|
|
|
Foster Fledgling
Chapter Nine
"My God," Louis gasped. "It cannot be, Lestat, he can't be mad. Not Lestat. No." He turned away from Armand, and wandered over to a chair, collapsing into it. He looked up at Armand.
"You can't mean this. It can't be true."
"But it is, Caro," Armand said gently. "He has lost all touch with reality."
"No, it can't be." Louis buried his face in his hands. "It isn't true, not Lestat."
Armand knelt beside his old friend, and again embraced him; Louis did not notice. With a sigh, he stood, and turned to see François.
"I apologize, Little One," he said, walking across the room. "I know this is probably upsetting for you, too." He looked back at Louis. "I would give anything if I could change it."
"What's happened to him?" François asked, sitting on the bed, never taking his eyes off Louis. "How do you know he's crazy?"
Armand sat beside him. "He is incoherent," he said. "He keeps raving about God and the Devil."
"He always talks about that stuff," François shrugged. "All that good versus evil stuff. It's in all his books, isn't it?"
"Yes, that's true," Armand agreed. "But this is different. He thinks -" he sighed, and looked back to Louis. "He is convinced that he went to Heaven and Hell, and that the Devil wanted to hire him as his replacement."
"Sounds like he had a bad dream," François offered. "Maybe he had a really bad dream, and he can't shake it. I've had those, you wake up, and you can't believe it wasn't real." He turned to Armand. "That's possible, isn't it?"
"Yes, François is right, that must be it."
They both looked back to Louis. He had sat up, and now leaned back in the chair, rubbing his eyes with one pale hand.
"Armand, surely, it was just a nightmare," he insisted. "A nightmare. You know how Lestat is, his imagination runs wild." He rose, and walked over to stand before them.
"No, I don't think so," Armand said. "There's more to it than that."
"What?" Louis demanded. "Just tell me, Armand. I can't bear this - this - " he shook his head, squeezing his eyes tightly closed.
"The not knowing," François said, quietly. "Being ignorant, not knowing everything. It's like, the worst thing. I know."
"Yes," Louis said, nodding tiredly. "Just tell me, don't string it out."
"It is not so easy, my old friend," Armand said, taking his hand. "It is bad, very bad." He rose, and slipped his arms around Louis's neck, laying his head against his chest. "I was only trying to spare you. Don't hate me for what I must tell you."
"I could never hate you, Armand," Louis murmured, running his hands lovingly over the auburn curls. Armand kissed him again, then pulled away.
"Very well, Louis," he sighed. He sat on the bed again, mournfully looking up at him.
"He thinks that he went to Hell, and lost his eye, but he has both his eyes, perfectly whole. You can show him a mirror, and still he insists it is gone."
"Wow," François whispered.
"There is more. He thinks that his handkerchief is the Veil of Veronica, the true thing, the Vera Icon. He thinks the blood stains on it are the Face of the Christ."
"My God." Louis stared at him, emerald eyes wide with disbelief.
"Exactly," Armand said, allowing a the briefest of smiles. "But that is not the worst of it. He also thinks -" his face darkened, anger flaring in the deep brown eyes. "He thinks that he drank from the Christ Himself."
"How -?" Louis looked at him incredulously. "How does he say this happened?"
"How could he drink from Jesus?" François asked. "That's impossible, that's - that's - wicked." He crossed himself, half unconsciously. Armand spared him a curious glance, then turned his attention back to Louis.
"He believes that he was present at the Passion," he said. "He believes that this Devil, whom he calls Memnoch for some incomprehensible reason, he believes that this Memnoch took him on a tour of Creation, and eventually ended up in Jerusalem for the Crucifixion. He thinks that the Christ told him to drink His blood, and that he, Lestat, wiped His Holy Face with this handkerchief, and produced the Vera Icon."
"Sounds crazy alright," François muttered. Armand met his eyes, and shook his head, once.
"I see," Louis said, quietly. He turned away from the two adolescents on the bed, and moved across the room to the bookshelves, running his hands lightly over the various volumes. He stood there for some time, silent.
François looked to Armand, and opened his mouth to say something.
"Not now, Little One," came the gentle voice in his head. François gasped, and nearly slipped off the bed onto the floor, only to be caught by a strong, slender arm. "Relax, I only wanted you to be quiet. He needs some time to grasp this all."
"Can - can you hear me?" François thought, furrowing his brow.
"Not so loud," came the reply, tinged with humor. "You don't need to try so hard. I can hear you quite well." Armand released François, and slipped an arm around him companionably. "There, that's better. Now, what did you want to ask?"
"Is he gonna be alright?" François sent. "Lestat, is he gonna be normal?"
"I don't know that he ever was to begin with," Armand replied. "But to answer you, I don't know. I don't know if he'll be normal again. Maybe. I sincerely hope so. For Louis, if nothing else."
"Louis loves him a lot, doesn't he?" François looked wistfully over to where his protector stood, still immobile save for his hands wandering from this book to that.
Armand followed his gaze. "Yes, he does. Passionately, devotedly, eternally. No matter what the Brat does, no matter how petty he is -and believe me, Little One, he can be petty, and cruel, the books don't even begin to touch on it. No matter how many times he pushes Louis away, or breaks his heart, Louis still loves him." He shrugged.
"How can he?" Despite his concern for Louis, François found himself enjoying this silent communication. "How can Louis love him, when he's so mean?"
"Lestat tends to have that effect on people," Armand replied, smiling at François's enchantment with his new-found ability. "Besides, he is equally devoted to Louis."
"Well, he seems to have a funny way of showing it."
"Yes, well, our relationships are nothing, if not complicated." Armand lay back across the bed, stretching. "But, I'm sure he'll recover. Lestat is indestructible. He always survives."
"You mean, like Akasha, and the body thief," François also lay back across the bed, but turned so he could keep an eye on Louis, propping himself up on one elbow. "And what that other guy, what's-his-name, the musician guy."
"Nicholas?" Armand asked.
"Yeah, the one who -" François paused, and gulped audibly. "Um, I didn't mean -"
"It's ancient history, Little One," Armand reassured him, reaching over to stroke his cheek again. "So soft! And no beard yet, either, like me. But, yes, I understand what you mean. He's unbearably good at everything he does. Lestat is incapable of failure, it seems." He frowned suddenly. "Francesco, you shouldn't even think such a thing!" He turned over onto his side, to face the youngster. "I would never, never harm you."
"But I -"
"Ah, but I can read your thoughts, remember?" He grinned wickedly. "Even if you don't project anything, I can read what you're thinking. And you were thinking that I killed Nicholas, and that I might kill you."
"Yeah," François admitted, coloring with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult you."
"It's no matter, I'm not offended." He reached out and stroked François's hair. "I don't have to do those things anymore. And besides," he made a fist, and lightly punched François's shoulder, flashing him a cherubic, beatific smile, "I would not have killed you, even then. You are too beautiful, Little One. And I like you."
"I like you, too, Armand," François grinned back at him.
"If you two are finished grinning like monkeys," Louis stood over them, calmer now, his eyes clear and with a hint of their usual humor, "I think we should go. François has not hunted yet, Armand, and neither have I."
"It's early yet for you, Louis," Armand said, sitting up and taking Louis's hand to rise to his feet.
"Perhaps," Louis agreed, extending his hand to his child, and pulling François up for a brief embrace. "But I think tonight it is more important that I be clear-minded. And besides, François is too young to fast."
"Francesco, you seem to be a good influence on Louis," Armand said as they filed through the door.
"Really?" François asked, taking the steps two at a time. "I didn't do anything."
"He just means that I usually wait until much later to hunt," Louis explained, gathering his keys from the mantel.
"If you hunt at all," Armand insisted.
"That's enough, Armand," Louis cautioned. They stepped outside, and he locked the door behind them. They traipsed down the stairs, and through the gate, Louis pausing to lock it once more as well.
"Where is he?" Louis asked, as they strolled along the Rue Royale. "Daniel telephoned, he said they were close."
"He's at that place he just bought, out on Napoleon," Armand replied, swerving to avoid an overflowing trash container. "David thought it best to not bring him here."
"Why ever not?" Louis demanded. "This is his home. That place is empty, it hasn't even been properly cleaned, and it has no furniture."
"No, but it does have other things that are more useful right now," Armand replied vaguely.
"He's gonna be okay," François said, taking Louis's hand. "Armand said he would. Don't worry."
"Well, if you say so, my little Feu-Follet," Louis smiled, squeezing his hand.
"Louis!" François colored again, ducking his head.
"I believe you are embarrassing your son, Louis," Armand whispered. "Pet names are not . . . cool, at least, not around others."
"Oh, of course," Louis rolled his eyes. "How could I forget?"
"Well, you are a bit distracted," Armand allowed.
"Yes, I am, but I am sure it is temporary." Louis reached over, and with a swift movement, flipped the bulk of the auburn mane over into Armand's face.
Armand laughed, and tossed his head back, running a hand through his hair to push it away from his eyes. "That seems to be the general consensus."
They had reached Canal Street, and a streetcar was just coming around the corner. They hurried across the street, pausing on the neutral ground to wait for the car to go by.
They walked for some time, passing fewer and fewer mortals as they moved away from the Quarter. It had been far too long since Armand had spent any length of time in New Orleans, and it was pleasant to revisit his old haunts, noting what had changed and what had not. Louis seemed to have a destination in mind, and Armand, long familiar with Louis's hunting habits, followed his lead without comment. He himself had already hunted, and was not in any hurry at any rate. The longer they delayed reaching St. Elizabeth's, the better, as far as he was concerned. That fit with his plans very well. There were measures that needed to be taken, and Louis's presence would complicate things unnecessarily.
Even beyond that, the delay was not unpleasant. Armand was genuinely worried about Lestat, and needed a distraction. François kept him amused as they walked.
"Armand, do you really have the Night Island?"
"Does your hair drive you crazy when it's hot?"
"Can you drive a car?"
Armand found it extremely funny, this incessant, insatiable curiosity.
"Is this a family trait, Louis?" he asked. "So many questions, this one has. Just like you did."
"A child has to learn," Louis smiled. "But enough for now, he has to hunt. François, do you remember what you learned last night?"
"Yes, Louis," came the response. The boy stopped, and listened raptly. "Over there," he said, finally.
"Very good, p'tit - er, François," Louis nodded. "Now, you do the rest, and I want you to do it all by yourself. Do you think you can do that?"
"Sure, Louis!" François flashed him a grin, and then ran off, disappearing around the next corner.
"Are you sure you want to do that?" Armand asked, as they followed after François.
"He is quite capable, I assure you," Louis said. "He could survive on his own now, if he needed to."
"Or wanted to," Armand added. Louis winced, and Armand immediately regretted saying it. "I don't think he will ever leave you, Caro." He slipped his arm around Louis's waist. "I believe that he would gladly follow you to the gates of Hell."
"Ah, but he already has," Louis sighed. "He is already in Hell, only he is too young to realize it."
Foster Fledgling - Chapter Ten
E-Mail the Author