The Vampire Chronicles Collection - Anne Rice [497]
There is nothing I can do to make you want to live, isn’t that so?
“Not that again. I will jump out of the plane if you go on.”
Will you listen to me, then? Really listen?
“How can I help it? I can’t get away from your voice when you want me to listen; it’s like a tiny microphone inside my head. What is this, tears? You’re going to weep over me?”
For one second, he looked so young. What a travesty.
“Damn you, Daniel,” he said, so that Daniel heard the words aloud.
A chill passed over Daniel. Horrid to see him suffering. Daniel said nothing.
“What we are,” Armand said, “it wasn’t meant to be, you know that. You didn’t have to read Lestat’s book to find it out. Any one of us could have told you it was an abomination, a demonic fusion—”
“Then what Lestat wrote was true.” A demon going into the ancient Egyptian Mother and the Father. Well, a spirit anyway. They had called it a demon back then.
“Doesn’t matter whether or not it’s true. The beginning is no longer important. What matters is that the end may be at hand.”
Deep tightening of panic, the atmosphere of the dream returning, the shrill sound of the twins’ screams.
“Listen to me,” Armand said patiently, calling him back away from the two women. “Lestat has awakened something or someone—”
“Akasha … Enkil.”
“Perhaps. It may be more than one or two. No one knows for certain. There is a vague repeated cry of danger, but no one seems to know whence it comes. They only know that we are being sought out and annihilated, that coven houses, meeting places, go up in flames.”
“I’ve heard the cry of danger,” Daniel whispered. “Sometimes very strong in the middle of the night, and then at other moments like an echo.” Again he saw the twins. It had to be connected to the twins. “But how do you know these things, about the coven houses, about—”
“Daniel, don’t try me. There isn’t much time left. I know. The others know. It’s like a current, running through the wires of a great web.”
“Yes.” Whenever Daniel had tasted the vampiric blood, he had glimpsed for one instant that great glittering mesh of knowledge, connections, half-understood visions. And it was true then. The web had begun with the Mother and the Father—
“Years ago,” Armand interrupted, “it wouldn’t have mattered to me, all this.”
“What do you mean?”
“But I don’t want it to end now. I don’t want to continue unless you—” His face changed slightly. Faint look of surprise. “I don’t want you to die.”
Daniel said nothing.
Eerie the stillness of this moment. Even with the plane riding the air currents gently. Armand sitting there, so self-contained, so patient, with the words belying the smooth calm of the voice.
“I’m not afraid, because you’re here,” Daniel said suddenly.
“You’re a fool then. But I will tell you another mysterious part of it.”
“Yes?”
“Lestat is still in existence. He goes on with his schemes. And those who’ve gathered near him are unharmed.”
“But how do you know for certain?”
Short little velvet laugh. “There you go again. So irrepressibly human. You overestimate me or underestimate me. Seldom do you ever hit the mark.”
“I work with limited equipment. The cells in my body are subject to deterioration, to a process called aging and—”
“They’re gathered in San Francisco. They crowd the back rooms of a tavern called Dracula’s Daughter. Perhaps I know because others know it and one powerful mind picks up images from another and unwittingly or deliberately passes those images along. Perhaps one witness telegraphs the image to many. I can’t tell. Thoughts, feelings, voices, they’re just there. Traveling the web, the threads. Some are clear, others clouded. Now and then the warning overrides everything. Danger. It is as if our world falls silent for one instant. Then other voices rise again.”
“And Lestat. Where is Lestat?”
“He’s been seen but only in glimpses. They can’t track him to his lair. He’s too clever to let that happen. But he teases them. He races his black Porsche through the streets of San Francisco. He