Merrick - Anne Rice [29]
At last, I forced myself to move my limbs.
I folded up the pages properly, put them back into the envelope, and sat quiet again for a long time, my elbows on the desk, my head bowed.
The harpsichord music had stopped some time ago, and much as I’d loved it, it did interfere with my thoughts somewhat, so I treasured the quiet.
I was as bitterly sad as I have ever been. I was as without hope as I have ever been. The mortality of Aaron seemed as real to me as his life had ever seemed. And indeed both seemed miraculous in the extreme.
As for the Talamasca, I knew it would heal its wounds by itself. I had no real fear for it, though Aaron had been right to be suspicious of things with the Elders until questions of their identity and authority had been resolved.
When I had left the Order, the question of the identity of the Elders had been hotly debated. And incidents pertaining to secrets had caused corruption and betrayal. Aaron’s murder had become part of it. The famous Body Thief who seduced Lestat had been one of our own.
Who were the Elders? Were they themselves corrupt? I hardly thought so. The Talamasca was ancient, and authoritarian, and it moved slowly on eternal matters, rather on a Vatican clock. But it was all quite closed to me now. Human beings had to go on cleansing and reforming the Talamasca, as they had already begun to do. I could do nothing to help in such an endeavor.
But to the best of my knowledge, internal difficulties had been solved. How precisely, and by whom, I did not know and really didn’t want to know.
I knew only that those I loved, including Merrick, seemed at peace within the Order, though it did seem to me that Merrick, and those upon whom I’d spied now and then in other places, had a more “realistic” view of the Order and its problems than I had ever had.
And of course, what I’d done in speaking to Merrick, that had to remain secret between Merrick and me.
But how was I to have a secret with a witch who’d cast a spell on me with such promptness, effectiveness, and abandon? It made me cross again to think of it. I wish I’d taken the statue of St. Peter with me. That would have served her right.
But what had been Merrick’s purpose in the whole affair—to warn me of her power, to impress upon me the realization that Louis and I, as earthbound creatures, were hardly immune to her, or that our plan was indeed a dangerous plan?
I felt sleepy suddenly. As I’ve already mentioned, I’d fed before I ever met with Merrick, and I had no need of blood. But I had a great desire for it, kindled by the physical touch of Merrick, and very much caught up with wordless fantasies of her, and now I felt drowsy from the struggle, drowsy from my grief for Aaron, who had gone to the grave with no words of comfort at all from me.
I was about to lie down on the couch, when I heard a very pleasant sound which I at once recognized, though I hadn’t heard it at close range for years. It was the sound of a canary, singing, and making a little bit of a metallic ruckus in a cage. I heard the motion of the wings, the creak of the little trapeze or swing or whatever you call it, the creak of the cage on its hinge.
And there came the harpsichord music again, very rapid, indeed far more rapid than any human could possibly desire. It was rippling and mad, and full of magic, this music, as though a preternatural being had set upon the keys.
I realized at once that Lestat was not in the flat, and had never been, and these sounds—this music and the gentle commotion of the birds—were not coming from his closed room.
Nevertheless, I had to make a check.
Lestat, being as powerful as he is, can mask his presence almost completely, and I, being his fledgling, can pick up nothing from his mind.
I rose to my feet, heavily, sleepily, amazed at my exhaustion, and made my way down the passage to his room. I knocked respectfully, waited a decent interval, and then opened his door.
All was as it should be.