Blackwood Farm - Anne Rice [283]
“Absolutely,” said Stirling. “I’m a man who keeps his promises.”
“I have a question for you,” I said shyly. “I’ve talked to Michael Curry and Rowan Mayfair several times in the last few months, but they only put me off with vague answers. They won’t really tell me much about Mona except that she can’t see me, that she’s undergoing a special therapy, that she’s in intensive care. They say she can die from any kind of infection. I can’t even talk to her on the phone—.”
“She’s dying,” Stirling said. He sat staring at me.
Silence.
Then Lestat spoke:
“Why are you telling him this?”
Stirling was still looking at me.
“Because he wants to know,” Stirling responded.
“Very well,” said Lestat. “Come on, Little Brother, let’s hunt. I know of two Evil Doers in Boca Raton who are alone in a magnificent waterfront mansion. It will be such fun, you wouldn’t believe. Good night, Stirling. Good night to the Talamasca. Let’s go.”
52
THE SKY WAS still a deep lavender when I walked into the house the following night. Lestat was lingering in the cemetery saying some last prayer for Merrick, or to Merrick, I wasn’t sure which.
Our hunting last night in Boca Raton had been marvelous and he had once again given me the gift of his all-powerful blood and I was exhilarated and confused and praying in my own way for some sign of what to do about Mona, wondering if I could just see her and talk to her; if I went to Mayfair Medical and insisted, could I perhaps use some spellbinding power to get to where she was? One last glimpse . . . one last talk.
But suddenly Jasmine and Clem both came rushing up to me at the foot of the stairs.
“There’s a crazy woman in your bedroom,” said Jasmine. “There was nothing we could do to stop her, Quinn. It’s Mona Mayfair, you remember her? She’s up there, Quinn. She drove here in a limousine full of flowers, Quinn, and she’s a living skeleton, you’re gonna die when you see her. Quinn, wait, we couldn’t stop her. Only reason we helped her with all those flowers is she was so weak.”
“Jasmine, lemme go!” I shouted. “I love her, don’t you understand?”
“Quinn, she’s got something wrong with her! Be careful!”
I ran up the stairs as fast as any mortal man dared and rushed into my bedroom and slammed the door shut and locked it.
She rose up to greet me. A living skeleton! Oh yes! And the bed was covered with her flowers. I stood there shocked to the core of my being, shocked and so glad to see her, so glad to rush to her and take her fragile form in my arms! My Mona, my frail and withering Mona, my pale and magnificent Mona, oh, my God, don’t let me hurt you.
“I love you, my beloved Ophelia,” I said, “my Ophelia Immortal, and mine always . . .”
Oh, look at the roses, the marguerites, the zinnias, the lilies.
“Noble Abelard,” she whispered. “I’ve come to ask the ultimate sacrifice; I’ve come to ask, let me die here, let me die with you here, let me die here instead of there with their needles and their tubes, let me die in your bed.”
I drew back. I could see the entire outline of her skull beneath her skin, and the bones of her shoulders underneath the spotted hospital gown that she wore. Only her full red hair had been spared. Her arms were like sticks, and her hands were the same. It was ghastly, the sight. She suffered with every breath.
“Oh, my darling, my sweetheart, thank God you came to me,” I told her, “but can’t you see what’s happened to me? Can’t your witch’s eyes see? I’m not human anymore. I’m not your Noble Abelard. I don’t sleep where the rays of the sun can reach me. Look at me, Mona, look at me. Do you want to be what I am?” What was I saying? I was mad. I couldn’t stop myself. “Do you want to be what I am?” I asked again. “Because you won’t die if you want to be what I am! If you’ll live off the blood of others forever. You’ll be immortal with me.”
I heard the lock of my door turn. I was outraged, then silenced. It was Lestat who entered.
Mona stared in astonishment.