Merrick - Anne Rice [113]
Quickly, obviously struggling to disguise her immense response, she reached out for his hand.
With a vampire’s reluctance, he met her gesture, and then, to my complete consternation, he bent down and kissed her—not on the hand which he gripped so tenaciously—but on both her lovely cheeks.
Why in the world hadn’t I foreseen this? Why had I thought that she would not see him except as an unapproachable wonder? Why hadn’t I realized that I was bringing into her presence one of the most alluring beings I’ve ever known?
I felt the fool for having not foreseen it, and I also felt the fool for caring so very much.
As he settled in the chair closest to hers, as she sat down and turned her attention to him, I found a place on the sofa across the room. Her eyes never left him, not for a second, and then I heard his voice come low and rich, with his French accent as well as the feeling with which he always spoke.
“You know why I’ve come to you, Merrick,” he said as tenderly as if he was telling her that he loved her. “I live in torment thinking of one creature, one creature I once betrayed and then nurtured, and then lost. I come because I believe you can bring that creature’s spirit to speak with me. I come to you because I believe I can determine through you whether that spirit is at rest.”
Immediately she answered.
“But what is unrest for spirits, Louis,” she said familiarly. “Do you believe in a purgatory, or is it merely a darkness in which spirits languish, unable to seek a light that would lead them on?”
“I’m not convinced of anything,” Louis said in answer. His face was full of vehement eloquence. “If ever a creature was earthbound, it’s the vampire. We’re wed, soul and body, hopelessly. Only the most painful death by fire can rip that bond. Claudia was my child. Claudia was my love. Claudia died by fire, the fire of the sun. But Claudia has appeared to others. Claudia may come if you call her. That’s what I want. That’s my extravagant dream.”
Merrick was lost to him, utterly lost to him. I knew it. Her mind, insofar as I could read it, was ravaged. She was deeply affected by his seeming pain. Nothing of her sympathies was reserved.
“Spirits exist, Louis,” she said, her voice slightly tremulous, “they exist, but they tell lies. One spirit can come in the guise of another. Spirits are sometimes greedy and depraved.”
It was quite exquisite, the way that he frowned and put the back of his finger to his lip before he answered. As for her, well, I was furious with her, and saw not the slightest physical or mental fault in her. She was the woman to whom I’d surrendered passion, pride, and honor a long time before.
“I’ll know her, Merrick,” said Louis. “I can’t be deceived. If you can call her, and if she comes, I’ll know her. I have no doubt.”
“But what if I doubt, Louis?” she responded. “What if I tell you that we’ve failed? Will you at least try to believe what I say?”
“It’s all settled, isn’t it?” I blurted out. “We mean to do it, then, don’t we?”
“Yes, oh, yes,” Louis answered, looking across the room at me considerately enough, though his large inquisitive eyes shot right back to Merrick. “Let me beg your forgiveness, Merrick, that we’ve troubled you for your power. I tell myself in my most awful moments that you’ll take away from us some valuable knowledge and experience, that perhaps we’ll confirm your faith—in God. I tell myself these things because I can’t believe we’ve merely ruptured your life with our very presence. I hope it’s so. I beg you to understand.”
He was using the very words that had come to my mind in my many feverish ruminations. I was furious with him as well as her, suddenly. Detestable that he should say these things, and the hell he couldn’t read minds. I had to get myself in hand.
She smiled, suddenly, one of the most magnificent smiles I’d ever seen. Her creamy cheeks, her dramatic green eyes, her long hair—all her charms conspired