that mean he would do it, go to the others and become part of the theater in the boulevard?
He didn’t contradict me. He was asking again why couldn’t I create the imitation of life, if that was what I wanted to call it, right in the boulevard?
But he was also giving up. He knew I couldn’t endure the sight of the theater, or the sight of Nicolas. I couldn’t even really urge him towards it. Gabrielle had done that. And he knew that it was too late to press us anymore.
Finally Gabrielle said:
“We can’t live among our own kind, Armand.”
And I thought, yes, that is the truest answer of all, and I don’t know why I couldn’t speak it aloud.
“The Devil’s Road is what we want,” she said. “And we are enough for each other now. Maybe years and years into the future, when we’ve been a thousand places and seen a thousand things, we’ll come back. We’ll talk then together as we have tonight.”
This came as no real shock to him. But it was impossible now to know what he thought.
For a long time we didn’t speak. I don’t know how long we remained quiet together in the room.
I tried not to think of Marius anymore, or of Nicolas either. All sense of danger was gone now, but I was afraid of the parting, of the sadness of it, of the feeling that I had taken from this creature his astonishing story and given him precious little for it in return.
It was Gabrielle who finally broke the quiet. She rose and moved gracefully to the bench beside him.
“Armand,” she said. “We are going. If I have my way we’ll be miles from Paris before midnight tomorrow night.”
He looked at her with calm and acceptance. Impossible to know now what he chose to conceal.
“Even if you do not go to the theater,” she said, “accept the things that we can give you. My son has wealth enough to make an entrance into the world very easy for you.”
“You can take this tower for your lair,” I said. “Use it as long as you wish. Magnus found it safe enough.”
After a moment, he nodded with a grave politeness, but he didn’t say anything.
“Let Lestat give you the gold needed to make you a gentleman,” Gabrielle said. “And all we ask in return is that you leave the coven in peace if you do not choose to lead it.”
He was looking at the fire again, face tranquil, irresistibly beautiful. Then again he nodded in silence. And the nod itself meant no more than that he had heard, not that he would promise anything.
“If you will not go to them,” I said slowly, “then do not hurt them. Do not hurt Nicolas.”
And when I spoke these words, his face changed very subtly. It was almost a smile that crept over his features. And his eyes shifted slowly to me. And I saw the scorn in them.
I looked away but the look had affected me as much as a blow.
“I don’t want him to be harmed,” I said in a tense whisper.
“No. You want him destroyed,” he whispered back. “So that you need never fear or grieve for him anymore.” And the look of scorn sharpened hideously.
Gabrielle intervened.
“Armand,” she said, “he is not dangerous to them. The woman alone can control him. And he has things to teach all of you about this time if you will listen.”
They looked at each other for some time in silence. And again his face was soft and gentle and beautiful.
And in a strangely decorous manner he took Gabrielle’s hand and held it firmly. Then they stood up together, and he let her hand go, and he drew a little away from her and squared his shoulders. He looked at both of us.
“I’ll go to them,” he said in the softest voice. “And I will take the gold you offer me, and I will seek refuge in this tower. And I will learn from your passionate fledgling whatever he has to teach me. But I reach for these things only because they float on the surface of the darkness in which I am drowning. And I would not descend without some finer understanding. I would not leave eternity to you without . . . without some final battle.”
I studied him. But no thoughts came from him to clarify these words.
“Maybe as the years pass,” he said, “desire will come again to me. I will know appetite again, even