what a start it gave him, to actually lay eyes upon me, and to see Mojo with me, to realize as I gave him a little wink that it was truly Lestat whom he saw.
What had he thought in that first instant That it was Raglan James in my body come to destroy him That James was making a home for himself in the Rue Royale No, he'd known it was Lestat all along.
Then I had walked slowly towards the church, Mojo coming along smartly at my side. Mojo, who kept me anchored to the good earth.
I wanted him to follow me. But I wouldn't so much as turn my head to see whether or not he was coming.
It was warm this night, and it had rained earlier enough to darken the rich, rose-colored walls of the old French Quarter buildings, to deepen the brown of the bricks, and to leave the flags and the cobblestones with a fine and lovely sheen. A perfect night for walking in New Orleans. Wet and fragrant, the flowers blooming over the garden walls.
But to meet with him again, I needed the quiet and silence of the darkened church.
My hands were shaking a little, as they had been off and on since I had come back into my old form. There was no physical cause for it, only my anger coming and going, and long spells of contentment, and then a terrifying emptiness which would open around me, and then the happiness coming again, quite complete, yet fragile, as though it were but a thin fine veneer. Was it fair to say I didn't know the full state of my soul I thought of the unbridled rage with which I'd smashed the head of David Talbot's body, and I shuddered. Was I still afraid Hmmm. Look at these dark sunburnt fingers with their gleaming nails. I felt the tremour as I pressed the tips of my right fingers to my lips.
I sat in the dark pew, several rows back from the railing before the altar, looking at the dark statues, and the paintings, and all the gilded ornament of this cold and empty place.
It was past midnight. The noise from the Rue Bourbon was as loud as ever. So much simmering mortal flesh there. I'd fed earlier. I would feed again.
But the sounds of the night were soothing. Throughout the narrow streets of the Quarter, in her small apartments, and atmospheric little taverns, in her fancy cocktail lounges, and in her restaurants, happy mortals laughed and talked, and kissed and embraced.
I slumped back comfortably in the pew, and stretched out my arms on the back of it as if it were a park bench. Mojo had already gone to sleep in the aisle near me, long nose resting on his paws.
Would that I were you, my friend. Looking like the very devil, and full of big lumbering goodness. Ah, yes, goodness. It was goodness that I felt when I locked my arms around him, and buried my face in his fur.
But now he had come into the church.
I sensed his presence though I could pick up no glimmer of thought or feeling from him, or even hear his step. I had not heard the outer door open or close. Somehow I knew he was there. Then I saw the shadow moving in the corner of my left eye. He came into the pew and sat beside me, a little distance away.
We sat there in silence for many long moments, and then he spoke.
You burnt my little house, didn't you? he asked in a small, vibrant voice.
Can you blame me? I asked with a smile, eyes still on the altar. Besides, I was a human when I did that. It was human weakness. Want to come and live with me?
This means you've forgiven me?
No, it means I'm playing with you. I may even destroy you for what you did to me. I haven't made up my mind. Aren't you afraid? No. If you meant to do away with me, it would already be done.
Don't be so certain. I'm not myself, and yet I am, and then I am not again.
Long silence, with only the sounds of Mojo breathing hoarsely and deeply in his sleep.
I'm glad to see you, he said. I knew you would win. But I didn't know how.
I didn't answer. But I was suddenly boiling inside. Why were both my virtues and my faults used against me