traveling into oblivion. I could almost feel it traverse the world of visible proportions, feel it grow fainter and fainter, feel it burn out.
And there it was again for a split second, the distant unrecognizable place I had glimpsed last night. Snow, endless snow, and some sort of stone dwelling, windows encrusted with ice. And on a high promontory a curious modern apparatus, a great gray metal dish turning on an axis to draw to itself the invisible waves that crisscross the earth skies.
Television antenna! Reaching from this snowy waste to the satellite—that is what it was! And the broken glass on the floor was the glass of a television screen. I saw it. Stone bench . . . a broken television screen. Noise.
Fading.
MARIUS!
Danger, Lestat. All of us in danger. She has . . . I cannot . . . Ice. Buried in ice. Flash of shattered glass on a stone floor, the bench empty, the clang and vibration of The Vampire Lestat throbbing from the speakers—“She has . . . Lestat, help me! All of us . . . danger. She has . . . ”
Silence. The connection broken.
MARIUS!
Something, but too faint. For all its intensity simply too faint!
MARIUS!
I was leaning against the window, staring right into the morning light as it grew brighter, my eyes watering, the tips of my fingers almost burning on the hot glass.
Answer me, is it Akasha? Are you telling me that it is Akasha, that she is the one, that it was she?
But the sun was rising over the mountains. The lethal rays were spilling down into the valley, ranging across the valley floor.
I ran out of the house, across the field and towards the hills, my arm up to shield my eyes.
And within moments I had reached my hidden underground crypt, pulled back the stone, and I went down the crudely dug little stairs. One more turn and then another and I was in cold and safe blackness, earth smell, and I lay on the mud floor of the tiny chamber, my heart thudding, my limbs trembling. Akasha! That music of yours could wake the dead.
Television set in the chamber, of course, Marius had given them that, and the broadcasts right off the satellite. They had seen the video films! I knew it, I knew it as certainly as if he had spelled it out to the last detail. He had brought the television down into their sanctum, just as he had brought the movies to them years and years ago.
And she had been awakened, she had risen. That music of yours could wake the dead. I’d done it again.
Oh, if only I could keep my eyes open, could only think, if the sun wasn’t rising.
She had been there in San Francisco, she had been that close to us, burning our enemies. Alien, utterly foreign, yes.
But not uncivilized, no, not savage. She was not that. She was only just reawakened, my goddess, risen like a magnificent butterfly from its cocoon. And what was the world to her? How had she come to us? What was the state of her mind? Danger to all of us. No. I don’t believe it! She had slain our enemies. She had come to us.
But I couldn’t fight the drowsiness and heaviness any longer. Pure sensation was driving out all wonder and excitement. My body grew limp and helplessly still against the earth.
And then I felt a hand suddenly close on mine.
Cold as marble it was, and just about that strong.
My eyes snapped open in the darkness. The hand tightened its grip. A great mass of silken hair brushed my face. A cold arm moved across my chest.
Oh, please, my darling, my beautiful one, please! I wanted to say. But my eyes were closing! My lips wouldn’t move. I was losing consciousness. The sun had risen above.
THE END
BY ANNE RICE
Interview with the Vampire
The Feast of All Saints
Cry to Heaven
The Vampire Lestat
The Queen of the Damned
The Mummy
The Witching Hour
The Tale of the Body Thief
Lasher
Taltos
Memnoch the Devil
Servant of the Bones
Violin
Pandora
The Vampire Armand
Vittorio, The Vampire
Merrick
Blood and Gold
Blackwood Farm
Blood Canticle
Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt
Christ the Lord: Road to Cana
Called Out of Darkness: A Spiritual Confession
Angel Time
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ANNE RICE lives in New Orleans.
A Ballantine Book
Published by The Random House Publishing Group
Copyright © 1985 by Anne O’Brien Rice
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Portions of this work originally appeared in The Twilight Zone magazine.
Ballantine and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 97-93893
eISBN: 978-0-307-57593-7
This edition published by arrangement with Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.
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