Blackwood Farm - Anne Rice [262]
“Ah, I thank you with all my heart,” I said.
“Then let me make a little confession,” he said with a warm, irresistible smile.
“Of course,” I said, “what is it?”
“I’ve fallen in love with you,” he said in a low voice. “You might find that in the nights to come I’m a bit of a nuisance.”
I was so amazed I was speechless. To say that he looked exquisite to me was an understatement. He was savory and elegant and all night as I had talked I had been so locked to him that I had felt myself under his spell, opening up, as if there were no boundary between us.
“Good,” he said suddenly as though he was reading my mind. “Now perhaps I’ll leave you early so that I can try to find Merrick right away. We have some time left before morning—.”
A loud scream suddenly interrupted both of us. It was Jasmine, and I heard another scream right after it.
“Quinn, Quinn, it’s Goblin!” she was roaring from the foot of the stairs.
I had to hold myself back and force myself to run like a mortal man as I descended with Lestat behind me.
Screams came from Aunt Queen’s room. I could hear Cindy, the nurse, crying. Big Ramona was sobbing. Jasmine rushed towards me. She grabbed me by both arms and said:
“It was Goblin, Quinn! I saw him!”
We ran back through the hall together, I once again suppressing my speed, trying desperately to keep to a mortal pace.
As soon as I saw Aunt Queen lying on the floor by the marble table I knew she was dead.
I knew by her eyes.
I didn’t have to see the blood streaming from her head, or the blood on the marble table. I knew, and when I looked at her bare stocking feet, when I looked at her humble stocking feet, I began to sob, covering my face with my handkerchief.
And there was the beautiful cameo of Medusa at her throat, the charm against harm, and it had done her no good, it hadn’t saved her. She was dead; she was lost. She was gone.
She and her majesty and her goodness were gone forever.
What else was there? People were making frantic phone calls. Sirens were soon screaming. What did it matter?
How many times did they explain it before dawn?
She had taken off her treacherous shoes. That’s why no one was holding her arm. She had taken off her terrible shoes. That’s why Jasmine didn’t have her by the arm. She had taken off her dangerous shoes. That’s why Cindy wasn’t at her side. She had gone over to the table to look at her cameos. She had wanted to find one in particular for Cindy’s daughter.
On and on they said it, and the Coroner listened and Sheriff Jeanfreau listened and Ugly Henderson listened, and Jasmine and Cindy both said it had been Goblin who made her fall, it had been Goblin whirling in the air, Goblin like a small tornado in the room, and Aunt Queen had cried out twice “Goblin!” and thrown up her arms, and then gone down, her head crashing into the marble.
Cindy and Jasmine had seen it! They had seen the commotion in the air! They knew what it was. They heard her say it twice: “Goblin, Goblin!” and in her stocking feet on the carpet she fell, she fell and hit the marble table with the side of her head, and she was dead before she reached the carpet.
Oh, God in Heaven help me.
“Now, are you two ladies telling me that a ghost killed Mrs. McQueen?” asked the Coroner.
“Sheriff, for the love of Heaven,” I said. “She fell! Surely you don’t believe that either Cindy or Jasmine had anything to do with it!”
And so on it went, round and round, until I had to go, and I took Jasmine aside and told her to make all the arrangements with Lonigan and Sons in New Orleans. The wake should be tomorrow night, starting at seven. And I would see her then, and I told her to try as she might to arrange for an evening interment. Of course that would be highly irregular but maybe money could manage it.
“And for the love of Heaven,” I said, “beware of Goblin.”
“What are you going to do about him, Quinn?” she asked. She was