Prince Lestat

Viktor seemed deeply impressed with these thoughts, and I could see it was with difficulty that he questioned me.

“But, Father,” he said. “All my life I’ve loved Fareed, and Fareed was made by Akasha’s son.”

“Yes, Viktor,” I said. “This is true, but Fareed was a man of forty-five when he received Seth’s blood. You’re a boy and Rose is a girl. Take my advice in this, but I’m not unshakable on this point. Tomorrow we can make this decision, if you like, and it can be done at any time.”

Viktor rose to his feet and Rose stood straight and confidently beside him.

“Thank you, Father,” said Viktor.

“Now, it’s almost dawn. I want you safely in the cellars.”

“But why? Why must we be in the cellars now?” Viktor asked. He obviously didn’t like the idea of being in a cellar.

“Because it’s safest. You can’t know what the Voice has done.”

“That’s very true,” the Voice said in me with a laugh, a positive cackle.

“It might well have incited other blood drinkers to incite mortals against us,” I said. “I want you in the cellar until sunset. This compound has a great staff of mortal guards, and that is good but I must take every precaution. Please do as I say. I’ll be in this room for the time being. That’s already been arranged. And I will see you both very soon indeed.”

I held them both to me for a long moment before they left.

The door had the usual ornate little brass keys and a big brass bolt. I locked it up.

I fully expected the Voice to start ranting. But there was only silence and a dim little sound, almost a comforting sound, from the play of the gas flames on the porcelain logs. They had a rhythm all their own, these gas flames, a dance of their own. When I turned out the lights the room was pleasingly shadowy and dim.

I was steeling myself for the Voice.

Then the inevitable paralysis started to come over me. The sun rising over Manhattan. I kicked off my shoes and lay down on the long damask couch with a plump little needlepoint pillow for my head and closed my eyes.

There came a flash of the twins again. It was just as if I was there with them in that grassy place in the warm sunshine. I could hear the insects swarming in the fields nearby, swarming in the green shade beneath the nearby trees. And the twins were smiling and talking to me, and it felt we’d been talking forever, and then came the sound of the Voice weeping, and I said, “But what do you want me to call you! What is your true name?”

And in a tearful tone, he said, “It’s what she always called me. She knew. My name is Amel.”

27

Lestat

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

AFTER SUNSET, I went on the air immediately with Benji. The Voice had whispered hateful words in my ear when I awakened, but it was completely quiet now.

We were in the fourth-floor studio with its microphones, phone banks, and computers, and Antoine and Sybelle were with us, Antoine to man the phones.

I was very proud of my handsome Antoine, proud of his composing, his piano playing, his violin playing, proud of his expertise with all this modern equipment, but there was not time now for any real reunion with him. That would have to wait. That I’d keep him close after this was a foregone conclusion. He was my fledgling and I would assume full responsibility for him.

But the broadcast was on my mind now. Benji reminded me that vampires all over the world were listening, that even the fledglings crowding the street below could hear the broadcast through their cell phones, and that my remarks would be recorded, and replayed all through the next day. When Benji gave me the signal, I started to speak in a low voice well below the frequency that mortal ears could hear.

I explained that Viktor, the unfortunate victim of a blood drinker kidnapping, had been returned safely and order in our world was being restored. I told the young vampires of the world who the Voice was and explained various ways of defending oneself against the Voice. I explained this was Amel, the spirit that animated all of us and had only just come to consciousness. I explained I was in direct communication with the Voice and would do my best to quiet him and discourage him from attempting any more mischief. I assured them finally that I felt the Burnings were over for the most part—we had had no word of the Burnings in two nights, according to Benji—and that the Voice was now occupied in other ways. Then I made them a promise. Within a few nights, I would come to speak to them at some place where we might gather unseen. I did not know yet where that was to be. But I would give them the location when I did know and I would give them time to assemble.

When I said those words, I heard them roaring with approval in the street below, a ghost of a sound rolling up the walls and penetrating this studio. Benji smiled triumphantly, gazing at me as if I were a god.

“For now, you must do as I say,” I said into the microphone. “You know what I am going to explain to you. But you must hear it again. No quarreling whatsoever amongst yourselves. No one, but no one, must strike out at another blood drinker. This is forbidden! And you must hunt the evildoer, never the innocent. There are to be no exceptions. And you are to have honor! You must have honor. If you do not know what honor is, then look it up in your online dictionaries and memorize the definition. Because if we do not have honor, we are lost.”

I sat there in silence for a moment. Again, they were roaring and cheering in the street below. I was gazing off and into my thoughts. I knew the lights were flashing as calls were coming in from all over the world. Through Antoine’s earphones I could hear him greeting each caller, and stabbing the lighted button to put each caller on hold.

The Voice had not said a word. And I wanted to say more as to the Voice, and so I did.

I was brief on this. But I said it.

“Understand, Children of the Night, that the Voice may have knowledge to share with us. The Voice may have gifts to give to us! The Voice may well become a precious gift to us in himself. The Voice is after all the fount of all we are; and the Voice has only just begun to express himself, to tell us what he wants us to know. No, we must not allow ourselves to be duped by the Voice into destroying one another. Never. But we must have patience with the Voice. We must have respect, and I mean this, we must have respect for who and what the Voice is.”

I hesitated. I wanted to say more.

“The Voice is a mystery,” I said, “and this mystery must not be treated by us with hasty and foolish contempt.”

Inside me there was a silent convulsing as if Amel were responding and wanted me to know he was responding, but he didn’t speak.