he did. He fed four female prostitutes, without their knowledge, Spanish fly hidden in the makings of candy to lower their resolve not to have anal sex with him. One girl became dangerously ill from the candy. I can't say giving a drug secretly to a whore to induce her to perform acts against her will is undeserving of some sort of punishment."

De Sade and his valet were hung in effigy. The Marquise is imprisoned; his valet volunteered to be jailed with him. It's a man's world boys everyone know the power and value of a woman is through her cunt. I suppose that is why I prefer the love of women to the rule of men. Even my dear Marius. I must say I resented him when he proposed to kill me," she laughed. "for poisoning people. What a cher hypocrite, and he put me on the devil's road, and what pray tell me, what do I do every night. I kill! Ah, he just wanted to show off for my brother Armand, bullying me, frightening me to death, to show Armand he has power over frail, mortal evil doers. What a performance. Lucky for me after scaring me half to death, he instead murdered my protectors. Those very men who supposedly threatened me into poisoning their rivals, ha! I practiced the fair art of poisoning for the money. It was ever so pleasant to do work which didn't involve my being on my back. I had to stop being a practitioner of herbs when Marius became my protector. The problem with ruling over men with your cunt is age brings ruins a woman's rule. The most beautiful of women age and become unwanted drabs. For this. I forget my resentments of Mairus, and I praise Marius. He killed me young before I met my final fate of being abandoned by my fame."

"I read my my brother Louis' essays by De Sade," Paul confessed, "de Sade wrote that if virtute was dismissed from the human race, if lust was decriminalized there would be no such thing as rape. For it is virtute which makes a man, child, or woman feel raped, and not the honest cock penetrating him or her. Women without virtue would take a man's use of her, even his beating of her, as a compliment, treasuring his brutality with ready compliance, making the pain be a sublime delight. Children would be taken away at birth, so women could enjoy the life they truly were met by nature to live, a life of litcitiousness, their legs open to all men, and to be owned by no one mais the state. Children would be brought up by the government, and their bodies free to exploration of the passionate needs of adults. They would be brought up without shame, so they would never have any reason to be ashamed."

"I suppose it was virtue which made me feel humiliated when I was being sold, and a man was pawing me. A man who bought me. If I had been without virtue, I would have wiggled myself at him, and enjoyed the flattery of his attention. It is strange the Catholic church and De Sade agree about the nature of women. That women are naturally prone to be creatures full of nothing more than lust. Non, what De Sade suggests is that we escape one fascism that being the Catholic Church at its worst, with another kind of fascism, that of the state. I admit, I prefer virtue over licentiousness. I prefer not to go to the houses of pleasure."

"I have to smile though," Henri said, "I think the justices were less worried about de Sade making a girl ill, and more worried about him attempting to commit sodomy with women. Sodomy used to be immoral because God said so. Now it is immoral for French men to "steal" their reproductive semen by committing sodomy. Semen which rightfully belongs to the government, wombs, and to Napoleon."

"Listen to me, the two of you are too young to be faithful to one another," Bianca said nervously, glancing at Henri "Boys, we must discuss with you about whether or not you would like to join us on the Devil's Road."

"Bianca knows of a powerful vampire, he can be entreated to bring you both into into our world," Henri said

"Think of it boys no more would you have to fear any mortal," Bianca urged.

"I would think long and hard on this boys, I feel war in the air. Napoleon has declared war on Austria. There are rumors he means to make himself king of Italy."

"Become one of us. You can leave all this nonsense, this garbage behind you. Let mortals go down their paths of destruction. Become one of us. Look at it," Bianca gestured, "here the night sky glimmers with stars and fireworks. Everything is festive and gay. Mais, you still have hungry mortal children in the street, ragged women, desperate men. What can anyone do about it? Leave it behind you and lock the door on your way out. Enter into the glory of the evening twilight. Live in the blessed dusk."

"What do you say my love?" Jamie teased, "Do you fear growing old with me?"

"Non, Bianca, I must say non," Paul said.

"Ah, you declare yourselves too quickly, You'll change your minds. You both are naive. You don't know what's going on."


"Mais, Bianca we are not innocents. I swear we are perfectly aware of what is going on," Jamie said seriously," 'And that is why we want to remain as we are"

"You really are refusing me?" Bianca said surprised, "knowing what you know of humanity, and you refuse me! I guess you know what you are doing."

"Oui, we do," Paul said, putting his head on Jamie's shoulder.

"Do you still hear those voices of saints?" Henri worriedly asked.

"Non," Paul blushed, "I can guess at their origin, part of it was because of your visitation when I was five years old, the other part was guilt. I thought I was going to be God's messenger for what was like all of my young life when I started to, to, be curious about my brother, Louis. I had a dream about him, it was a frightening dream, it caused me to be aroused and to pollute my bed clothing. I didn't understand myself. I channeled my sexuality into religious devotions. When I fell in love with Jamie, at first, I freely admit, I was only in lust with him. I punished myself by hurting myself because I knew I wasn't being fair to you Jamie. Later, I did fall in love with you. When you and I started being together, I no longer was curious about Louis," Paul admitted humbly.

"Paul, I wish I had been there to talk to you about the feelings you had for your brother. It's natural for a very young man emerging into sexuality to be curious, and easily aroused, if you had the opportunity to talk to someone you would not have been so traumatized by your sexuality and your spirituality," Henri said.

" I see it now for what it was. It was a boy's crush," Paul said.

"Now, Henri, we must tuck these children in so we can do our adult fun," Bianca teased.

"Oui, mademoiselle," Henri said gliding the gondola to their town house.

Paul and Jamie went up the stairs, leaving their friends to their hunt. Paul opened the door, then hurried inside, fumbling about to light a candle. He lit the way, walking along with Jamie to their
bed.

"Tonight, forget all about the past nights," Paul said undressing himself till he was trembling and naked, "Those nights, shameful nights. I did not touch or kiss you back. Those nights I wish they
never happened."

"Those nights gave me someone to love, Paul," Jamie said, taking his hand.

"I was a stupid, ignorant child who couldn't get past your skin. I made you serve me. Tonight I serve you. I'm going to let you fuck me, mais first I'm going to put your cock in my mouth where it will melt. Shall I suck it? Lick, and lick, and suck it? What will happen? See how it hardens, ah, the length of it. Let me expose my, my ass hole to you, let me tickle your balls so smooth and rounded."

"Paul, where did you learn to talk like this?" Jamie cried, pushing Paul's head off of his swelled up cook.

"Don't you like it?" Paul yelled embarrassed, "I mean, I asked Bianca for help. I'm so stupid at what I'm supposed to do. I thought this would make you happy."

"Does it make you happy?"

"Oui, when I say let me lick your ass, how splendid that you have a a prick worthy of fucking my ass it just means: lick my ass; I love you, fuck me hard; I love you, bite my nipples; I love you. Do you understand? I'm not ashamed to say these world to you."

"Put your fuck in my mouth then let me taste you, darling, I love for you to tickle my ass and finger it," Jamie whispered, pulling Paul to kneel up on top of the bed, licking at his slender, ivory thighs, abdomen and balls, peeling back his foreskin sliding it up and down in the rounded head of his cock.

Shaking, swallowing his shyness down, Paul touched Jamie's dark cock, running his hand on the skin, pulling back the foreskin as Jamie did with him.

With his other hand he pulled, and fondled Jamie's balls, his breath, going faster, and faster.

"Frig me," Paul breathed into Jamie's ear, "Frig my ass. Prepare it Wet your fingers with my kiss, then penetrate me."

Jamie brought his fingers to Paul's mouth for him to suck, frigging Paul's cock all the time. Once his fingers were wet, he teased and toyed with Paul's ass, thrusting through the round muscle, pushing his finger in up to his knuckle, twisting his finger around, pulling it in and out.

"Ah, my lover. I'm dying. I want you," Paul whispered, caressing the hard rounded firmness of Jamie's ass.

Jamie licked and teased first one nipple then the other nipple, giving it little bites. He gently pushed Paul's head down, wondering what Paul would do. Paul took the delicious cock into his mouth, his lips compressed going up and down the boy's shaft, using his hands to masturbate the base of his cock because he couldn't fit the whole thing down his throat.

"The heat, the fuck of you," Jamie breathed, playing with Paul's hair.

"Fuck me, fuck me," Paul murmured between sucks and licks, he pulled away from Jamie's cock, pulling apart his butt cheeks for Jamie to see him exposed and venerable. Shivering at the feel of Jamie's tongue running down his spine to his crack, the wet tickle of his tongue against his anus, Paul gasped.

Jamie deeply breathed in he salty musky boy smell of Paul's ass, licking, probing his hole with his tongue, perpetrating inside deeper with each thrust of his tongue.

Pulling away, clinching his ass, Paul leaned forwards his bottom in the air, "Fuck it, you know you want it."

"Paul I don't want to hurt you," Jamie pleaded.

''Haven't I hurt you in the past?' Paul begged, "Please fuck me!"

Jamie nipped at Paul's buttocks, making Paul whimper at the delicate taste of pain hissing throughout his body, and the powerful heat in his balls. He ached to be fucked.

Gently applying grease on Paul's ass, he rubbed his cock between his buttocks into the heat of his body entering by inches till he was at the hilt.

"Ah monsieur, lover, saint, rescuer, harder, harder, I'm not an infant, harder." Paul gasped.

Jamie placed his hand on Paul's cock, frigging it, bringing Paul to cum inside of himself, and outside also. Jamie pumped his seed into Paul's delectable ass.

Collapsing, laughing in a tangle of arms, legs, and limbs they held each other, snuggling, kissing until their proximity provoked more penetrations and more.

Later after they could make love no more, Paul pulled on his shirt. "Jamie do you want to go to those houses?' he asked seriously.

"I haven't the strength mon amour," Jamie groaned.

"I don't mean tonight!" Paul said embarrassed, "I mean Jamie you were practically given to me. I can not mais feel perhaps the only reason you love me so, is because I am the only boy you have known."

"Paul do you want to go to these houses?" Jamie asked, propping his head.

"It would be like biting into a wax apple, beautiful, but without flavor, to be with another boy," Paul said seriously.

"Come with me, Paul," Jamie said, putting his shirt on, taking his hand, "Come with me out to the gallery."

"What with my legs hanging out," Paul teased.

"No one will see us out there. Come out with me," Jamie teased back.

*

Opening the door to the gallery, they silently looked up into the night sky which was alive with the explosions of fireworks. red, green, blue, gold sparks soaring above them, reflecting off of the waters, making the dark waters reflect the spectacular colors. Gondolas with their lanterns glowing like gold lazily went by. There was still the happy shouts and the music of carnival in the air. They knew Henri and Bianca were out there hunting, mais they didn't care. Human life without death was no real life at all. Death was a birthing process into another world of mystery.

Jamie studied Paul under the flaring sky. Paul was a sturdy youth of fifteen with his hair as bright as sun shine, a delicate face, his eyes clear as the blue sky. He was such a child still. Just looking at him brought tears to Jamie's throat.

Paul looked up at Jamie. Jamie was such an exotic looking seventeen year old with his brown eyes with explosions of gold specks in them, his honest face, and his slender, muscular body. He was such a boy, too.

"Paul, I may be too young to ask you this, you may be too young to hear these words. Perhaps it is wrong at our age to feel we are in love. Mais, listen to me, Paul there is no advantages to you being with me. I cannot give you children, I cannot be a husband or a wife to you, I cannot be a person people would find to be socially acceptable to be at your side. It's a crime to be with me. All I can do is love you. And I will love you forever. Will you love me back?"

"I will," Paul said simply.

(26)

Paul stretched out his naked body under the woolen blanket. The sharp delicious autumn air kissed the tip of his nose making it feel wonderfully cold. Better than the smell of aspen leaves and of pines was the sweet smell of bacon and eggs frying, and coffee percolating. He peered out of his half closed eye lids at the violet and pink sky of a fine dawn. There was nothing like camping outside in the fall.

"Well, mon ami are you ready for breakfast?" Jamie asked, putting a branch to the fire.

"It was my turn to cook," Paul pretended to grumble, pulling the covers over his head.

"I'm a better cook," Jamie teased, pushing the onions, herbs, and potatoes around the frying pan, "You mon ami, you surpass me in many things, mais not cooking."

"What do I surpass you in?" Paul said, stretching lazily, wiggling his toes.

"Sleeping in. Amongst other things. Don't get up. I'll bring breakfast to you."

"Would you mind bringing me my knack sack? I want to write a letter. I've been meaning to do it for a long time."

"Oui, here it is," Jamie said, handing it to him.

Paul smiled up at Jamie's gray hair and his wrinkled face. Only a week ago Jamie had tuned sixty-eight.

Opening the small box filled with writing equipment which they used to record nature sightings in their journals, Paul wrote:

My dear Fere Louis:
I write this to you through I know I will never sent it to you. From a letter I received from dear Henri he has informed me you are traveling with the very vampire who tried to kill Jamie and myself. Over the years the news I have heard of you has dismayed and amazed me. It is said you created a vampire child! A child, Louis who wasn't even of the age of reason yet. You did this to keep your lover, Lestat? Mais brother, this is the worst of reasons to bring a child in this world, n'est-ce-pas? Then I hear you and your child almost murdered Lestat!! Then as if that was not enough, you go to the theater of vampires and slaughter everyone there for the murder of your child, except for the vampire who actually ordered the kill???? Then you ran off with him?????!!!

I can not judge you. I do not know the state of your sanity after all. I am not intimate with the details of the remarkable events of your life. I can not judge you, nor would I want to judge you even if I could. I've learned to accept the impossibility of a man living against his nature. You are no longer mortal, mais believe me, I still think of you as my fere. And I think of you often, mais, I have learned to put Jamie first. I will NOT risk his well being by getting in contact with you. Jamie and I have learned in order to be together we must be selfish and hold on to each other for dear life in a world which often seems like its dearest desire is to tear us apart. No life means more to me than his.

We lived with Henri and Bianca for three yeas. In which time we leaned Italian, and also Jamie started to go to the university here in Venice. I started to for to divinity school, mais my ardor for the Catholic faith burned out. I instead joined Jamie and the university and became a potion and pill pusher. Oui, I became a doctor,

Jamie and I were very happy while going to school. Most people paid us little attention except for young men who were attracted to my fairness, and desirous for Jamie's darkness. We had many an indecent proposal from these young men who would follow us with hisses, suggestions, and cat calls. Finally they resorted to becoming our friends once they realized the prudish fellows we are.

So we went through years grinding away at books, going to parties, and for the most part enjoying just spending time together, and in the company of Bianca, and Henri.

After a while, much to their distress, we moved out. The glamour of Bianca's and Henri's things were starting to close in on Jamie. He felt as if every expensive piece of furniture, every painting, and sculpture was crouching ready to leap up at him. Luxury and pomp wears on Jamie's poor nerves. I think he really just wanted a place of our own. We moved to our simple flat, and we were extremely pleased with it. Save for a bed, simple bits of furniture, a few paintings which were gifts, we decorated the place lovingly with books.

After we received our degrees Jamie came up with the notion of joining the Austrians in their war against France, I did my best to explain to him why we couldn't do this. He told me what better place to learn how to be a surgeon than on the battlefield. So it was off to four years of war. The sights I saw of men being blown up to bits, salvaged to pieces from saber wounds, and artillery shells broke my heart. Jamie and I did our best for the soldiers. We wrote letters for them to loved ones and encouraged them to live, or to die well in peace. Times like this I wish I had carried out my first impossible wish to be a priest. After we came back from the war, as you know, Napoleon got his bloody desire to be king of Italy. He enforced the Napoleonic code which was based on two ideas; that all men are equal under the law, and all people have a right to property except for women. All the privileges the church and the upper classes enjoyed especially the one of being exempt from taxes was abolished. In this equality under the law became created in Italy, but not for women and men of color. Napoleon still kept to the concept of the enslavement of the colored people. And here I must say I feel all the enlightened philosophers, the Voltaires, the Rousseaus, the revolutionaries to be limited in their hearts and minds. Their claims of being men of reason, the very philosophers who believed because man's intelligence could solve all problems so they readily and foolishly believed in Caglostiro, a man who claimed to be able to turn pebbles to diamonds, crones into lovely maidens, even believing Mary Toft could give birth to rabbits, these incredulous men of our age can not imagine a white boy being in love with a yellar boy. I fully believe in the long run it will not be the philosophers who will bring about the down fall of slavery, mais rather men who are well aquatinted with God.

After the war, I made myself wealthy by being a physician to the fashionable class in Venice. My finances makes it more than affordable for Jamie and I to do work with the poor. Bianca introduced me to many of my patrons in the setting of her salon.

Later Bianca made the acquaintance of Madam Jeanne Fracois de Chantal, a royalist who is a refugee from Napoleon's empire.

Madam became fast friends with Bianca . The two of them with other like women of society and lower class women too, formed an order to meet the needs of widowed and lonely women in fail health. Bianca learned in this company the power a woman can do with her hands for other women. I'm afraid it reformed her. The poor have become interesting to her, and she has surrendered herself to the church. To her determent. As this has caused a breech in her relationship between her former lovers, Pandora and Mairus, yet, she says she has never felt more powerful. I dare say she is in love with madam Jeanne. She has sworn to Madam not to cause here death or her rebirth. And for Madam's sake she limits her diet to those on their death bed, for the most part. They share a lovely companionship full of caresses and kisses. Madam's aging face holds bittersweet beauty for the eyes of Bianca, more sweet than bitter.

As for Henri sigh, Henri still is Henri. I'm afraid he tends to take on hopeless cases. Fledglings who do not love him back. All women for some reason. I wonder about him, I do!

After years of living in Venice my love informed me he was tired of civilization and wanted to emigrate to Canada. In vain and in tears I reminded him of Marie Joseph Anglique a slave, whose master was going to sell her to the sugar cane fields where slaves die young. Marie ran away, covering her escape by setting fire to her owner's house. She was captured, tortured, paraded though the streets, then hung.

Jamie listened to my spoiled whinings, reminded me that happened years ago, and then dropped the subject, I could tell he was wilting more and more in Venice. So I took his hand and begged him to move to Canada with me.

It was the best thing for us. In Montreal slavery is more or less abolished thanks to the British controlled courts which are hostile to slavery. This is not so for French cultured Quebec which still insists on keeping their institution of slavery.

We trapped animals for their fur for a while, and later when we decided we wanted to stay we bought a farm, At first the settlers, our neighbors both white and colored, looked down upon us with disdain. We even has a skunk skin nailed to our door. Mais, when they discovered my skill with medicine, and Jamie's skills at not only surgery on people, mais animals too, they first learned to respect us, then later to tolerate us. And some to even love us, many a young girl even in our ripe old bachelor hood tried with pies and dinners to catch us for husbands. We were always discrete about our relationship. Sometimes, I think the settlers loved us more for the care Jamie took to their livestock and horses then for the care he took of their sons and daughters. You would not recognize me if you saw me, I am old now, my hair is white, my nose it droops, and my skin is red.

I can not do justice to the beauty out here, the way the moon dips to touch the crowing points of the evergreen trees. The wild calls of all sorts of animals. The cleanliness of the air. I thought I would die from departing the rich salons of Venice. I was so wrong. Here is freedom for both Jamie and I.

I do not understand how men, women, and children can provoke hatred from others by something as innocent as skin color, nationality, or sexual orientation. I guess we all can be provocateurs.

I love you mon fere. Do I regret not taking the dark gift? Non, I feel whatever happens for Jamie and I death will be just a start of our new and wondrous adventures. There will always be a Jamie and Paul.

Adieu, mon Fere, I hope for you happiness.

Your fere:
Paul de Pointe duc Lac

Carefully, Paul crumbled the letter, tossing it to the fire.

"What was that you threw away?" Jamie asked.

"Nothing," Paul said, watching the paper burn.

Postscript By Henri:

Jamie died at the age of seventy-two from a hunting accident. Paul lived for two more years. Even in his last days Paul de Pointe du Lac was busy with his doctors' practice. He was a respected man in his parish and community as was Jamie. Paul never married.

He died of old age. He willed the deed of his farm to his Church, The Church of Saint Mary. The property became the site of an orphanage for young girls. Montreal legend has it that if a young girl or a young boy stands on the bank of the river running through what was once their property, with their back to the running waters, holding a mirror to the river, a lit candle at their feet, if they take a bite of an apple, all this to be done at midnight, and if they see two ghostly figures riding on the ghosts of horses reflected in the mirror. They are assured to fall in love and stay in love forever.

The end