Blood Canticle - Anne Rice [42]
“My God, that’s a strange question,” said Michael. “Everybody idolizes Oncle Julien. Everybody takes him so for granted.”
“I know Quinn saw Oncle Julien’s ghost,” I went on. “Quinn told me all about it. He’d come to see you and Rowan and Mona, and Oncle Julien let him in to the First Street property, or whatever you call it, and Quinn talked with Oncle Julien for a long time. They drank hot chocolate together. They sat in a rear garden. He thought Oncle Julien was alive, naturally, and then you guys discovered him back there all alone and there was no hot chocolate. Not that the absence of hot chocolate means anything metaphysically, of course.”
Michael laughed. “Yeah, Oncle Julien’s big on long conversations. And he really outdid himself with the hot chocolate. But a ghost can’t do something like that unless you give him the strength to do it. Quinn’s a natural medium. Oncle Julien was playing off Quinn.” He went sad. “Now, when the time comes, for Mona I mean, well, Oncle Julien will come and take her to the other side.”
“You believe in that?” I asked. “You believe in the other side?”
“You mean you don’t?” asked Michael. “Where do you think Oncle Julien comes from? Look, I’ve seen too many ghosts not to believe in it. They have to come from somewhere, don’t they?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “There’s something wrong with the way ghosts act. And the same holds true for angels. I’m not saying there isn’t an afterlife. I’m only maintaining that those entities who come down here so beneficently to meddle with us are more than a little cracked.” I was really getting heated. “You’re not really sure, yourself, are you?”
“You’ve seen angels?” asked Michael.
“Well, let’s just say, they claimed to be angels,” I responded.
Rowan’s eyes were moving sluggishly and rudely over me. She didn’t care what I asked about Julien or what Michael said. She was back in that terrible moment when she’d come into the hospital room, the death room, to bring death, and Mona had been frightened. Back there and here studying me. Why couldn’t I just hold her for a moment, comfort her, vanish with her into a bedroom upstairs, tear this house apart, fly with her to another part of the world, build her a palace deep in the Amazon jungles?
“Why don’t you try!” said Oncle Julien. He stood behind her again, arms folded, sneering insofar as it didn’t mar his charm. “You’d like nothing better than to get your hands on her. She’d be such a prize!”
“Kindly go to Hell!” I said. And to myself, Snap out of it.
“Who are you talking to?” asked Michael, turning in his chair as before. “What are you seeing?”
Julien was gone.
“Why are you asking about Stella?” Rowan murmured, but she was hardly thinking of it. She was thinking only of Mona and of me, and of that ghastly moment. She was noticing my hair and the way that it curled, and the way that the candlelight played on it. And then the grief over Mona again, almost killed her.
Michael fell into deep absorption, as if nobody was there. There was something defenseless about the guy. Stirling was studying me with a sharp angry expression on his face. So what?
Michael was plainly much more forthright than Rowan, more conventionally innocent. A woman like Rowan had to have a husband like Michael. If he’d known how I’d kissed her yesterday in that greedy fashion he’d be wounded. She hadn’t told him. Not even he could roll with a punch like that. When a woman of that age lets you kiss her it means something entirely different from what it means with a young girl. Even I knew that and I’m not human.
“You can’t figure it with Julien,” Michael said, suddenly emerging from his thought. “He makes mistakes—sometimes absolutely awful mistakes.”
“How do you mean?” I asked.
“Julien appeared once, trying to help me, I think, yes, it had to be,” said Michael. “But it didn’t work out. It led to a disaster. A total disaster. But he had no way of knowing. Absolutely no way at all. I suppose that’s what I’m trying