Blood and Gold - Anne Rice [189]
I could not think clearly of these things. And it was soothing to me to hear her talk of them.
“I had brought you a painting by Botticelli,” she said. “It was small and very pretty and you later thanked me for it. This tall blond one was waiting upon you when I came, and he was ragged and dirty.”
These things came clear to me as she spoke. The memories enlivened me.
And then came the hunt, the gush of blood, the death, the body dropped into the canal, and once more the pain rising sharp above the sweetness of the cure, and I fell back into the gondola, weak from the pleasure of it.
“Once more, I have to do it,” I told her. She was satisfied, but on we went. And out of another house I drew yet another victim into my arms, breaking his neck in my clumsiness. I took another victim and another, and finally it was only exhaustion which stopped me, for the hurt in me would have no end of blood.
At last when the gondola was tethered, I took her in my arms and wrapping her close to my chest as I had so often done with Amadeo, I rose above the city with her, and flew out and high until I could not even see Venice at all.
I heard her small desperate cries against me, but I told her in a low whisper to be still and trust in me, and then bringing her back, I set her down on the stone stairs above the quais.
“We were with the clouds, my little princess,” I said to her. “We were with the winds, and the purest things of the skies.”
She was shivering from the cold.
I brought her down with me into the golden room.
The wind had made a wild tangle of her hair. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips bloodred.
“But what did you do?” she asked. “Did you spread wings like a bird to carry me?”
“I had no need of them,” I said, as I lighted the candles one by one until we had many and the room seemed warm.
I reached up beneath my mask. And then I took it off and turned to look at her.
She was shocked, but only for a moment, and then she came to me, peering into my eyes, and she kissed my lips.
“Marius, I see you again,” she said. “You are there.”
I smiled. I went past her and lifted the mirror.
I couldn’t see myself in this monstrosity. But my lips did cover my teeth at last, and my nose had taken some shape, and my eyes once again had lids. My hair was thick and white and full as it had been before and it hung to my shoulders. It made my face all the more black. I put aside the looking glass.
“Where will we go when we leave here?” she asked me. How steady she seemed, how unafraid.
“To a magical place, a place you would not believe if I told you of it,” I answered. “Princess of the skies.”
“Can I do this?” she asked. “Go up into the heavens?”
“No, darling one,” I said, “not for centuries. It takes time and blood to make such strength. Some night however it will come to you, and you’ll feel the strangeness, the loneliness of it.”
“Let me put my arms around you,” she said.
I shook my head.
“Talk to me, tell me stories,” she said. “Tell me of Mael.”
We made a place to sit against the wall, and we were warm together.
I began to talk, slowly I think, pouring out old tales.
I told her of the Druid grove again, and how I had been the god there and fled those who would have entrapped me, and I saw her eyes grow wide. I told her of Avicus and Zenobia, of our hunting in the city of Constantinople. I told her of how I cut Zenobia’s beautiful black hair.
And telling these tales, I felt calmer and less sad and broken and able to do what I must do.
Never in all my time with Amadeo had I told such stories. Never with Pandora had it been so simple. But with this creature it seemed only natural to talk and to find consolation in it.
And I remembered that when first I had set eyes upon Bianca I had dreamt of this very thing, that she would be with me in the Blood and that we should speak together so easily.
“But let me tell you prettier stories,” I said, and I talked of when I had lived in old Rome, and I had painted on the walls, and my guests had laughed