Blood Canticle - Anne Rice [140]
The perfume of the flowers filled the room. There were daisies and zinnias and lilies and roses and gladiolus, and other flowers I didn’t know, lots of different colors.
The bodies were lying on separate gurneys. The limbs looked pliant, the flesh greenish, the faces slightly sunken. Morrigan’s full red hair had been brushed out as though she was lying in water. Did that make Mona think even more of Ophelia? Ash had eyelashes which were extremely long, and his fingers were long. He must have been seven feet tall. He had full black hair, almost to his shoulders, with lots of white above his ears. A beautiful mouth. Morrigan looked very much like Mona. The pair quite lovely to behold.
Their heads were positioned on pillows. The sheets were clean beneath them.
They wore fresh clothes, plain white cotton pants and V-neck shirts, much like the simple clothes they’d been wearing when we found them, which seemed an eon ago.
Their naked feet looked very dead. I wasn’t sure why. Perhaps they were more discolored, or even a little misshapen.
I wanted to see Ashlar’s eyes. I wanted to know if that was possible, to lift the eyelid and see an eye. But I didn’t want to speak, or to ask for anything.
Miravelle finally moved to put her right hand around Ash’s face. She bent to kiss his lips. When she found they were soft, she closed her eyes, and the kiss was long and fervent. With her left hand she reached out, and Mona gave her half of the flowers.
Miravelle took these and distributed them all over Ash, moving up and down, until she had partially covered him. Then Mona gave her the rest, and she finished, leaving only Ash’s face. Before she withdrew, she kissed his forehead.
It was Morrigan who drew the sobs from her. “Mother,” she said. Mona, who cleaved to her, didn’t say a word. But she laid her own hand on Morrigan’s hand, and, finding it flexible, she curled her own fingers around Morrigan’s fingers.
Quinn brought the flowers to Mona. Mona gave half to Miravelle. Together they laid them on the body of Morrigan.
Oberon observed everything in silence, but tears formed in his eyes. Tears wetted his cheeks. A slight frown marred his forehead.
Miravelle’s broken ragged sobs finally died away. Mona motioned her slowly towards the door. Then Mona looked back.
“Good-bye, Morrigan,” she whispered.
We all filed out of the room and followed Rowan down a short thickly carpeted corridor.
We entered a rather spectacular conference room. Michael was there, and so was Stirling, both in dark suits. That’s how I was dressed, and same with Quinn.
The chairs in this surprising room were genuine Chippendale, around a finely buffed oval table. The walls were a cool lavender and there were wonderful paintings on them, paintings by expressionists, full of rich and throbbing color. I wanted to steal them for my flat. The windows were open to the flickering burning night. There was a marble-top bar against the inside wall, and glittering glasses and decanters.
Michael was drinking bourbon in heavy gulps. Stirling had a glass of Scotch.
Miravelle tried to dry her eyes but with little success. Rowan poured a small glass of sherry for her, and Miravelle laughed as she held up the delicate stem in the light, and then she sipped the sherry. She was laughing and crying at the same time very softly. Her pink nightgown looked very soft.
Oberon waved away any suggestion of a drink. He stared past the assembly out into the night. He didn’t bother to wipe away his tears. Only now did I notice he had cleaned his fingernails of all polish.
Mona said:
“What will you do with them?”
Rowan sat back. She considered for a long time, then she answered:
“What would you do with them if you were me?”
“I can’t imagine being you,” said Mona simply.
Rowan shrugged. But her face was sad. She didn’t disguise it.
Oberon spoke up:
“Do whatever you want with them, Rowan,” he said, with a touch of the old disdain. “Hell, Father told Rodrigo to save the bodies for you, didn’t he? It’s plain enough. Rodrigo wasn’t knowledgeable or reflective enough