Merrick - Anne Rice [126]
“Your words, my sweet Claudia, accept this offering, accept this acknowledgment, accept this devotion.” She dipped the page into the fire of the brazier, then held it aloft as it was consumed.
The ashes fell into the cauldron. She took up the perforator once again.
The form of Honey lingered only in shape and then appeared to be blown away by the natural breeze. Again the candles blazed violently before the statues.
“Claudia, daughter of Agatha,” said Merrick, “I command you, come forward, become material, answer me from the whirlwind, answer your servant Merrick—all you angels and saints, and Blessed Mother Ever Virgin compel Claudia, compel her to answer my command.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off the smoky darkness. Honey was gone but something else had taken her place. The very gloom seemed to shape itself into a smaller figure, indistinct but gathering strength as it appeared to extend its small arms and move towards the table behind which we stood. It was above the ground, this small being, the sudden glint of its eye on our level and its feet walking on nothing as it proceeded towards us, its hands becoming clearly visible, as well as its shining golden hair.
It was Claudia, it was the child of the daguerreotype, it was white-faced and delicate, its eyes wide and brilliant, its skin luminous, its loose and flowing white garments soft and ruffled by the wind.
I stepped backwards. I couldn’t stop myself, but the figure had stopped; it remained suspended above the ground and its pale arms relaxed and fell naturally at its sides. It was as solid in the dim light as Honey had been so many years before.
Its small stunning features were filled with a look of love and quickening sensibility. It was a child, a living child. It was undeniable. It was there.
A voice came out of it, fresh and sweet, a girl’s natural treble:
“Why have you called me, Louis?” it asked with heartbreaking sincerity. “Why have you roused me from my wandering sleep for your own consolation? Why wasn’t memory enough?”
I was weak almost to fainting.
The child’s eyes flashed suddenly on Merrick. The voice came again with its tender clarity:
“Stop now with your chants and commands. I do not answer to you, Merrick Mayfair. I come for the one who stands to the right of you. I come demanding why you’ve called me, Louis; what is it that you would have me give you now? In life did I not give you all my love?”
“Claudia,” Louis murmured in a tortured voice. “Where is your spirit? Is it at rest or does it wander? Would you have me come to you? Claudia, I’m ready to do it. Claudia I’m ready to be at your side.”
“You? Come to me?” the child asked. The little voice had taken on a dark deliberate coloration. “You, after all those many years of evil tutelage, you think that I in death would be united with you?” The voice went on, its timbre sweet as if saying words of love. “I loathe you, evil Father,” it confided. A dark laughter came from the small lips.
“Father, understand me,” she whispered, her face infected with the tenderest expression. “I never could find words to tell you truths when I was living.” There was the sound of breath, and a visible despair seemed to wrap itself about the creature. “In this measureless place I have no use for such curses,” said the voice, with touching simplicity. “What is it to me, the love you lavished on me once in a vibrant and feverish world?”
On she went as if consoling him.
“You want vows from me,” she said with seeming wonder, her whisper growing softer. “And from the coldest heart imaginable I condemn you—condemn you that you took my life—” the voice was fatigued, defeated “—condemn you that you had no charity for the mortal I once was, condemn you that you saw in me only what filled your eyes and insatiable veins . . . condemn you that you brought me over into the lively Hell which you and Lestat so richly shared.”
The small solid figure moved closer, the luminous face of plump cheeks and lustrous eyes now directly before the cauldron, the tiny hands curled but not raised.