Louis:
I am in a rather languid mood this evening, I must say. Lestat is watching me as I write this, a vague smile playing around the corners of his lips. He’s only pretending to read “The Guardian” newspaper.
“Shall we adjourn to the lounge?” he asks me.
“Certainly, mon amour,” I reply, quickly noting in my journal that I’d spoken to Brian who’s told me he is painting again. The news pleases me greatly. “This hotel has certainly proved to be most hospitable – which is rather more than I can say for the Orkney weather!”
Lestat rises to his feet, folding the paper as he does so and casting it carelessly onto the plump damask-upholstered chair. He waves one hand to the door. “Leave your incessant scribblings, Louis; the night awaits us.”
Lestat:
The weather has finally cleared - not that I really objected to the snow. What an irony - up until this evening, Louis has been more restless than I have been. Of course, this is all due to his concern for Brian. Louis and I have spent the past few evenings more than just agreeably in each other's company, making amends for our time apart. It was certainly no punishment, being confined for one or two nights in our room..amazing how quickly you can fall back in sync with a lover...and rediscover familiar territory.
The lounge is occupied by a small crowd of elderly American tourists on holiday. Louis and I exchange a glance...neither of us is up for a conversation on American politics or any other mundane subject. Besides, Louis and I need to talk as our last few evenings have been spent in a communion not requiring words. Smiling at him, I mouth the words, "Take a walk?" His nod and smile in return cause me to turn and head back to our room for coats and gloves. I know he is preoccupied with vengeance on Nicolas. And I support him all the way...but I will not condone destruction..and I have no way of knowing what Louis has in mind. tonight is as good as any to discuss what he has in mind.
I quickly gather warm gear and head back down to the lounge, where Louis is feigning great interest in a discussion on the merits of life insurance. Laughing softly, I toss him his coat..and after pausing for a second, I press my mouth against his own, bringing the conversation to a dead halt. Louis grasps my arm and leads me out into the small foyer..
Expecting a lecture for my inspired behavior, his words catch me off guard.
"I have just received a phone call from one of the curators at my gallery in Paris. There has been a horrendous mix-up on pictures that were shipped for the next show. We will need to leave for Paris tomorrow night."
Louis:
I lean back resignedly in the black leather swivel chair. Lestat is keeping a discrete distance, slowly strolling round the gallery by himself, though I know he can hear every word of my cold reprimand. My blushing employee stands before me, his nervous fingers plucking at the hem of his smart jacket as he struggles to explain how the freight shipment from my London gallery was found to differ wildly from my instructions. Quite simply, the paintings which arrived here in Paris are the wrong ones.
This error is clearly not of his making. Even though his job is not on the line, he feels that his status in my eyes has been compromised. His colleague in London has already been fired. This has been no casual mistake but a deliberate alteration of paperwork. I am annoyed both by this flouting of my clear plans and by Lestat and I needing to cut short our sojourn in the Orkney Isles in order to attend to this.
I sigh heavily, tapping the cap of my silver and black fountain pen restlessly on the office desk.
My Parisian manager humbly says, “Monsieur du Lac, we have propped the London paintings up against the walls of the main painting studio upstairs, if you would like to view them.”
I rise to my feet as I reply, “It’s too late to send for the correct shipment now. The exhibition is due to open on Friday. I could cancel…” Cancellation would result in a hefty loss of potential revenue. Better that, however, than a loss of reputation.
I walk across the office and halt in the open doorway. “Lestat, mon amour, would you care to join me? Let’s see exactly what has been sent.”
Obligingly, Lestat accompanies me upstairs. My manager scurries before us, switching on lights and holding open the heavy studio fire doors. Usually only those few young artists who find themselves under my wing are invited to make use of this large, high-ceilinged room whose huge windows allow in an unhindered north-facing light. As I walk towards the centre of the room in order to cast an appraising glance over the awkward row of paintings set against the walls, I cannot help but remember Brian as he was when he worked here, happy amongst the tall wooden easels and cleverly arranged backdrops.
I push these memories form my mind and concentrate on business. Actually, the selection of paintings before me was not as weak as I had anticipated. I now feel confident that with careful hanging, the exhibition can go ahead. Some pieces, however, I reject immediately. These will have to be returned to London; another unnecessary expense.
Lestat has strolled over to the huge windows. A subtle alteration of his posture silently informs me that something on the road below us has caught his eye, but he says nothing as he stares into the night.
Santiago:
I had heard through the grapevine that poor Louis was having a problem as of recent with his gallery here in Paris. I had put it out of my mind that he even owned the gallery otherwise I probably could have found myself enjoying causing him the grief that he was now enduring, but no matter.
Curiosity is a dangerous thing when placed in my hands. Usually it becomes a danger to those around me, so do not take it lightly when I say I was curious as to all of these goings on with his gallery all of a sudden. Several devious thoughts ran through my mind as to how to add to Louis' frustrations, but I needed to find out more for myself first.
I could sense two presences on the top floor of the building so I donned my best black jacket and white fedora and began my walk down the street in front of the building.
As if on perfect cue, Lestat stood in the window above. I tilted my head to the side and peered up at Lestat from under my fedora before removing it and bowing in a deep and sweeping dramatic motion to him. A grin crossed my face as my forefinger came to my lips as if to tell Lestat, "Shh..."
I saw him shift his position slightly then I gave a wink and disappeared from sight. So the prince himself was back in town with Louis. This was too good to let pass without causing at least some sort of mischief.
Nicolas:
I had made myself comfortable on the roof of the building across from Louis' gallery. As I'd expected, he came in person to take care of an issue this disastrous. I had not been expecting Lestat to appear as well, but he was becoming Louis' little trained lap dog as of late anyway, so it really was of no surprise.
There was a slight twinge of guilt that I'd gotten the gentleman in London fired, it wouldn't bother me for long. He was being honest when he'd told Louis over the phone that he didn't know how the error had happened. I knew though, I'd made it happen. It's amazing the chaos one can create simply by intercepting a single sheet of paper and replacing it with another one.
I watched as Louis and Lestat appeared in the large room upstairs where all the off-display paintings were housed. Louis stood there with his arms crossed, occasionally pointing to random paintings that were then moved to another spot in the room. Lestat feigned interest for a little while then walked over to the window, his eyes cast down to the street.
Stirring from my position I scrambled to the edge of the roof-line and peered over the edge to see what it was he looked at. Another immortal? A smile slowly slid across my lips as the hat was removed. Santiago. Well now, this might just get a lot more interesting after all.
Lestat:
I find my mind unable to focus or concentrate this evening. Fortunately, a few sympathetic noises and looks of concern and interest are all that are needed to assure Louis of my full attention to his current crisis. Art usually fascinates me...but I have a vague and undefinable feeling that everything is not quite what or how it should be. Restlessly, I turn to the window, gazing out on the wind swept Paris night. Not as cold as the Orkneys at least...
A sudden movement catches my eye. Glancing down to the sidewalk, my first reaction is one of in-credulousness. Damn it to hell. I cannot believe he is here. He was part of the whole fiasco involving Brian...he was no less than a key player in the whole kidnapping scheme. And Armand must still harbor more than a passing resentment over the situation of Julien, despite that young man's plea to just let the whole matter drop. What game is he playing...for the look in his eye..the arch of his brow, the sardonic curl of his lip...everything about him bespeaks trouble of some sort. But of more importance to me is the possibility that Santiago might lead us to Nicolas.
There is nothing like the thrill of a hunt to galvanize one. Spinning away from the mirror, I cross the room quickly, grasping Louis by the shoulder.
"Mon amour, this can all be settled by your staff, hmmm? We have the first possible lead in hunting our prey. But we need to move quickly." Without waiting for a response, I usher the two of us out of the room, onto the elevator and on our way to run Santiago to ground.
Louis:
As my feet hit the pavement, I turn to Lestat and enquire into the cause of his unexpected interest. But he is already urging haste, pulling me away from the gallery and into the night. We reach an intersection of the road, and Lestat is alert beside me as he combs the area for his chosen prey. What will it be tonight, I wonder - a quick-fingered thief, a drug dealer or two, a beautiful vicious boy?
My eyes rake the moderate crowds who amble towards the theatres and restaurants which litter this popular area, and came to rest instinctively upon the white hat worn at a familiar jaunty angle. I recognise that slow, arrogant swagger immediately.
I pull loose from Lestat’s tightening grip on my arm and swiftly weave through the crowds, shielding my thoughts. I am upon Santiago before he has time to react. My arms lock around his chest and shoulders as I wrench him up onto high roofs, and though he kicks and struggles he cannot break free. His fedora falls to the pavement, his black jacket sleeve is torn at the shoulder. He curses loudly and manages to inflict a number of cruel bruises upon my legs with his flailing feet but I ignore this.
Santiago begins laughing, trying to make me careless with rage. I slam his chest into a broad, solid chimney stack. No-one can see us here, veiled by the shadows of old Paris.
Santiago tries to break free again but a powerful blow to the small of his back drops him to his knees.
“Was that your spine cracking, Senor?”
He replies with a string of invectives.
Two more blows from me shatter both of his shoulders.
More expletives burst from his white lips. He hisses, “I’ll never tell you where Celeste is! She is safe from you!”
“I have absolutely no interest in that wretched harridan - for now, anyway.” I run my right hand through his hair, firmly pushing his head to one side. My other hand bites into his left shoulder, plunging into his flesh as I hold his frame relatively immobile. Santiago tries to throw himself to one side and raises one leg to kick, but I anticipate him and thwart his attempt with a stunning blow to one side of his face. His cheekbone crushes on impact. Santiago curses me as he spits out blood.
I rapidly re-position him then abruptly tear his jacket and shirt free of his throat. Before he can react my bite sinks deep. He tries to throw up mental barriers but I am too swift. I plunder his mind, enduring his sordid memories, his salacious whims. I speedily sift through the detritus of his life-long memories, disregarding his continual attempts at resistance, his thrashing body, his weakening rebellions. Now he is in my thrall – and I find what I was looking for.
I raise my head. Santiago’s blood covers my lips. I draw in breath and release his flaccid body. He drops on all fours to the roof top, gasping and cursing me, but momentarily too weak to move far.
Lestat steps from the shadows. He seems calm, watchful. “Have you finished, mon amour?”
“One moment, cher,” I reply, my voice steely. I look to Santiago once more, and say, “I do hope you take note of this little warning, Senor. Should you or any agent of yours cross my path again, or seek to antagonise me or mine in any way, then I shall destroy you completely. I will extend no further notice to you.”
I move to Lestat’s side, smile elegantly, and say, “When you’re ready?” And we fade into the night.
Nicolas:
Still on the rooftop I see Lestat, dragging Louis, come running out of the building and disappear down the street after Santiago.
"Well this won't do, I can't have them thinking that Santiago caused all of this." I mutter to myself. Climbing down, I run after them, staying to the darkness. I get there just as Louis grabs Santiago and pulls him up onto a nearby roof, Lestat casually following.
As quickly as I can, I find a climbable route to get up there. I get up there just in time to watch Louis drop Santiago's body into a pile. I can tell from here that several bones in his body are broken. My eyes scan over to Lestat and go to mere slits. I can hear a string of cuss words coming from Santiago, he's still alive at least. I hold no grudge against him, he helped me with Brian before. Louis steps over toward Lestat and then they both disappear.
I walk across the roof to Santiago. A small rivulet of blood falls from his mouth onto the roof. His eyes slowly open and look up at me, "What the hell do you want?"
I kneel down in front of him, scanning over his body to see the extent of his injuries. "Looks like Louis had his way with you." A snort comes from him followed by a few coughs. "Leave me alone Nicolas." I sigh, "And you're going to get off this roof on your own before daylight?" A groan is his only reply.
We work together to get him to his feet then I pick him up over my shoulder and climb back down to the street. I take him to a nearby hotel and reset his bones as much as possible, it will speed the healing, then leave. I bring back a couple women for him to feed on, they feel sorry for him, lying there with his shoulders broken. Their opinions quickly change as he drinks their blood however.
When he's done, I sit down on the bed next to him. "Had you not gotten yourself in this mess, I might have asked you to team up with me. As you are however, you're useless to me."
His eyes study me, "So this is all your doing? The reason Louis and Lestat have come back?" I nod. His eyes are cold, "What's the purpose?"
I give a partial laugh, "I'm sick of him, sick of him always getting his way. I hate Lestat but I want him to bow to my will and desires like he does for his pathetic Louis."
Santiago coughs once more, "I hope you're prepared." I shrug, "Prepared or not, one of us may not come out of this alive." I get up and walk across the room, staring out the window.
Santiago:
Alright, what the heck was that for? I knew Louis held a grudge but come on! What'd I do do deserve this?
As I sat there on my hands and knees, my broken shoulders sending a searing pain through me but holding me up as best they could, I heard the footsteps of another immortal. I craned my neck to look up at Nicolas.
"What the hell do you want?" Mocking words I do not need at the moment but that's apparently all I deserve. Blood that has seeped into my lungs makes me go into a coughing fit, I collapse to the ground, my back and shoulders giving out completely. It seems Louis took some level of pity on me, he hadn't taken too much blood to kill me, just enough to make me feel like a marionette on a string. "Leave me alone Nicolas."
"And you're going to get off this roof on your own before daylight?" Damnit, forgot about that, I groan, he's right, as much as I hate to admit it.
Using what energy I do have left, and trying not to scream in pain, he helps me get to my feet then picks me up and over his shoulder. Alright, this position does nothing to help my back and the pain makes me feel like I'm about to pass out... that or the lack of blood. Might even be both. I remind myself that it doesn't matter.
Even though there is little I can do about it, my mind is still on guard. Never quite trusted Nicolas, seems charming and quiet on the outside but his soul is blackness itself, I will admit it to no-one but I fear ever seeing that part of him. A part of me right now is glad that I had done favors for him in the past, it gave him reason to bring me to the hotel.
Two beautiful women walk through the door to the hotel, followed by Nicolas. I put on my best pain and suffering face, not that it was difficult at the moment. "Oh chere, he said you were injured, I never imagined this!" She looked back over her shoulder at Nicolas. I used what energy and strength I had left and grabbed her, sinking my teeth in and drinking deeply. The other went to scream but Nicolas cupped his hand over her mouth and walked her toward me. The blood from the first was already working it's wonders on me. The second was easier even though she struggled more. I could feel my bones already beginning to mend, my cheek once more beginning to fill in.
Nicolas plopped himself down on the edge of the bed and explained how it was he who had caused the trouble with the gallery knowing it would bring Louis here. He planned revenge, just hope he knows what he's getting into. I'd never seen Louis like he was tonight, but something told me it wasn't just from the problems with the gallery. There's bad blood between Louis and Nicolas and I began to wonder if I really did want a part of it.
It would be a couple weeks before I was back to normal. Perhaps I would just watch this one from the sidelines. It sounded like it might just become something to remember for the centuries as I sat there listening to Nicolas talk.
Lestat:
The walk back to Louis' flat is passed in silence. After the evening's events, I find myself at a loss for words. No one knows better than I the force of Louis' fury. He can match me any day. It is just that his outbursts are so few and far between that he always catches me off guard when he gives way to his rage. If tonight's attack on Santiago is any standard to go by, his revenge on Nicolas will be terrible to behold...and for a brief instant, I actually feel more than a qualm of regret. As if he is reading my mind, his soft words caress my ear.
"Do not worry, mon amour. I will not kill Nicolas, as tempting as it may be."
I look at him, more than a little non-plussed at the complete change in his demeanor from the calculated rage of only a few minutes ago to this quiet elegance. How does he manage to turn it on and off like this? The eyes that turn to lock with my own are unfathomable and in an instant a naked truth, raw and ugly, hits me. The individual I have always believed I know as well as myself can indeed be a closed book to me. Was it always so? Louis' hand reaches for my own and grasps it with a force that will not take no for an answer. There is something boiling still under that seemingly placid exterior....something not yet quenched in him that needs to be answered and exorcised. The thought of a shared hunt, stalking mutual prey down the dirty back streets of the Parisian night world holds the faint kiss of promise...but something in Louis' eyes keeps the suggestion like a polite stranger on my lips. This is not the release he is wanting or needing. The flash of green that turns to me speaks soft volumes...and the night becomes like a heated animal.
With no further words needed, I enter the flat I have spent countless nights in with an intimate stranger. There will be a rendering of secrets and desires..his...mine..ours. Words will cross and mingle meanings...and we will then fill in the spaces between as best we can. And the night will bleed beautifully like a jewel....
Louis:
I slowly run my fingers through his tangled blonde hair. It lies around his head like some dishevelled halo. One arm rests behind his head, the pillow beneath him crushed enticingly by his weight. His blue eyes are closed, his breathing shallow. The faintest of smiles lingers on his bruised, parted lips.
I rise from our bed without disturbing him. Gently, I draw a sheet of white silk over his relaxed body. He does not even stir as I check the heavy curtains to ensure no light might filter through them.
I glance at my Rolex; I have one-and-a-half hours before sunrise. I dress quickly – black jeans, white silk shirt, black leather jacket, black ankle boots. The door to our Parisian home closes almost silently behind me as I head into the remaining night.
As speedily as decorum will permit, I hail a taxi and make my way to a shabby residential area on the city’s outskirts. I am not altogether certain of my destination, as I have only the images plundered from Santiago’s mind to guide me. I strongly suspect that he has already sobbed out his story to Nicolas, and I have absolutely no intention of giving that creature time to consolidate any plan.
This part of Paris is not familiar to me. I look around, trying to get my bearings but fail. Finally, I tell the driver to pull over. I pay him generously, and walk swiftly to a convenient patch of shadows which I use to veil my rapid ascent to the roof tops. From up here, I hope to narrow down my search – all the while being very careful to shield my presence.
My eyes rake the surrounding buildings as I search for a match with the mental image stolen from Santiago’s mind. I smile coldly. I have found Nicolas’s home.
Silently, I enter from the rear of the building. Clearly Nicolas is not particular about hygiene, as I gather from the amount of debris accumulated in his kitchen and hallway. I ignore the piles of old newspapers, curling paperback novels and trinkets which I suppose he may have taken from his victims. The door to the cellar is open, and I descend into the darkness, already inhaling the pungent air – damp, cold and laced with the underlying sharpness of sweat, urine, blood and fear. I recognise these scents all too well. This is where Nicolas had tortured Brian.
I emerge from the cellar and enter the drawing room. The hearth is cold. I light the old-fashioned coal fire, then settle back into a crumbling leather armchair. On the coffee table beside me is the book which Nicolas is currently reading. His taste in literature is not mine, so I help myself to his newspaper instead.
I do not have long to wait. I hear his footsteps as soon as he turns onto this avenue. His key in the lock does not hesitate. He casually closes the door behind him then calmly walks down the hall. Now he hears the crackling of the fire, feels the warmth of the hearth. He surely knows it is not Santiago who awaits him.
Nicolas strides into his drawing room then stops dead when he sees me. I smoothly refold his newspaper and replace it on the coffee table. Nicolas’s eyes dart to the hearth. His beloved collection of antique violins have made a splendid fire.
I smile very, very slowly, my eyes devoid of all warmth as I rise steadily to my feet. “Bonsoir, Nicolas.”
Santiago:
"I must go." It was all Nicolas said to me as he walked out of the hotel room. Stiff and still sore from my bones mending, I climbed out of the bed; something told me I needed to follow him.
As I tracked where he went, I knew the surroundings and realized immediately where he was going. There was a reason he hadn't brought me here to heal, why would he now be so careless?
I saw him disappear through the doorway. I wanted to call for him to stop and wait. All of my senses knew he was walking into a trap and daylight was not far off. I stopped dead in my tracks, the realization of my use in Louis' plan struck me hard. I had known where Nicolas lived here in Paris; one of only a couple people. Like a fool I had walked in and given him exactly what he'd wanted!
I cursed to myself in muttered tones as I approached his door. My fingers grasped the door handle, but before I could turn it a hand, cold and pale, gently fell upon mine. My eyes looked over and at Lestat.
"Leave them be Santiago, there is nothing we can do to stop this now." I stood there in stunned silence for a second then anger took over. "He used me Lestat, I will not stand by a be a pawn in his game!" His cold hand on my shoulder told me he understood but would still not let me pass. All I could do was sigh, I was not in any shape to take on Louis again anyway.
"Fine, let them battle." My eyes locked hard on Lestat's, "I will not let them kill each other over a stupid mortal though."
A quiet nod... it was all I needed to know from him.
Nicolas:
I know he is here, in my home. I can't believe he'd be so arrogant to waltz right in and make himself comfortable. Then again, I can believe something lacking any hint of courtesy would come from Louis. It was the reason I left the cellar doors wide open for him.
Even with Brian now gone, I find that descending the steps still puts a smile on my face. His scent still permeates the room, Louis should quite appreciate being reminded of his pet once again.
There wasn't much time before sunrise and perhaps I am being a bit hasty, but I want this over with. I'm tired of these games. The hearth has been lit, the smell of the smoke from the burning wood tells me something is wrong.
As I walk into the Drawing room, I stop. I wonder if Louis realizes he's reading a paper from a few months ago? My glance is cast past Louis to notice that the display case for my beloved violins is now empty. My eyes immediately are upon the hearth. I can see the neck of a couple of the violins still unburnt and protruding from the flames.
I fall to my knees, my eyes never leaving the fire. Of anything within my home, why those? If my hands ever lay upon Brian again, it will only be for a second as I snap his neck.
"Bonsoir, Nicolas" His words pierce my thoughts. First my gaze is cast upward, then slowly I turn my head to look at the wretch. My voice is very calm and cold, "I shall remember next time to just burn down your gallery."
Without warning, I launch myself at Louis. Catching his shoulder, he's forced to sit back down then both of us and the chair go tumbling over backwards.
"Did you like the cellar Louis? I decorated it, just for you. I thought the blood on the walls gave it just the right touch."
Louis:
We fall backwards to the floor. I make no attempt to resist Nicolas’s weight. The chair beneath me cushions the impact to my back and shoulders.
Nicolas snarls, “…I thought the blood on the walls gave it just the right touch, “ and as he says “touch” his eyes suddenly widen in shock, his mouth falling open, an inward gulp of air causing him to gasp. He had not noticed the bowie knife shielded by the old newspaper until his own actions had impaled his solar plexus upon its blade.
A faint smile warms my lips as I press the blade deeper and pull down, its fine steel slicing through his undefended flesh. I can feel his blood pouring over my hand, slick and sticky already. His legs thrash against the threadbare carpet. His hands scrabble to gain some purchase on the floor and push himself away from the knife and me. He grunts loudly as he forces himself into a sitting position astride my body. He raises his right fist and slams it into the side of my face. I move to one side to reduce any damage to a mere bruise.
I lose my grip on the blood-soaked knife handle. Nicolas wrenches my hand free and tries to snap my wrist but I squirm beneath him and throw him off balance so he falls sideways on the carpet. I grab the knife handle again and brutally pull the blade free of his body only to plunge it into his lower abdomen and twist.
Nicolas screams in pain, his body writhing. His shirt and trousers are black with his own blood. He lands a hard kick to my hip then scrambles backwards, trying to rise to his feet. His injuries slow him down. I spring up and immediately launch a roundhouse karate kick to the side of his knees. Both of Nicolas’s legs break on impact. He buckles, slumping to the floor again. Another kick from me leaves him spitting blood and teeth.
His clawing hands clutch at the knife and pull it out. He snaps the blade and throws it from him, cursing me loudly in French.
“Have you lost your taste for blood so soon, Nicolas?”
He releases a flurry of furious invectives. He is holding one hand to his abdomen. His other hand is clenched in a fist. With two broken legs and two serious knife wounds, he still struggles to his feet, dismissing his obvious pain. Sheer force of will carries him towards me, his hands preparing to punch. I laugh coldly; one blow sends him crashing to the floor.
I reach down and grab a firm handful of his dark hair and drag him over the floor and along the hall. He thrashes and struggles but his injuries have weakened him considerably. By his hair, I drag him down the cellar steps. His body tumbles painfully down, landing with a dull crash. Involuntarily, Nicolas groans aloud.
“Your treatment of Brian was no less cruel. Do you not like to sample the hospitality you showed him?” Slowly, I descend the cellar steps.
Only now does Nicolas begin to look nervous. His injuries will not kill him, of course, indeed they begin to heal even now. However, they do severely hamper his ability to defend himself. I move swiftly then, covering the distance between us almost instantly.
“Now, Nicolas, what was that little game you liked to play with Brian?” I smile very, very slowly.
When I am finished with that little re-enactment, Nicolas is bleeding profusely and shivering on the floor with pain. He is barely conscious now. His blood is soaking the floor and I have fed well enough from him besides.
Time is moving on; of this I am all too aware.
I reach to the concealed sheath around my waist and remove a small, vicious-looking knife. Its small size is no measure of its sharpness or strength. I walk swiftly to Nicolas’s side again and clasp his left wrist.
“Now this may seem somewhat familiar.” He screams as the blade slices through his wrist, his body thrashing with spasms of shooting agony.
I drop his hand into a sealable plastic bag and place it in my pocket. As I clean my knife blade on a silk handkerchief, I casually remark, “About your threat to burn down my gallery – I really wouldn’t, if I were you. Not if you ever want your hand back.”
I laugh softly and turn on my heel, leaving him in the dark. “Be assured I will look after your hand. Unless, of course, you or any agent of yours troubles me or mine again in any way whatsoever. In which case I shall return to you one bag of ashes. How unfortunate it would be if I were to wrongly suspect you of any infraction.”
Lightly, I ascend the cellar stairs and quickly exit Nicolas’s shabby home.
I am not in the least surprised to find Lestat waiting for me outside. He acknowledges me with a slight nod of his elegant head, then raises an eyebrow quizzically.
Santiago stands nearby, the anger which emanates from him equalled by his hesitancy. His injuries are healing already though his physical discomfort is obvious from the way he holds his body. He is uncertain how to proceed. He wishes to strike back at me and yet the reality of his situation is too plain for him to risk attacking me. Perhaps he also remembers my threat of earlier this night – and it is no idle threat, for certain.
I ignore him and walk calmly to Lestat’s side. “I have not killed Nicolas, mon amour. He lies within.”
Lestat glances to the ground then inhales deeply, his relief clear.
Santiago peers into the darkness of Nicolas’s silent house, wondering whether to rush to his aid or remain where he can keep a wary eye on me.
Lestat slides his arm through mine then smiles gently. “Dawn is almost upon us, cher.” Even as he speaks he is beginning to lead me away from the scene. “I am sure that Senor Santiago is content to leave well alone all that which needs be left?”
Santiago begrudgingly nods his reluctant agreement. He has little choice anyway, considering his injuries. He glances again into heavily shadowed room beyond the open door, and when he turns back to speak to Lestat he finds himself alone.
Santiago:
Whatever conversation Lestat and I were about to begin is silenced as Louis emerged. My first thought is that Nicolas is either dead or very near it. I lower my head and close my eyes, preparing myself. If I had the strength I'd have swung a punch at Louis hoping to catch him off-guard but now wasn't the time. The words I hear come from him are only somewhat comforting.
"I have not killed Nicolas, mon amour. He lies within."
Watching Lestat's reaction tells me he was sincere in not letting them kill each other. My eyes still go to slits, watching Louis and then I take a single hesitant step into Nicolas' home. I can smell the blood in the air and Lestat's words sound as if they are just a part of a dream.
“I am sure that Senor Santiago is content to leave well alone all that which needs be left?”
I just nod, my jaw locked, looking at Lestat from the corner of my eye. I felt like a beaten slave watching his master's flaunt everything denied him being told 'Clean up our mess.' I looked once more into the home and, turning around to thank Lestat, they are both gone.
The sun will be up soon, I need to get Nicolas some place safe. I'm hoping that we may be able to stay here. I walk slowly through his home, everything is in disarray. A fire is still burning in the hearth.
"Oh, Louis..." escapes my lips as I see what is in the hearth, burning. Since when is any mortal worth this? I call out for Nicolas, his thoughts are too much in turmoil to try and locate him that way. Wait, the cellar. It's where he'd kept Brian, something told me that would be Louis' revenge.
I ran over, the door was wide open, and headed down. The smell of blood was overpowering. The walls were coated in blood, I could tell there was a dry coat with a fresh coat over top. Louis had done everything to Nicolas that was done to Brian. I could see Nicolas chained to one of the posts, his back to me. Walking over and around in front of him brought back instant memories of the theatre. His face was gaunt as if he'd been bled out, his eyes were sunk in and rolled back in his head.
I grabbed the chains and snapped them, freeing him of his bonds. As his body slumped over it was then I realized the final thing Louis had done to him. I looked back up the stairs, half expecting Louis to be standing there laughing, but only the crackling of the fire could be heard. I leaned over, grabbing Nicolas' arm and ignoring my own pain, I tried to lift him to get him out of this place.
Before I knew what happened, his instincts took over. His hand wrapped around my throat and pulled him to my neck, sinking his fangs in deeply. "NICOLAS!" I yelled and fell to one knee. I fought him off, trying not to injure either of us any more then we already were and finally pinned him, growling and snarling at me. I took a deep breath, we both needed blood and badly now. Reasoning with him was the only option I had left.
"Nicolas, he's gone. It's Santiago. You saved me from that roof, let me help you now." His head tilted up, his eyes vacant, but I knew he heard me. I once again grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. Staggering up the stairs we walked to his private area and sealed ourselves in for the night.
I lay down next to Nicolas in the coffin and pulled the lid over us then wrapped my arms around him holding him close and whispering,
"Sleep now Nicolas, tomorrow we will hunt until you have your fill and then I shall take you to Laurent."
Nicolas:
My consciousness faded in and out through it all. I remember Louis drinking my blood. I remember my hand being cut off. And I remember being grabbed by the arm and tugged around.
I'd already lost my hand, I wasn't about to give him the chance to kill me. I mustered the last remaining strength I had and grabbed his neck, sinking my fangs in deep I tried to drink what I could.
"NICOLAS!" I heard my name, it wasn't Louis' voice but right now I didn't care and why would anyone else be down here with me? His strength had weakened as well, I could feel it but he still managed to get me off him. Fine, kill me now, be done with it.
"Nicolas, he's gone. It's Santiago. You saved me from that roof, let me help you now."
Santiago? Why was he here? Help me? Just let me die. I felt him tugging on my arm and working our way up the stairs. Everything was tinted the color of blood. The last thing I remember was being placed into my coffin and Santiago's arms around me. I thought I'd heard Laurent's name as well.
This wasn't the end Louis, I would get my hand back and my violins would be replaced by your flesh. I tried to smile and it was my final thought as I drifted off to sleep.
Santiago:
Laurent, I do hope my presence here is not found as too much of an intrusion, but it appears that Nicolas needs your assistance. I do not trust leaving him with anyone else.
Leaves the room and comes back in half carrying Nicolas. His eyes are vacant as I set him comfortably down in a chair.
Louis has taken his hand once again. He has fed tonight, but I believe his mental state will need some help that I am unable to provide.
Laurent, please. You spoke of your love for him, if ever you meant those words, it is now that you can prove it to him.
Laurent:
"My thanks, Santiago for your help in this. Of course, I will tend to him. I will do far more than that."
Taking Nicolas by the hand, I lead him over to the sofa and gently seat him, pressing him back against the plush pillows. Placing a quilt around him, I move to the stereo, putting on a piece by Mozart. My eyes rarely flicker from his face, searching his well loved features for some sign of recognition. His eyes graze mine and search my face hungrily. I set the volume to low and join him. Stretching out by his side, my fingers reach under his chin, raising his face so our eyes meet.
"I am here, mon amour. I am not going anywhere until you are yourself".
My mouth presses softly against his own, my lips insisting on a response. It finally comes, low and sweet. Pulling back gently from him, I raise my wrist to my lips and gently break the skin. He watches me steadily, nodding softly as his mouth fastens on my wrist.
Nicolas:
I can hear Santiago talking to someone, the voice seems so familiar but my mind is so confused right now. I feel this other person take me by the hand, why is Santiago leaving me?
The next sensation is my body being wrapped in covers and I can hear music. I look toward this other being but my vision is all distorted from the lack of blood, they appear almost as a ghost.
They are next to me, their lips upon mine. Is this more torture from Louis? No! I have to tell myself that Santiago would not have brought me to Louis. Their lips are soft, caressing almost, I know these lips...
"Laurent..." I speak the name softly before returning the kiss. I see him bring his wrist up to my mouth, I nod gently and take it. The rush that hits me immediately warms me. The more I drink the more my senses begin to return. Images sharpen around me. I hear Santiago's voice...
"Then, I leave him to your care Laurent and thank you."
I push Laurent's arm away and extend my hand out to Santiago, I still cannot speak. I feel Santiago take it. "You will be safe here Nicolas. We will get your hand back."
My hand, why was it always my hands? First Louis destroys my violins then takes my hand. Last time it took me years before I could pick up a violin and play once again. Now it seems all that had been in vain.
I could hear the music quietly playing in the background, Mozart. Oh Laurent, you always did know how to make me smile. I leaned over, wrapped in his arms and quietly fell asleep.
Fin
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