Blood Canticle - Anne Rice [134]
“Evil Silas,” whispered Mona.
“Has either Miravelle or Oberon said any more about the life of the Secret People?” Quinn asked. “I think the more Mona hears about that the better she will feel.”
“To Hell with it,” said Mona in a low voice.
Stirling went on gently.
“Yes, they’ve both talked a lot. So did some of the New York lawyers who represented Ash. Their life was very good, and it lasted some four years before this villainous Rodrigo took over the island. Oberon enjoys describing their trips and their studies very much. Miravelle has reverted more and more to a childlike state. Oberon becomes impatient with her.”
“Where are they now?” asked Quinn.
“At Mayfair Medical. Rowan had them both admitted for tests earlier this evening.”
“Oh, splendid, and they agreed to it!” Mona said. “How could I not know that? The two dead ones are not enough! Lorkyn isn’t enough. She has to have the live ones immediately as well! That’s Rowan. Did she say the poor children looked a bit peaked? Or did she just shoot something into their veins and then throw them on the stretchers? I wish I could mount a conscientious opposition, but I haven’t the spirit for it. So let them disappear into the laboratories and secret rooms of Mayfair Medical. Good-bye, sweet Miravelle! Will I ever lay eyes on you again? Farewell, oh, acid-tongued Oberon, may you not alienate too many of the nurses with your withering wit, for they can make your life miserable. And who am I, the Blood Child, to seek such a privilege as to see these odd, out-of-time beings, except perhaps to turn them loose into the workaday world where they’d undoubtedly fall victim to some insidious human equivalent to Rodrigo the Drug Lord!”
“Mona, Miravelle and Oberon won’t be kept there,” Quinn said. “We can see to it ourselves. Rowan won’t make them prisoners. You’re making Rowan the enemy again for no reason. We can go to Mayfair Medical now and see them, very likely, if you wish. Nobody can prevent us.”
“Listen to you!” Mona said, with a faint affectionate smile. “You think you know Rowan, and you don’t know Rowan. And Beloved Boss here has fallen under her dark spell same as Ash Templeton apparently, who forswore her for his species and failed to save them for Morrigan’s jealousy of her, Oh, Darkness, Oh, Piteous Darkness; Lestat, how can you find her glacial heart!”
“You’re using Rowan as a lightning rod,” said Quinn calmly. “What’s the excuse now for hating Rowan? Because she pronounced Ash and Morrigan dead? Lestat told you they were dead. Let it go. Let it all go.”
Mona shook her head, words rushing. “Where’s the wake? Where’s the funeral? Where are the flowers? Where is the family with everyone kissing? Will they put Ash and Morrigan in the family tomb?”
I reached over and took her hand. “Ophelia,” I said softly, “what need have they for flowers now, or kissing? ‘Is’t possible a young maid’s wits should be as mortal as an old man’s life?’ Be still, my beauty.”
She answered me with Shakespeare:
“ ‘Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself, She turns to favour and to prettiness.’ ”
“No, come back. Hold on.”
She shut her eyes. The silence lengthened. I felt her draw breath.
“Stirling, tell her how it went,” I said cautiously. “Tell her the comic parts.”
“If I may say so,” Stirling said, “after an afternoon with Tante Oscar and Dolly Jean, and all their stories of Walking Babies in the swamps, Miravelle and Oberon were ready for a hospital suite. And very likely Michael Curry was glad to see them go.”
“Did they never try to escape the house?” asked Mona.
“Guards all around it,” conceded Stirling. “But Mona, how can anyone let these two go unshepherded into a human world? Yes, the Secret People endured for some