The witching hour - By Anne Rice Page 0,415

Like a religious order, but it isn’t religious. The name of it is the Talamasca.”

“Dabblers in the black arts?”

“No.”

“That’s what the old woman said.”

“Well, that’s a lie. Believers in the black arts, but not dabblers or practitioners.”

“She told a lot of lies. There was truth in what she said, too, but every damned time it was entangled with hate, and venom and meanness, and awful awful lies.” She shuddered. “I’m hot and I’m cold,” she said. “I saw one of those cards before. He gave one to me in California. Did he tell you that? I met him in California.”

Michael nodded uneasily. “At Ellie’s grave.”

“Well, how is that possible? That you’re his friend, and that he knows all about this man in the attic? I’m tired, Michael. I feel like I might start screaming and never be able to stop. I feel like if you don’t start telling me … ” She broke off, staring listlessly at the table. “I don’t know what I’m saying,” she said.

“That man, Townsend,” said Michael apprehensively, “he was a member of the order. He came here in 1929 trying to make contact with the Mayfair family.”

“Why?”

“They’ve been watching this family for three hundred years, compiling a history,” Michael said. “It’s going to be hard for you to understand all this … ”

“And just by coincidence, this man’s your friend?”

“No. Slow down. None of it was coincidence. I met him outside this house the first night I got here. And I saw him in San Francisco, too, you saw him, remember, the night you picked me up at my place, but we both thought he was a reporter. I had never spoken to him, and before that night I’d never seen him before.”

“I remember.”

“And then outside this house, he was there. I was drunk, I’d gotten drunk on the plane. Remember I promised you I wouldn’t, well, I did. And I came here, and I saw this … this other man in the garden. Only it wasn’t a real man. I thought it was, and then I realized it wasn’t. I’d seen that guy when I was a kid. I’d seen him every time I ever passed this house. I told you about him, do you remember? Well, what I have to somehow explain is … he’s not a real man.”

“I know,” she said. “I’ve seen him.” The most electrical feeling passed through her. “Keep talking. I’ll tell you about it when you finish, please.”

But he didn’t keep talking. He looked at her anxiously. He was frustrated, worried. He was leaning on the mantel, looking down at her, the light from the hallway half illuminating his face, his eyes darting over the table, and finally returning to her. It aroused a complete tenderness in her to see the protectiveness in him, to hear in his voice the gentleness and the fear of hurting her.

“Tell me the rest,” she said. “Look, don’t you understand, I have some terrible things I have to tell you because you’re the only one I can tell. So you tell me your story because you’re actually making it easier for me. Because I didn’t know how I was going to tell you about seeing that man. I saw him after you left, on the deck in Tiburon. I saw him at the very moment my mother died in New Orleans, and I didn’t know she was dying then. I didn’t know anything about her.”

He nodded. But he was still confused, stymied.

“If I can’t trust you, for what it’s worth, I don’t want to talk to anybody. What are you holding back? Just tell me. Tell me why that man Aaron Lightner was kind to me this afternoon at the funeral when you weren’t there? I want to know who he is, and how you know him. Am I entitled to ask that question?”

“Look, honey, you can trust me. Don’t get mad at me, please.”

“Oh, don’t worry, it takes more than a lover’s quarrel for me to blow somebody’s carotid artery.”

“Rowan, I didn’t mean … ”

“I know, I know!” she whispered. “But you know I killed that old woman.”

He made a small, forbidding gesture. He shook his head.

“You know I did.” She looked up at him. “You are the only one who knows.” Then a terrible suspicion came into her mind. “Did you tell Lightner the things I told you? About what I could do?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head earnestly, pleading with her quietly and eloquently to believe him. “No, but