Blood Canticle - Anne Rice [105]
“Speaking of her songs, I made good on the promise,” said Quinn. “Or at least I’ve started. I called Patsy’s agent, got him out of bed. We’re going to reissue all her recordings, do a special publicity release—all that she could ever have wanted. Her agent’s so thrilled that she’s dead, he could hardly contain himself.”
“What!” said Mona.
“Oh, you know, dead recording stars make plenty of money,” Quinn replied with a little shrug. “He’ll publicize her tragic demise. Bracket her career. Package it.”
“I knew you would make good on the promise,” I said. “And I would have seen to it, if you hadn’t—that is, if you had given me leave. Now it’s over, isn’t it?”
“Her voice was marvelous,” Quinn said. “If only I could have murdered her and not her voice.”
“Quinn!” said Mona.
“Well, I think that’s what you’ve done, Little Brother,” I remarked.
He laughed softly. “I suppose you’re right, Beloved Boss,” he said. He smiled at Mona and her innocent shock. “Some night I’ll tell you all about her. When I was little, I thought she was made of plastic and glue. She was always screaming. Enough about her.”
Mona shook her head. She loved him much too much to press. Besides, she had other things on her mind.
“But Lestat, what did you see out there?” she asked me.
“You are not listening to me,” I said with exasperation. “I told you, you maddening little miscreant, I won’t relive it. It’s closed for me. Besides, give me one good reason why I should even speak to you. Why are we in the same room?”
“Lestat,” said Quinn, “please give Mona another chance.”
I got furious—not at Mona, I wasn’t going to fall into that trap again—but simply furious. They were such beautiful children, these two. And—.
“Very well,” I said, thinking as I spoke. “I’m going to lay down the law to you. If I am to remain with you, I am the Master here. And I refuse to prove myself to you. I won’t spend my tenure with you being constantly questioned as to the virtue of my authority!”
“I understand,” said Mona. “I really, really do!” So seemingly heartfelt.
“Case in point,” I said. “Whatever I saw out there, I choose to forget. And you have to forget it too.”
“Yes, Beloved Boss,” said Mona eagerly.
Pause.
I wasn’t buying it.
Quinn was not looking at her. He was looking attentively at me.
“You know how much I love you,” he said.
“I love you too, Little Brother,” I said. “I’m sorry that my disagreements with Mona have put a distance between us.”
He turned to Mona. “Say what you have to say,” he told her.
Mona looked down. Her hands were folded one on top of the other in her lap and she looked abruptly forlorn and full of warmth, her coloring all the more intense on account of the black dress, her hair quite incidentally magnificent.
(Big deal! So what!)
“I showered you with abuse,” she confessed. Her voice was smoother and richer than it had been before now: “I was so very wrong.” She looked up at me. I had never seen her green eyes so placid. “I was wrong to speak of your other fledglings the way I did, to speak of your long-ago tragedies with such coarseness and attempted cruelty. I should have never spoken to anyone with such callousness, let alone to you. It was spiritually and morally crude. And it was not my nature. Please trust me when I say that. It was not my nature. It was downright hateful.”
I shrugged, but I was secretly impressed. Good command of the English language. “So why did you do it?” I asked, feigning detachment.
She appeared to be thinking about it, during which time Quinn looked at her with obvious concern. Then she said:
“You’re in love with Rowan. I saw it. It frightened me, really, really frightened me.”
Silence.
Inexpressible pain. No image of Rowan in my heart. Simply an emptiness, an acknowledgement that she was far, far away. Maybe forever. “Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken.”
“Frightened?” I asked. “How so?”
“I wanted you to love me,” Mona said. “I wanted you to remain interested in me. I wanted you to be on my side. I . . . I didn’t want you to be swept away by her.