Prince Lestat

Fareed had slept the daytime sleep of the dead since that phone call, and awakened at sunset and come to his senses knowing Seth had done what he had to do. He was also certain of Benji Mahmoud’s devotion to Lestat, certain of the devotion of all his little family—Armand, Louis, Sybelle, Antoine, and whoever else had joined them. But he knew that the secret of Viktor and Rose would soon leak telepathically. It had to leak.

When this many knew a secret, it was no longer a secret. He looked now at this sturdy and princely young man whom he, Fareed, had brought up from earliest childhood, wondering what really did lie in store for him. Fareed had loved him irresistibly, nourishing him with knowledge, luxury, and above all with a rich experience of the physical wonders and beauty of this Earth through travel and private instruction from his earliest years. The only thing ever denied to Viktor had been childhood, an experience of other children, an experience of being what the modern world calls “normal” with all its attendant risks. That Viktor had never known, and now fate had put him in the path of a young mortal woman whose experience had not been all that different from Viktor’s own, and the two had come to love each other. It was no surprise, that. Fareed could not have found a more perfect mate for Viktor than Rose. And vice versa.

Fareed backed off from the full intensity of his own emotions, his deepest fears, his constant obsessive worries about all that had happened, might happen, could happen.

“The blood banks in the rooms belowground …,” Viktor said.

“Adequate,” said Seth. “Seen to. All of it. Done. I just told you. Dr. Gilman is in charge, and no one will come up out of the cellars until she gives the word. Our beloved savants have their labs down there, their computers, their projects. They are as indifferent to fear as they are to anything pertaining to the world outside their own field. The electrical systems protecting them cannot fail. It would be flat-out ridiculous of the Voice to launch an attack on this location.”

“And the Voice is such a paragon of the reasonable and the effective,” said Viktor suddenly under his breath. It was as if he couldn’t stop himself, and Fareed realized suddenly how very tense and miserable Viktor was, and how excited also.

Viktor wore his usual short-sleeved white polo shirt and jeans, though he was carrying over his arm a soft brown suede jacket for the journey. He was a blond-haired young male in splendid health with a well-developed and muscular frame that was almost that of a man rather than a boy. But in this day and age a man might develop height and musculature until he was thirty. Viktor was six foot one, already one inch taller than his father.

“I’m sorry. Forgive me for interrupting,” Viktor said, with his usual courtesy. He’d been deferential to Seth and Fareed and his mother all his life.

“No one expects you to be indifferent to what’s happening,” Seth said gently. “But we’ve been through it. This is the way. This is our decision.”

Viktor nodded, but his eyes and complexion flashed with a warmth that no preternatural body could ever give forth. Fareed could hear Viktor’s accelerated pulse. He caught the faint scent of the sheen of sweat covering Viktor’s upper lip and forehead.

In the dim lunar light of the monitors Viktor looked so much like Lestat it was uncanny. He wasn’t angry as he looked at Fareed. In fact, it didn’t seem that Viktor had ever been angry in his entire short life with anyone. But he did look hurt and young and anxious. His unruly blond hair made him look more boyish than he was. It was long now, almost to his shoulders. And that is how the Vampire Lestat looked most of the time in videos, photos, and even the iPhone snapshots taken of him by vampire paparazzi in Paris.

“I beg you one more time, both of you,” Viktor said now in a trembling but rather deep voice, “to bring us over. Rose and me, bring us over! Do it before we make this journey to New York and you plant us, two helpless human beings, in a colony of the Undead.”

He had always had a way of being painfully honest and cutting through superfluous language as if every language he had ever learned was a “second tongue.” And that voice, that deep male voice, indicated a maturity he really didn’t possess yet, as far as Fareed was concerned.

“You won’t be in a colony of the Undead,” said Fareed reprovingly. “You’ll be in our own apartments, and you’ll be safe with our guards.”

Oh, he was beautifully behaved, never rash, Viktor, and never rebellious, and seldom if ever emotional in a confusing way, but he was a boy of nineteen, one year younger biologically than Rose, almost to the month, by sheer coincidence, and both of them were children.

“Bring us over,” Viktor whispered, glancing from Fareed to Seth.

“The answer is no,” said Seth. He placed a hand on Viktor’s shoulder. The two were about the same height, though Viktor was gaining.

Fareed sighed. He said again what he had said before.

“The Voice slays young blood drinkers,” said Fareed. “We will not bring you over and make you vulnerable to his attacks, simply to lose you. As mortals you are infinitely safer. And if this thing ends in ruin for us, you and Rose will survive. You and Rose will walk away. You may never know what happened, and all your life you’ll carry the burden of experiences you can’t share with others. But you’ll walk away. And we want this for you, regardless of what you want.”

“That’s the love a parent has for its child,” said Seth.

Viktor was plainly exasperated. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give,” he said, “for five minutes with my real father.” It wasn’t said with malice. It was a simple confession, and Viktor’s eyes were wondering as he said it.

“And you will likely get more than that in New York,” said Fareed. “That is only one of the reasons we must go there. Because you and Rose must meet with him and he must decide what happens with you.”

“Rose is half out of her mind,” said Viktor. “This can’t end any other way for her but with the Blood. You know this! Do you realize how helpless I feel?”

“Of course,” said Fareed. “We feel helpless ourselves. But now we must be going. We’ll reach New York before you do. And we’ll be there when the plane lands.”

Viktor could never know the depth of Fareed’s anxiety right now. Fareed had not brought this vital, splendid human being into the world simply to consign him to death, death in any form, yet Fareed knew how desperately and totally this boy wanted the Blood and had to want it. Only Lestat could consign these two to the Blood. Fareed could never do it.