The Complete Vampire Chronicles 12-Book Bundle (The Vampire Chronicles) (455 page)

“Oh, but I can’t,” he said, his dark brows knotting. He reached into his coat and brought out the small daguerreotype in its gutter perche case. “I can’t give it over to be destroyed, I can’t,” he whispered.

“You think you’ll cherish it afterwards?” asked Merrick in a consoling voice. “Or you think our magic fire will fail?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “I know only that I want it.” He moved the tiny clasp and opened the small case and looked down until he seemed unable to bear what he saw, and then he closed his eyes.

“Give it to me for my altar,” said Merrick. “I promise it will not be destroyed.”

He didn’t move or answer. He simply allowed her to take the picture from his hands. I watched her. She was amazed by it, the ancient image of a vampire, captured forever so dimly in the fragile silver and glass.

“Ah, but she was lovely, wasn’t she?” asked Louis.

“She was many things,” said Merrick. She shut the little gutter perche case, but she did not move the small gold clasp. She laid the daguerreotype in her lap with the doll and the page from the diary, and with both hands reached for Louis’s right hand again.

She opened his palm beneath the lamplight.

She drew up as if she was shocked.

“Never have I seen a life line such as this,” she whispered. “It’s deeply graven, look at it, there is no end to it really,” she turned his hand this way and that, “and all the small lines have long ago melted away.”

“I can die,” he answered with a polite defiance. “I know I can,” he said sadly. “I shall when I’ve got the courage. My eyes will close forever, like those of every mortal of my time who ever lived.”

She didn’t answer. She looked down into his open palm again. She felt of the hand, and I could see her loving its silky skin.

“I see three great loves,” she whispered, as if she needed his permission to say it aloud. “Three deep loves in all this time. Lestat? Yes. Claudia. Most assuredly. And who is the other? Can you tell me that?”

He was in a state of complete confusion as he looked at her, but he hadn’t the strength to answer. The color flared in his cheeks and his eyes seemed to flash as if a light inside them had increased its incandescence.

She let his hand go, and she blushed.

Quite suddenly, he looked to me, exactly as if he’d suddenly remembered me again and he needed me desperately. I had never seen him so agitated or seemingly vital. No one entering the room would have known him to be anything but a compelling young man.

“Are you for it, old friend?” he asked. “Are you ready for it to begin?”

She looked up, her own eyes watering faintly, and she seemed to pick me out of the shadows and then to give the smallest, most trusting smile.

“What’s your counsel, Superior General?” she asked in a muted voice, filled with conviction.

“Don’t mock me,” I said, because it made me feel good to say it. I was not surprised to see the quick flash of pain in her eyes.

“I don’t mock you, David. I ask if you’re ready.”

“I’m ready, Merrick,” I said, “as ready as I ever was in all my life to call a spirit in whom I scarcely believe, in whom I have no trust.”

She held the page in both hands and studied it, perhaps reading the words herself, for her lips moved.

Then she looked at me again, and then at Louis.

“One hour. Come back to me. I’ll be ready by that time. We’ll meet in the rear of the house. The old altar’s been restored for our purpose. The candles are already lighted. The coals will soon be ready. It’s there that we will execute this plan.”

I started to rise.

“But you must go now,” she said, “and bring a sacrifice, because we cannot proceed without that.”

“A sacrifice?” I asked. “Good Lord, what manner of sacrifice?” I was on my feet.

“A human sacrifice,” she answered, her eyes sharpening as she glanced up at me, and then back to Louis, who remained in his chair. “This spirit won’t come for anything less than human blood.”

“You don’t mean it, Merrick,” I said furiously, my voice rising. “Good Lord, woman, would you make yourself a party to murder?”

“Am I not that already?” she answered, her eyes full of honesty and fierce will. “David, how many human beings have you killed since Lestat brought you over? And you, Louis, they’re beyond count. I sit with you and plot with you to attempt this thing. I’m a party to your crimes, am I not? And for this spell, I tell you I need blood. I need to brew a far greater magic than anything I’ve ever attempted before. I need a burnt offering; I need the smoke to rise from heated blood.”

“I won’t do it,” I said. “I won’t bring some mortal here to be slaughtered. You’re being foolish and naive if you think you could tolerate such a spectacle. You’ll be changed forever. What, do you think because we’re pretty to look at that this murder will be fancy and clean?”

“David, do as I say,” she replied, “or I won’t do this thing.”

“I will not,” I responded. “You’ve overreached yourself. A murder there will not be.”

“Let me be the sacrifice,” said Louis suddenly. He rose to his feet and looked down upon her. “I don’t mean that I shall die to do it,” he said compassionately. “I mean, let the blood that flows be mine.” He took her hand again, locking his fingers around her wrist. He bent and kissed her hand, then stood erect, his eyes lovingly fastened to her own.

“Years ago,” he said, “you used your own blood, did you not, in this very house, to call your sister, Honey in the Sunshine. Let us use my blood to call Claudia tonight. I have blood enough for a burnt offering; I have blood enough for a cauldron or a fire.”

Her face was quite tranquil again as she looked at him.

“A cauldron it shall be,” she said. “One hour. The rear yard is filled with its old saints, as I’ve told you. The stones on which my ancestors danced are swept clean for our purpose. The old pot sits on the coals. The trees have witnessed many such a spectacle. There’s only a little more that I need do to prepare now. Go and return to me, as I’ve said.”

18

I was beside myself with anxiety. As soon as we reached the pavement, I grabbed Louis by the shoulders and spun him round to face me.

“We’re not going on with this,” I said. “I’m going back there to tell her it will not happen.”

“No, David, it will happen,” he said without raising his voice. “You will not stop it!”

I realized that for the first time since I’d ever set eyes on him, he was passionate and angry, though the anger was not purely for me.

“It will happen,” he repeated, clenching his teeth, his face hardening in his quiet fury. “And we will leave her unharmed as we promised! But this will go on.”

“Louis, don’t you understand what she’s feeling?” I asked. “She’s falling in love with you! She’ll never be the same after this. I can’t let this deepen. I can’t let it become any worse than it already is.”

“She’s not in love with me, that’s wrong,” he declared in an emphatic whisper. “She thinks what mortals always think. We’re beautiful to them. We’re exotic. We have such exquisite sensitivity! I’ve seen it before. All I need do is to take a victim in her presence to cure her romantic dreams. And it won’t come to that, I promise you. Now, David, listen, this hour of waiting will be the longest of the night. I’m thirsting. I mean to hunt. Let go of me, David. Get out of my way.”

Of course I didn’t leave him.

“And what about your emotions, Louis?” I walked beside him, determined he wouldn’t leave me behind. “Can you tell me you’re not completely taken by her?”

“And what if I am, David?” he responded, never slacking in his pace. “David, you didn’t describe her truly. You told me how strong she was, how wily, and how clever. But you didn’t do justice to her.” He gave me a shy passing glance. “You never talked about her simplicity or her sweetness. You didn’t tell me she was so inherently kind.”

“That’s how you see her?”

“That’s how she is, my friend.” Now he wouldn’t look at me. “Some school, the Talamasca, that it produced both of you. She has a patient soul and a knowing heart.”

“I want this broken off now,” I insisted. “I don’t trust either of you. Louis, listen to me.”

“David, do you really believe I would hurt her?” he asked sharply. He continued walking. “Do I seek out for my victims those whom I believe to be gentle by nature, humans I believe to be both good and uncommonly strong? She’ll be safe with me forever, David, don’t you understand that? Only once in my wretched life did I make a fledging and that was over a century ago. Merrick couldn’t be safer from any of us than she is from me. Bind me to protect her till the day she dies and I’ll probably do it! I’ll slip away from her after this is done, I promise you.” On he walked. He continued to speak: “I’ll find a way to thank her, to satisfy her, to leave her at peace. We’ll do that together, David, you and I. Don’t harry me now in this matter. I can’t be stopped. It’s gone too far.”

I believed him. I believed him completely. “What am I to do?” I asked dejectedly. “I don’t even know my own heart in the matter. I’m afraid for hers.”

“You’re to do nothing,” he said, his voice a little more calm than before. “Let it happen as planned.”

We walked on through the ruined neighborhood together.

At last the bent red neon sign of a barroom appeared, blinkering under the rangy branches of an ancient and dying tree. There were hand-painted words of advertisement all over the boarded-up facade, and the light inside was so feeble that scarcely anything could be seen through the dirty glass of the door.

Louis went inside and I followed him, quite amazed at the large crowd of Anglo-Saxon males that chattered and drank at the long mahogany bar, and the myriad dirty little tables. Here and there were denim-clad women, young and old, as were their gentlemen companions. A garish red light shone from covered bulbs near the ceiling. Everywhere I saw naked arms and dirty sleeveless shirts, secretive faces, and cynicism beneath a veil of smiles and flashing teeth.

Louis made his way to the corner of the room, and took the wooden chair beside a large unshaven and bushy-haired man who sat at a table alone and morosely over his stagnant bottle of beer.

I followed, my nostrils assailed by the stench of sweat and the thick cigarette smoke. The volume of the voices was harsh, and the beat of music beneath it ugly, ugly in words and rhythm, ugly in its hostile chant.

I sat down opposite the same poor degenerate mortal who cast his pale failing eyes on Louis and then on me, as though he were about to have some sport.

“So what do you want, gentlemen,” he said in a deep voice. His huge chest heaved under the worn shirt that covered it. He lifted his brown bottle and let the golden beer slide down his throat.

“Come on, gentlemen, tell me,” he said thickly, drunkenly. “When men dressed like you come downtown, you want something. Now what is it? Am I saying that you came to the wrong place? Hell no, gentlemen. Somebody else might say so. Somebody else might say you’ve made a bad mistake. But I’m not saying it, gentlemen. I understand everything. I’m all ears for the both of you. Is it broads you want, or is it a little ticket to fly?” He smiled at both of us. “I’ve got all kinds of goodies, gentlemen. Let’s pretend it’s Christmas. Just tell me what’s your hearts’ desire.”

He laughed at himself proudly, then drank from his greasy brown bottle. His lips were pink, and his chin covered in a grizzled beard.

Louis stared at him without answering. I watched in fascination. Louis’s face gradually lost all expression, all semblance of feeling. It might have belonged to a dead man as he sat there, as he stared at the victim, as he marked the victim, as he let the victim lose his poor desperate humanity, as the kill passed from possible to probable and finally, to a foregone conclusion.

“I want to kill you,” Louis said softly. He leant forward and peered very close into the man’s pale and red-rimmed gray eyes.

“To kill me?” said the man, raising one eyebrow. “You think you can do that?” he asked.

“I can do it,” said Louis gently. “Just like this.” He bent and sank his teeth into the man’s thick unshaven neck. I saw the man’s eyes brighten for one instant as he stared over Louis’s shoulder, then the eyes became fixed, and very gradually they went dull.

The man’s cumbersome and bulky body rested against Louis, his thick-fingered right hand quivering before it went limp beside the bottle of beer.

After a long moment, Louis drew back and helped the man to lay his head and shoulders down on the table. Lovingly, he touched the man’s thick grayish hair.

On the street, Louis breathed deep of the fresh night air. His face was full of the blood of his victim, and richly colored with the tints of a human. He smiled a sad, bitter smile as he looked up, his eyes seeking the faintest stars.

“Agatha,” he said softly, as if it were a prayer.

“Agatha?” I repeated. How I feared for him.

“Claudia’s mother,” he replied, looking at me. “She said the name once in those first few nights, exactly as Merrick put it. She recited both their names, father and mother, in the manner in which she’d been taught to tell strangers. Agatha was her mother’s name.”

“I see,” I replied. “Merrick will be very pleased with that. It’s the style of the old charms, you understand, when calling a spirit, to include its mother’s name.”

“Pity about that man drinking only beer,” he said as we commenced our walk back to Merrick. “I could have used just a little heat in the blood, you know, but then perhaps it’s better. Better to have a strong clear mind for what happens. I believe Merrick can do what I want.”

19

As we made our way along the side of the house, I saw the candles burning, and when we emerged into the rear yard, I saw the great altar under the shed, with all its tall blessed saints and virgins, and indeed, the Three Magi, and the angels Michael and Gabriel with their spectacular white wings and in their colorful garb.

The scent of incense was strong and delicious to my nostrils. And the trees hung low over the broad clean flagstone terrace with its uneven purple stones.

Far back from the shed, indeed, very near the closest edge of the terrace, there stood the old iron pot atop the brazier tripod, the coals beneath it already glowing. And on either side were long iron tables, rectangular in shape, on which many different objects had been laid out with obvious care.

The complexity of the whole display amazed me faintly, but then I saw, standing on the back steps of the house, only a couple of yards from the tables and the cauldron, the figure of Merrick, her face covered in the green jade mask.

A shock went through my system. The eye holes and mouth opening of the mask appeared empty; only the brilliant green jade was filled with reflected light. Merrick’s shadowy hair and body were scarcely visible, though I saw her hand when she lifted it and beckoned for us to come close.

“Here,” she said, her voice slightly muffled by the mask as she spoke, “you will stand with me behind the cauldron and the tables. You on my right, Louis, and you on my left, David, and you must promise me now before we commence that you will make no interruption, that you will try no interference in what I mean to do.”

She reached out for my arm and guided me into position.

Even at this closeness, the mask was inherently frightening and appeared to float before her lost countenance, perhaps her lost soul. With an anxious and meddlesome hand I confirmed that the mask was firmly affixed to her head by strong leather thongs.

Louis had stepped behind her, and now stood over the iron table to the right of the cauldron, at her right hand, peering ahead at the glowing altar with its banks of glass-contained candles, and at the eerie but lovely faces of the saints.

I took my place by her left.

“What do you mean, we’re not to interrupt?” I asked, though it seemed a terrible irreverence, in the midst of this spectacle which had taken on a high beauty, what with the plaster saints, and tall dark yew trees crowding in upon us, and the low twisted black limbs of the oaks shutting out the stars above.

“Just what I told you,” she said in a low voice. “You’re not to stop me, whatever happens. You’re to stay behind this table, both of you; you’re never to move in front of it, no matter what you see or think you may see.”

“I understand you,” said Louis. “The name you wanted. Claudia’s mother. It’s Agatha. Of that I’m almost certain.”

“Thank you,” Merrick replied. She gestured before her. “There, on the stones,” she said, “the spirits will come if they’re meant to come, but you must not go to them, you must not engage in any struggle with them, you must do only as I say.”

“I understand you,” Louis repeated.

“David, do I have your word?” she asked calmly.

“Very well, Merrick,” I said crossly.

“David, stop your interference!” she declared.

“What can I say, Merrick?” I demanded. “How can I give my inner feelings to this thing? Isn’t it enough that I stand here? Isn’t it enough that I do as you say?”

“David, trust in me,” she said. “You came to me with the request for this magic. Now I give you what you asked for. Trust that it will be for the good of Louis. Trust that I can control what I do.”

“To speak of magic,” I said softly, “to read of it, and study it—all that is one matter, but to participate, to be in the presence of one who believes in it and knows it—that is quite another thing.”

“Govern your heart, please, David,” said Louis. “I want this more than anything I have ever wanted. Merrick, please, proceed.”

“Give me your word with honesty, David,” said Merrick. “You will not try to interfere with the things I will say and the things I will do.”

“Very well, Merrick,” I said, defeated.

Only then did I have the freedom to inspect the objects covering the two tables. There lay the poor pitiful old doll which had belonged to Claudia, limp as a tiny dead body. And the page of the diary, weighted down by the doll’s round porcelain head. There was the rosary heaped beside it, and the small daguerreotype in its dark case. There was an iron knife.

I also saw a gold chalice, beautifully ornamented and rimmed with inset jewels. There was a tall crystal bottle filled with what appeared to be clear yellow oil. I saw the jade perforator, a wicked and awful thing in my sight, sharp and dangerous, lying close to the cauldron. And then quite suddenly I saw what appeared to be a human skull.

I was furious at this last discovery. Quickly, I considered the contents of the other table, the one before Louis, and saw there a rib bone covered with markings, and that loathsome old shriveled black hand. There were three bottles of rum. There were other items—a fine golden pitcher of honey, which I could smell in its sweetness, another silver pitcher of pure white milk, and a bronze bowl of shining salt.

As for the incense, I realized it had all been distributed and was already burning before the distant unsuspecting saints.

Indeed, a great deal more of the incense, very black and only faintly aglow as its smoke rose in the darkness, had been poured out to make a great circle on the purple flagstone before us, a circle which my eyes only now observed.

I wanted to demand: where did the skull come from? Had Merrick robbed some anonymous grave? A dreadful thought occurred to me and I tried to banish it. I looked at the skull again and saw it was covered with incised writing. It was lurid and awful, and the beauty embracing all of this was seductive, potent, and obscene.

Instead I spoke only of the circle.

“They will appear in it,” I murmured, “and you think the incense will contain them.”

“If I must, I will tell them that the incense contains them,” she said coldly. “Now, you must govern your tongue if you can’t govern your heart. Offer no prayers as you watch this. I am ready for this to begin.”

“What if there isn’t enough incense!” I demanded in a whisper.

“There is plenty of it to burn for hours. Look at the small cones with your clever vampire eyes, and don’t ask me such a foolish question again.”

I resigned myself: I couldn’t stop this. And only now did I feel in my resignation a certain attraction to the entire process as she made to begin.

From beneath the table, she lifted a small bundle of twigs and fed these quickly to the coals in the brazier beneath the iron pot.

“Make this fire hot for our purposes,” she whispered. “May all the saints and angels witness, may the glorious Virgin Mary witness, make this fire burn for us.”

“Such names, such words,” I murmured before I could stop myself. “Merrick, you play with the strongest powers known to us.”

But on she went, poking at the fire until its flames licked the sides of the cauldron. Then she lifted the first bottle of rum, uncapped it, and emptied its acrid contents into the pot. Quickly, she took up the crystal bottle and poured out the pure, fragrant oil.

“Papa Legba!” she called out as the smoke rose before her. “I can begin nothing without your intercession. Look here at your servant Merrick, listen to her voice as she calls you, unlock the doors to the world of the mysteries, that Merrick may have what she desires.”

The dark perfume of the heated concoction overcame me as it rose from the iron pot. I felt as if I ought to be drunk, when I wasn’t, and it seemed my balance had been affected, though why I couldn’t know.

“Papa Legba,” she cried. “Open the way.”

My eyes shot to the distant statue of St. Peter, and only then did I realize he stood in the center of the altar, a fine effigy of wood, his glass eyes glaring back at her, his dark hand wrapped about its golden keys.

It seemed to me that the air changed suddenly about us, but I told myself it was only my raw nerves. Vampire or human, I was susceptible to the tiniest suggestion. Yet the yews began ever so slightly to sway on the outskirts of the garden, and there came through the trees above a soft wind that sent the leaves down all around us, tiny and light, without a sound.

“Open the gates, Papa Legba,” she called out, as her deft hands emptied the second bottle of rum into the cauldron. “Let the saints in Heaven hear me, let the Virgin Mary hear me, let the angels be unable to turn away their ears.”

Her voice was low yet full of certainty.

“Hear me, St. Peter,” she declared, “or I shall pray to Him who gave His Only Divine Son for our Salvation that He turns His back on you in Heaven. I am Merrick. I cannot be denied!”

I heard Louis give out a faint gasp.

“Now, you angels, Michael and Gabriel,” she said, her voice rising with increasing authority, “I command you, open the way to the eternal darkness, to the very souls whom you yourself may have driven out of Heaven; put your flaming swords to my purpose. I am Merrick. I command you. I cannot be denied. I will call upon all the Celestial hosts to turn their backs on you should you hesitate. I will call upon God The Father to condemn you, I will condemn you, I will loathe you, should you not listen; I am Merrick, I cannot be denied.”

There was a low rumbling from the statues in the shed, a sound very like the earth makes when it’s shifting—a sound which no one can imitate, but which anyone can hear.

Again came the sound of the rum pouring, from the third bottle.

“Drink from my cauldron, all you angels and saints,” said Merrick, “and allow that my words and my sacrifice rise to Heaven. Hear my voice.”

I strained in my focus upon the statues. Was I losing my mind? They appeared animate and the smoke rising from the incense and candles seemed thicker. Indeed the whole spectacle intensified, colors becoming richer, and the distance between the saints and us smaller, though we had not moved.

Merrick lifted the perforator with her left hand. Instantly, she cut the inside of her right arm. The blood poured down into the cauldron. Her voice rose above it:

“You Watcher Angels, the first to teach mankind magic, I call upon you now for my purpose, or those spirits that answer to your name.

“Ham, you son of Noah and pupil of the Watchers, I call upon you now for my purpose, or that powerful spirit which answers to your name.

“Mestran, son of Ham, who passed on the secrets of magic to his children and others, I call upon you now for my purpose, or that powerful spirit which answers to your name.”

Again she slashed herself with the knife, the blood sliding down her bare arm and into the cauldron. Again there came that sound, as if from the earth beneath us, a low rumbling that mortal ears perhaps would disregard. I looked helplessly to my feet and to the statues. I saw the faint shiver of the entire altar.

“I give you my own blood as I call you,” Merrick said. “Listen to my words, I am Merrick, daughter of Cold Sandra, I cannot be denied.

“Nebrod, son of Mestran, and powerful teacher of magic to those who came after him, bearer of the wisdom of the Watchers, I call upon you for my purpose, or upon that powerful spirit which answers to your name.

“Zoroaster, great teacher and magician, who passed on the mighty secrets of the Watchers, who brought down to himself from the very stars the fire which destroyed his earthly body, I call on you, or that spirit which answers to your name.

“Listen to me, all you who have gone before me, I am Merrick, daughter of Cold Sandra, I cannot be denied.

“I shall cause the Host of Heaven to declare you anathema should you attempt to resist my powers. I shall withdraw my faith and withdraw my blandishments should you not grant the wish that comes from my tongue. I am Merrick, daughter of Cold Sandra; you will bring to me those spirits whom I call.”

Again the perforator was lifted. She cut her own flesh. A long gleaming seam of blood flowed into the aromatic brew. The scent of it inflamed me. The smoke from the mixture stung my eyes.

“Yes, I command you,” she said, “all of you, most powerful and illustrious ones, I command you that I may achieve what I say, that I may bring forth out of the whirlwind those lost souls who will find Claudia, daughter of Agatha, yield up to me those Purgatorial souls who will, in exchange for my prayers, bring forth the spirit of Claudia. Do as I command!”

The iron altar before me was shivering. I could see the skull moving with the altar. I could not discount what I saw. I could not challenge what I heard, the low rumbling of the ground beneath me. Tiny leaves came down in a swirl, like ashes before us. The giant yew trees had begun to sway as if in the early breezes of an approaching storm.

I tried to see Louis, but Merrick stood between us. Her voice came unceasingly:

“All you powerful ones, command Honey in the Sunshine, restless spirit of my sister, daughter of Cold Sandra, that she bring Claudia, daughter of Agatha, out of the whirlwind. Honey in the Sunshine, I command you. I will turn all Heaven against you if you do not obey me. I will heap infamy upon your name. I am Merrick. I will not be denied.”

Even as the blood flowed down over her right hand, she reached with it for the skull beside the smoking cauldron and lifted it up.

“Honey in the Sunshine, I have here your very skull from the grave in which you were buried, and all your names are written upon it in my hand. Honey Isabella, daughter of Cold Sandra, you cannot deny me. I call you and command you to bring Claudia, daughter of Agatha, here now, to answer to me.”

It was exactly as I’d suspected. She had done the awful deed of violating Honey’s poor pathetic remains. How vicious and how dreadful, and for how long had she kept this secret, that she possessed the skull of her own sister, her own blood kin.

I was revolted yet magnetized. The smoke from the candles grew dense before the statues. It seemed their faces were full of movement, their eyes sweeping the scene before them. Even their drapery appeared alive. The incense burnt bright in the circle on the flagstones, fanned by the breeze that steadily increased.