Blood and Gold - Anne Rice [113]
Would that Avicus and Mael were here to put an end to him and all his kith and kin.
“Your lair with its hundreds of skulls?” I repeated. “You think I wish to rule there? Tonight I’ve seen paintings of such beauty I can’t describe them to you. Magnificent works rich in color and brilliance. This city surrounds me with its beautiful allurements.”
“Where did you see such paintings?” he asked.
“In the Pope’s chapel,” I declared.
“But how did you dare to go there?”
“It was nothing for me to do such a thing. I can teach you how to use your powers—.”
“But we are creatures of the dark,” he said in all simplicity. “We must never go into places of light. God has cursed us to the shadows.”
“What god?” I asked. “I go wherever I will. I drink the blood of those who are evil. And the world belongs to me. And you ask me to come down into the earth with you? Into a catacomb full of skulls? You ask me to rule blood drinkers in the name of a demon? You’re too clever for your creed, my friend. Forsake it.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head and stepping backwards. “Ours is a Satanic purity!” he said. “You can’t tempt me from it, not with all your power and your tricks, and I give my welcome to you.”
I had sparked something in him. I could see it in his black eyes. He was drawn to me, drawn to my words, but he couldn’t admit it.
“You’ll never be a legion,” I said. “The world will never allow it. You’re nothing. Give up your trappings. Don’t make other blood drinkers to join this foolish crusade.”
He drew closer again, as if I were a light and he wanted to be in it. He looked into my eyes, trying no doubt to read my thoughts of which he could get nothing except what I had said in words.
“We are so gifted,” I said. “There is so much to be observed, to be learnt. Let me take you back with me into the Pope’s chapel to see the paintings I have described.”
He drew even closer and something changed in his face.
“Those Who Must Be Kept,” he said, “what are they?”
It was like a harsh blow—that once again another knew the secret, a secret I had guarded so well for a thousand years.
“You will never know,” I responded.
“No, listen to me,” he said. “Are they something profane? Or are they holy?”
I clenched my teeth. I reached out for him, but with a swiftness that surprised me, he escaped me.
I went after him, caught him, and spinning him around, I dragged him to the head of the narrow stone stairs that went down the hill.
“Never come near me again, do you hear?” I said to him. He struggled desperately against me. “I can kill you by fire with my mind if I choose it,” I said. “And why don’t I choose it? Why don’t I choose to slaughter you all, you miserable vermin? Why don’t I do it? Because I loathe the violence of it and the cruelty, even though you’re more evil than the mortal whom I killed for my thirst tonight.”
He was frantically trying to get loose from me, but of course he had not the slightest chance.
Why didn’t I destroy him? Was my mind too filled with the beautiful paintings? Was my mind too attuned to the mortal world to be dragged back into this abysmal filth?
I don’t know.
What I know is that I threw him down the stone stairway so that he tumbled over and over again, clumsily, miserably, until he finally scrambled to his feet below.
He glared at me, his face full of hatred.
“I curse you, Marius!” he said with remarkable courage. “I curse you and your secret of Those Who Must Be Kept.”
I was taken aback by his defiance.
“I warn you, stay away from me, Santino!” I said as I looked down at him. “Be wanderers through time,” I said. “Be witnesses of all splendid and beautiful things human. Be true immortals. Not worshipers of Satan! Not servants of a god who will put you in a Christian Hell. But whatever you do, stay clear of me for your own sake.”
He was planted there, looking up at me in his fury.
And then it occurred to me to give him a small warning, if